Divorce is easy. Too easy really. Much easier than staying married.
If you’re a reasonable couple and the split is amicable (as much as that myth is possible), then you talk about how you’re going to co-parent, who’s going to have the kiddo on weekends and holidays, who will pay for everything from school supplies to health insurance, if significant others are allowed to be around them …
In a household that’s split by divorce, the best-case scenario has a mother and father making decisions based on what’s best for the child. If there’s any misunderstanding, there’s a court order to settle disputes.
The child still has “Mom” and “Dad,” and the parents have official titles (and probably a few unprintable names) for each other, too — “ex-wife” and “ex-husband.” You go into the split knowing all of that.
What’s more difficult to navigate is the relationships that you had as a result of the union — the in-laws (ex-in-laws?), their cousins and siblings along with their spouses, their friends who you both hung out with …
You just don’t know until you’re in that situation. It’s awkward. You know that they’ve heard every terrible thing about you, some of which may even almost be true. You know your ex has spun everything about the divorce to her favor.
You know she told her mother that you were lying about having to work all those Christmases because you couldn’t stand the chaos of their yuletide festivities … You know she told her sister that you always called her a bipolar, immature shrew who kept her husband’s testicles in a pickle jar on the fridge … You know she told her outspoken teetotaler grandmother that you were such a lush that you were sneaking margaritas at Mi Casita during your daughter’s 5th birthday party …
And you know she told her girlfriends that, in addition to all of your other awful qualities, you were also a lousy lover (which is one more way to belittle a man — emphasis on “little” — and, as a bonus, it ensures that the girlfriends won’t become interested in you, either).
None of that really mattered to me. Having somebody to “take my side” isn’t that important to me. There’s right and there’s wrong. I’d rather be right than liked.
What I did want, though, was to maintain relationships that were meaningful to me. First among those was my nephew Hunter. He was just a youngster when the divorce divided the family. Sadly (or luckily, depending on your outlook), his father was divorced, so Hunter was used to the weekend/holiday dosey-doe of stepbrothers and ex-wives.
Hunter has always been special to me. He was the first baby I helped keep overnight. He was the first baby and toddler I ever drove around, carried places, did things with as the fun uncle. The first time he called me “Uncle Mok,” it tugged something in my heart that wasn’t touched again until I heard the word, “Dada.”
Losing him and other extended family (ex-family?) members wasn’t something I contemplated while going through the divorce. After 17 years of marriage, there were a bunch of them, too.
A lot of my ex’s family are good country folks, the kind who say “blood is thicker than water,” then beat each other bloody. But in the end, they’ll be fiercely loyal to one another against outsiders, no matter what the facts and circumstances may be.
Some of them have been known to keep their kids away from grandparents and/or aunts and uncles just out of spite. Knowing all of that made me wonder if Hunter would still be in my life after the divorce. I hoped he would.
It was several months after the divorce when I finally found out. The first time I pulled up at his homestead in Kosciusko, he came speeding up on a four-wheeler and shouted, “Hey, Uncle Mark … come look at my truck!”
We hadn’t missed a beat. As long as he can hunt, fish, tinker with small engines and big trucks, he’s a happy kid. And now that he’s 15, add playing football and chasing girls — not necessarily in that order.
He’s a good, tender-hearted kid who has a surprising love of history. Since the divorce, his parents have allowed him to go with my daughter Annelise and me to the beach, to the World War II Museum in New Orleans and to Six Flags Over Texas. He never fails to let me know how grateful he is, even though I’m the one who feels blessed to have kept him in my life.
A trip to Natchez doesn’t sound as exciting as those other excursions, but the one we made there last Saturday was the most memorable one of all. His parents got him there under false pretenses so he could be surprised with the honor of the American Legion Youth Hero Award.
He earned it a year ago today, when he rushed into his great-grandmother’s house while it was on fire, unbeknownst to her, and carried her out as the flames began to overtake the outside of the room she was in. He was hailed a hero. Men who fought in World War II, Korea, Vietnam and the Middle East applauded him. Those who could stand did. The women of the American Legion Auxiliary stood and applauded him, too, in a separate ceremony.
The only people there who could have been prouder than me were his parents … oh, and his Nanny, who kept raising her hand to make sure everyone knew she’s the one he saved.
Other family members who were divided by divorce were also there for Hunter, and everybody honored him for the occasion by getting along and having a good time. It was nice. Afterward, we all went where he wanted to for lunch — Fat Mama’s Tamales. And this time, I had my margarita right out in the open. Cheers to Hunter”
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Mark Thornton is chief of the Leader-Call. Email him at editor@leader-call.com.