When I was very young, I didn’t truly understand what a parent was supposed to be. I just thought that they were the ones who caused your existence and that I’d figure out step-parents eventually. I don’t think I would’ve cared to ask, though. My biological mom didn’t see me much, but I was fine with that. I was happy with the fun we had when she did, and I still had a lot of other things I could do when she was gone. Even when I heard that my parents separated, I didn’t mind. But a lot changed when my dad met my now-stepmom.

I first met her in what I thought was a dream. Even then I only remembered a few seconds of that time. At night, I was in my now-aunt Bethany’s house and my dad was standing next to some other woman. He said her name was Amy. I didn’t even remember the trip there and back. The timing of things was so random I thought it had to be a dream, but after that, I saw Amy a lot. Eventually, my dad and I moved in with her. They were talking about getting married a few months before they did, and around that time I realized that a parent was also someone who was married to your other parent, so I thought I might as well call her Mom.

Before this, I was an only child, but as I was with my mom more, I met more of my siblings. There was one time when Elliot had said that he’d leave me in the car if I didn’t call him my brother. Afterwards, I asked what a brother was, and I got the basic definition, a son of your parents, but since then I’d heard a lot about siblings looking after each other on TV, so I wondered if there was more to family in general. It was a little later when I started to realize what a parent truly was, someone who took care of you and loved you.

But when I was around eleven, things deteriorated. I thought I’d seen so much proof that my mom hated me, even though she loved my dad. She exaggerated stuff to my dad and got me grounded when I didn’t do anything wrong. It was as if she didn’t believe it was possible for her to be wrong. But it was all the little, constant things that annoyed me the most, like how she explained simple things I already knew, and how she never stopped talking and even constantly changed the subject as if she wanted me to forget what I was going to say. I thought she was giving me all these opportunities just to impress Dad.

A few years later, I got fed up and had an outburst. It went on for hours, but eventually, my dad asked if it was because I was scared of someone else leaving me like my biological mom did. I didn’t think so, but I had heard of times when there was actually no way of knowing what you were truly thinking. And after a while, I’d heard of things that just didn’t make sense if my mom really didn’t care. Around then, I truly realized what a parent was supposed to be: someone who strives to give their children the best experience possible.