I’ve tried to write this post before, but it’s one of those elusive thoughts that defies language.

When I was a child, I’d hear the phrase, “Well, they only stay married for the kids.”  It was the 1970s.  Divorce was new, though still a rarity in my world.  I lived in fear that my parents would split up - especially because my parents’ relationship didn’t seem like that of Mike and Carol Brady, or later, Cliff and Clair Huxtable.  When I’d hear about another divorce - my dad’s friend Gene, or his cousin Sharon - I’d breathe deep.  Statistically, perhaps the bad luck would pass us by.

Or at least, I figured, they might stay married for our sakes.  Soldier through; suck it up.  They’d borne us, without our permission.  They owed it to us to keep us happy, or at least to not make us the subject of whispered speculation. 

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