I remember the first time I had to act like a father.

My fiancé—and eventual first ex-wife—worked a couple of nights a week and needed a babysitter. I had lots of experience around kids (my sister has seven), so I figured how hard can it be, right?

As long as nothing unusual happened, I could handle the responsibility.

Cue scary music.

Suddenly the world came to a screeching halt! At least that’s what I thought judging by the wailing coming from my 9-year-old future stepdaughter’s room.

Like a good dad I put down my Diet Coke and Twinkies and raced upstairs, expecting blood and gore. Or at least a stubbed toe. But she was just lying on her bed crying like crazy.

This was a job for Superdad!