After the Divorce

After the divorce, we entered a new world. No longer were we on our own with only our big sister (who was too young) to tend us; now we spent each day at Aunt Rose’s house. Aunt Rose lived in the country. She and her husband (Uncle Lee) had a lot of property and a whole lot of kids – mostly boys. Uncle Lee traveled a lot, so we didn’t see him very much. He had always been nice, but I knew that dads could be nice one minute and very scary the next. We liked playing with our cousins even though our aunt was the worst cook ever. At least there was food to eat which was more than we had when Mom and Dad were still married.

One day, my cousins shouted, Dad’s home. They had spotted his car on the long driveway. They all became very excited. I hurried to hide. In my house, when we heard the sound of Dad’s tires crunch on the driveway, we hid as quickly as possible – once hidden we listened. If he was alone and came in singing, it was safe to come out. If he came in cussing, swearing, or stomping, we stayed hidden – sometimes for hours – until Mom came home. I thought my cousins were hiding. I peeked out from behind the fireplace in surprise and fear as they ran for the door, threw it open, and wrapped themselves around Uncle Lee. He had kids hanging off his legs, off his arms, and around his neck. My cousins hadn’t even waited to see what kind of a mood he was in before they mobbed him. I looked at Uncle Lee’s face. He looked happy that his kids were hanging all over him. He did tell them to let him hug Aunt Rose properly. I couldn’t understand how my cousins dared to approach him without checking his mood first. I felt confused – didn’t one need to be careful around all dads?

I watched Uncle Lee carefully while we waited for Mom to pick us up. He sat in a chair, his kids gathered around him, and he talked to them. He didn’t sing vulgar songs, he didn’t smoke, he didn’t hit anyone, he didn’t yell, and he didn’t torture tickle. He seemed gentle and kind. I kept my distance, but carefully watched to see if he could indeed be trusted. That night, my sister Mary and I talked about how strange it had been when Uncle Lee came home. She said, “They didn’t even hide.”

I said, “Can you imagine not hiding when dad comes home?”

“No. Do you think he is always that nice?” she asked.

“I’m not sure. He seemed really nice though. He didn’t yell or hit or anything.”

“It would be fun to hug your dad when he gets home,” Mary said.

“I wish we had a dad like that,” I said and added, “It would be nice to not be so nervous all the time.”

We both agreed that when we got married, we would choose a husband that our children wouldn’t have to be afraid of. We wanted our own children to greet their dad that way.

Uncle Lee was home for the rest of the week. Each day he was kind and gentle. By the end of the week, I was brave enough to climb up on his lap. He acted like he really loved me. I wished he was my dad. When I talked to him, he listened and made me feel that what I had to say was important. He didn’t call me names like rug rat, slut, or whore. His hugs never hurt. He didn’t try to kiss me with his tongue or rub his rough face on my tender skin. He let me snuggle on his lap just like his own kids did. I felt sad that he wasn’t my dad. Even though I was afraid of my dad, I missed him terribly. I wanted a dad. Uncle Lee was great, but he wasn’t mine. I wanted my dad to be just like Uncle Lee. Maybe I wasn’t loveable enough for Dad to be like Uncle Lee. Maybe, my young mind thought, that a man could only be nice if he was going bald.

I enjoyed spending time with Uncle Lee even though it made me sad for what I could not have. I realize as an adult that Uncle Lee was probably not perfect. He may have caused his own children pain or tears, but in my life, during a time when I was trying to make sense of the world, he gave me hope that my future children could be loved and protected.