And They All Lived Happily Ever After…

Now that had to be the biggest fairy story on the planet – and most of us knew it.  Even as kids.  I can’t say what it is like to be the kid of a divorced parent.  My parents got remarried in a church on their 50^th wedding anniversary. 

It was all very romantic – not that they didn’t have their tough times.  Not that I didn’t go to bed gnawing on my finger nails, worried they may “divorce” after I’d heard them fighting in my early teens.

I’ve always tried to treat my kids as I wanted to be treated.  I wasn’t stupid.  I knew something was going on – I just wanted honesty – and in return, they climbed the ladder of respect in my head.  Why?  Because they appreciated me enough to acknowledge the fact that I wasn’t utterly senseless.  That I was adult enough to understand that being with someone for 20, or 30 or 50 years is damned hard work.

Hell, I struggled to make 10 years as a married adult.

It’s a constant uphill battle of thinking about, caring about and more importantly, putting in time with the other person.  Without that – it can’t work.  Because if you can’t do that, if you can’t put that person you are in a relationship first every so often; then I figure you are not there because you actually love them.  You are probably there, because you just don’t want to be alone.

So… At what point to you let kids understand the reality of the world..?  That mummy and daddy are actually no longer together?  Happy family dinners are not such a good idea – because daddy has a girlfriend and she hates the way mummy treats daddy.

Call me new age…  Hell, call me despicable…  Whatever, but I kind of figure when you reach your 20’s – you can figure that out for yourself. 

I never wanted to lie to my kids.  To be honest, they were smart and I respected them too much.  I never simulated a happy ever after, at least, not where I was concerned.  What would be the point – we weren’t.  I mean, we didn’t even like one another.  Most of the time I figured he would look so much more attractive… dead.

I once took my older child to a psychologist.  He told me, never lie.  Don’t wake him up every morning and say your dad is a pig – but don’t lie either.   Your make believe world shattered is so much harder to handle than already knowing that they may actually reject you.

I have had some hellish times with my two older kids.  But I treated them with honesty and respect – and there was light at the end of the tunnel.  They turned out to be mature, happy, stand-alone kids.

On the dissection of my blog the other night, the squeeze mentioned that he thought some of it was totally random.  In fact, none of it was.  I found it astounding that he didn’t see that each blog was a message.

This entry isn’t random.  This is about him, receiving a month of hell by the wife; who then turns on a coin to say that the 22 yo wants a ‘happy, family, birthday bbq’.   Obviously, this idea is less than thrilling to me.

However, the only thing voicing my reluctance gets me, is:    ‘You don't have to do the happy family birthday, you're invited, it's your choice’.

In other words, suck it up or fuck off;  because as long as the wife and son are happy, the world turns for the squeeze.

If you are always put last, how long do you stay?