Where is the turkey?

"This was my dad's first year to make the dinner without mom. We had some leftover ham from my grandma's house and some potato chips. I got as many cokes as I wanted. I really wanted my mom and a good meal, but this is what divorce looks like I guess." Tamara, 15 years old

Yesterday's Child

My name is Michael. Yesterday I was part of a family of four, but today there goes my dad.

There goes my dad. There goes his big TV. There goes his laugh. There goes his car that took me to basketball practice every Tuesday night. There goes our computer. There goes the after work hugs that I stood by the door and waited for when he came home from work. There goes our sofa. There goes his grill that made steaks every Friday night. There goes my dad.

I got my dad when I turned five years old. He met my mom at a baseball game. They fell in love and got married. When I turned seven I got a sister. She made our family a family of four.

Every Sunday after church we went to Nanny and Nana’s house to eat Sunday dinner. I’m still not sure why they call it Sunday dinner when it is really lunch, but I enjoyed it whatever it was called.

Nanny and Nana are my dad’s mom and grandma. They both lost their husbands early so they live together and my sister and I sometimes spend the night over there. They both cook and read us books. Sophie and I love their old house. It has heat that comes up from the floor, and in the winter we stand really close and warm up our cold toes. The smell of hot soup fills the house and hot chocolate comes right after lunch.

Now that my mom and dad are getting a divorce, will I still go to Nanny and Nana’s house?

Will we still go to church with them? What about my cousins in Iowa? Will I see them again?

Will my dad stop loving me? My heart is beating so fast. I don’t want to lose my family. I want to yell really loud, but he can’t hear me. He has already driven away from our house. I can’t see his blue car anymore. I can’t see my dad.

Will we still live here? Will my sister still live here? Will my mom leave too?

My mom sees me crying at our front door watching him drive away. I don’t want her to feel like she is not enough, but what if she isn’t?

Her hug feels good. I know she loves me. She can do this. I know she is tough. We still have her family. They love me and they can’t say that I am not family anymore.

My aunt pulls into the driveway. All of her kids are with her. I have never been so excited to see my cousin, Cole. He hits my left arm and I hit him back. It feels good.

The next few months my mom’s family keeps stopping by our house at least once a week.

We started going to another church, and I met some really cool new friends. My mom and my aunt started spending a lot of time together which meant I got to hang out with Cole. We are only a few years apart, so we are a lot alike.

I am still at the same school, so I got to keep my real friends.

I quit basketball. My dad used to be my coach. It hurt too much to play without him. My mom didn’t want me to quit, but I think she understood why.

It was a year ago today that my dad drove away, so my Papa stopped by to see me.

Papa and I throw the ball around outside in the front yard. He thinks I have a good arm and should go out for football next year. If we keep practicing on Sundays, I might just do that.

My mom is standing at the front door holding the phone.

“Michael.” My mom sounds sad.

“What is it mom?” I yell from the front yard, now walking toward her.

“Nanny died this morning,” my mom tries to give me a hug.

I run to my room crying. I haven’t seen her in over a year. Sophie still got to see her after the divorce, but I didn’t. I am so angry and sad all at the same time.

The next few days are really weird. My dad remarried right after he left, and his new wife is going to have a baby soon.

My mom and I sit on the back row. The funeral is at our old church.

I can see my dad and his new wife sitting with my sister on the front row. The casket is in front of them. His face looks longer than I remember. My sister sits on his lap. I am jealous. I wish I could just run up there and sit on his lap and get a big hug. I wish I was still his son. I wish he still loved me.

Our old church looks the same. Nothing has really changed. I wonder if anyone notices how much I have changed. My hair is longer and I have grown a lot, and I am not the same on the inside either.

My mom whispers to me that she has a surprise for me when we leave. I can’t wait.

As soon as they sing the last song, we leave. My sister stays with her dad.

She took me to her friend Tim’s house. He knows a guy that works at the Talon’s indoor football stadium. I got to go to a real indoor football stadium and throw the football to Tim. I run to catch the pass. We play ball all afternoon.

Mom brings us both some water and a sandwich. Tim likes PB & J just like me.

I like Tim, but he isn’t my dad. He is my friend.

As we drive away from the stadium, I look at my mom.

“You’re doing a good job, Mom.”

Yesterday feels like a long time ago.

Lovable & Capable

I have written a lot of grants in attempts to get funding for schools to have books and resources for children who have gone through a family change or divorcing parents. With each grant I quote statistics, sustainability, qualifiers, etc. Tedious details that were once a research project. Important, but not the full story.
Now, I write grants with Kiara and Marcus and their classmates that are so kind to reveal their stories to me. I write with a passion of understanding that, like me, they are growing up with a sense of robbery, a sense of confusion. They are trying to make sense of their world, their lives and their talents.
I write knowing that I am their voice. I am the adult in their life that has the means and heart to make a difference by believing them and listening to them. I am the adult that symbolizes hope of rising above the hurt and fear and becoming a person of character.
I love my adopted class. I love their vulnerable honesty. They are not afraid to say that it hurts when we lose respect, friendship or camaraderie with the adults in our lives. They are fearless in their writing...not afraid of what emotion they may provoke.
We close every class with these words, "I vow to always remember that I am lovable and capable. I vow to find my talent and never throw it away!"
As we chant our mantra, the little girl in me that is now a woman living her dream chants secretly, "me, too."

"The smallest act of kindness is worth more than the best intention."

2nd Annual Chili On the Square

Come have a good time and support Blended Love, a nonprofit bringing resources to teachers and students dealing with the increase in our divorce rates and ever changing families!

Can I stay?

Have you ever wanted to stay longer when you were enjoying staying with someone you loved?
Sean, a once ten year old boy, wants us to know that he felt that way every time he left his dad.
His dad lived in Colorado and his mom lived in Oklahoma, so his visits were for more than a week and usually during his school time off.
He said his bond with dad is so strong and that they played football and video games and talked a lot.
One of his last visits, all he could think about was the last day, so he sabotaged his whole visit. He acted terribly. Refused to play football and only did video games alone. On the last day, he whispered to his dad, "Can I stay?"
He knew the answer. The answer is why he refused to be himself.
"You'll always say no because you don't want me!"
Unfortunately Sean's dad didn't understand that Sean's anger came from hurt. He was housing pain of loving his dad so much and staying separated.
His dad penalized him by not inviting him back for almost a year.
This event destroyed what was once a healthy relationship and led Sean to finding acceptance with a rough crowd at school. A crowd he could control with his anger.
I would like to report that Sean has changed and the relationship has been mended, but I cannot.
I can only report that Sean is finishing his last week in rehab as a Jr. High student and may be out in time to still attend his alternative school.

An Invitation to Hope

My heart was racing, my mind creating every kind of bad scenario for me and my friend, Rachel. The house we were in was incredibly dirty and the smell of sweat and alcohol filled the heavy air. In the back bedroom I found an old, tattered mattress on the floor. At seven, I was the leader, pulling my friend under the mattress with me and grabbing her hand.

I prayed for us. She prayed for us. We squeezed each other tight and prayed we would not be found by any of the men doing drugs that night in what later became known as the “crack house.”

Hopeless? No.

“So the helpless has hope, And unrighteousness must shut its mouth.” Job 5:16

I have no memory or conclusion to what happened to Rachel and I that night, but I do have many memories of what would follow --peace and a hand much bigger than the adults around me floundering about trying to make their own way.

He did not have a name to me, but His invitation included mine. His hand was that of a hearty, working man yet soft and warm. As I curled up with Him in my heart, I knew I was safe. Guarded from what was happening around me, guarded from the uncertainty and confusion that my world had always been to me.

Teachers Caught in the Middle

Something that was brought to my attention the other day was another one of the many struggles teachers are having with students from two homes.
Situation:
John brings spirit t-shirt money to his fifth grade teacher on Monday from his Mom's house in hopes of her receiving the t-shirt for him to wear on Fridays, which is spirit day most weeks.
The teacher passes out the prepaid t-shirts out on a Wednesday which means that the t-shirt Mom just paid for went home with John to Dad's house because it is a Wednesday and Dad has him.
Friday rolls around and Mom is incredibly angry because she doesn't have John's t-shirt that she paid for and John is angry because he will be the only one in his class that isn't wearing his spirit t-shirt.
Now, Mom shoots the teacher a hateful email expressing that she didn't receive what she had paid for and that it is her fault. Dad also shoots the teacher a hateful email because he feels like he was never asked about ordering a spirit t-shirt.

Who should be at fault for this?

Parents say the teacher.
Communities say the parents.
Schools stay neutral and try to accommodate on top of the huge laundry list of mandates handed down to them.

I say...regardless of blame...you still have to recognize and address the fact that this child has just missed out on having his t-shirt and enjoying spirit day like the rest of his class.