Not regularly, but at least a few times a year, I learn of parents I know getting divorced. It happened the other day on Facebook when an old acquaintance told me the news of her and her husband separating. Whether they’re people I know really well, or as acquaintances, the news always seems to hit me like a seizure to the soul, and I’m momentarily transported back to being a confused and distraught 8-year-old, trying to understand all these weird occurrences—like my parents leaving each other notes instead of talking to each other, or brutally yelling at each other instead of talking.
Seriously, when I see or hear separated or separating parents who still manage to behave civilly and reasonably to each other most of the time, I want to hug them myself, and thank them for what they’re doing for their children. At the same time, when I see or hear the of opposite—of parents who seem to be out for blood, even if that means using their children as a kind punishment towards their former partner—for me it’s like hearing a story of real-life horror.
I am a fan of marriage. I’m also actually a fan of divorce. Divorce afforded my parents the hope of a better life. And, in time, it allowed me to see them in better relationships than the acrimonious sideshow they were together. In a way, it was probably, I know now, the best gift they could have given me.
When I learn of an acquaintance getting divorced, I’m reminded of how little I actually know of the most personal part of their life. And, yes, it’s all none of my business. Still, I’m rooting for them and their children, and sometimes I let them know that anyway.
Eric Messinger is the editor of New York Family. He can be reached at emessinger@manhattanmedia.com.
