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.
