Happy Fathers Day!

I don't remember much about my Dad being a father.   He moved out of our small South Bronx apartment back in the 1950s.   I was a young kid back then...maybe six or seven?   I don't even remember him actually living with us at all, but when he left, my mother told me that he moved out so that there would be more room for the rest of us (my Mom, grandfather and two siblings).   I bought that answer hook, line and sinker!   After all, he did stop by for a visit every so often...and even took us on a few trips to the Bronx Zoo.

Divorce was unheard of back in those days.   I didn't know anyone else whose parents were divorced.   Not at school, not in the neighborhood, not at church, or anywhere else!   And, as my mother said...he moved out because there was not enough space!   No mention of the divorce word!

It wasn't until almost a decade later that I finally sat my Mom down for a one-on-one.   I just asked..."Mom...are you and Dad divorced"?   She broke out in tears and apologized for not letting out the truth much earlier in my life.   Like I said, divorce was unheard of back in those days.   Perhaps she didn't think we could handle it or, in those days, just didn't want to admit it.

Epilog:
My Dad went off to World War II and during the time he was overseas in France, his mother (my grandmother) died and my older brother was born.   I was born close to nine months after he returned from WWII.

I remain curious as to what led to their divorce.   My Mom always spoke highly of him and never said a bad word about him.   During our one-on-one session, she did say that she felt he wasn't the same after his return from the war.   Perhaps it was a marriage that wasn't meant to be.   They are both long gone, so I will take that curiosity to my grave.   Perhaps it's better that I don't know!