When I left what the lawyers refer to as my “marital residence”, I got out with a couple of pieces of furniture, some clothes, and a deep, deep connection with my children. What didn’t make it out the door was my vocation, my church, a whole lot of friends, and all my money. Willie Nelson said, “you know why divorce is so expensive? Because it’s worth it.” Divorce is not a good financial decision. But if you offered all that money and my job back, I’d never take it. No regrets. I remember the night I froze in my tracks and said, “I’m done.” I was.
My two daughters went with me to pick out apartments. Their favorite was a one bedroom (we turned the dining room into bedroom #2) in an historic old building right on Highland by Caldwell Park. My kids made me promise not to leave Highland Park. They loved it there, and when we sold the marital residence on Cliff Road, their mother high-tailed it out of the neighborhood and back to the burbs. I had no intention of leaving.
For some time, even before the trouble began, I used to walk late at night- and I had this premonition that I might end up in one of the apartment buildings. Funny.
My three children and I piled into the new place (we split the time- basically half with me, half with their mother.) We settled into a rhythm quickly and actually some relief settled in too. The church people told me my children were doomed. My girls thought that was pretty funny. I don’t want to downplay what divorce can do to kids, but I was determined to walk through it with them, talk as much as we could, deal with what it exposed in me and in them, and not stop pursuing them. I found this prayer and it became a mantra- “Let not those whose hope is in you be put to shame because of me.”
Well, we lasted about six months in that first apartment- it was like a long camping trip. It was cheap and it was fun, but we weren’t going to fit. We all missed it because it was the place where we found a refuge and knew we were going to make it. It’s the place where I launched my new career in real estate.
I didn’t mention the neighbors. The house next door, right out my kitchen window, was a home for mentally challenged men. The guys spent a lot of the day sitting in rockers or pacing on the porch. When I was in the kitchen they were three feet away. One fella was a day resident who came in on the bus every day. I’ll call him “Bud”. The first morning I heard this booming voice out the window, Bud was standing at the rail saying “There’s a 50% chance of thunderstorms in the late afternoon…Thunderstorms in the late afternoon…There’s a 50’% chance of thunderstorms…thunderstorms!” Over and over. The next morning it was “Right now at Sticks and Stuff! Three days only! Everything must go!...Sticks and Stuff…!” Every day he would come in, grab the first line he heard on the common room TV, and broadcast it to the neighbors. We saw Bud in the downtown library the other day. Melanie said hello to him. Bud asked, “What day is your birthday?” She said, “The 1st.” “What month?” “August.” Bud said, “OK,” and walked off. We’re pretty sure that next time we see him he’ll say “Why hello, August 1st.”
The story of Melanie’s childhood isn’t really mine to tell, but I’ll relay a few things that give some sense of who she is. She spent some of her summers growing up with her Grandparents in Michigan. I’ve actually seen their house when I was in Grand Rapids for a writer’s conference. Her grandfather called her his “little spark plug”, and that nickname summed her up. She was precocoious and alive. Because of books and her church background, she was aware of an unseen world, still, she was constantly amazed by things she found in this one. Whether it was a pretty new leaf, an animal, a new flavor of ice cream, or an idea, it was met with a familiar gasp and “Oh my gosh!” Every day was and still is a day of discovery.
She inherited traits from both her parents, though her mother gave her the attention that shaped her. She got charm and passion from her father. She’s the same girl whether alone or in a crowded room. But when she does enter a room, or when she speaks, there is a magnetism to her, and heads turn her way. I don’t think she know about it. I’ve watched it again and again- she captures attention.
From her mother she received strength and kindness and a hunger to know. I’ve also watched her turn her wonder for the world toward a person- she can see into them and draw them out. She has done this for me.
Melanie was rebellious. Not in a lawless or reckless way (like myself). She just would never settle for things as they were. While she was happy in her safe, religious world, she always knew there was more. And she wasn’t afraid to look for it.
She grew into a vocation that is an extension of her own wonder. She is as natural a teacher as there has ever been. Her joy of discovery spills out of her and ito the imagination of children. The classroom is at times chaotic as students work freely at a task. Or, the room is vacant because Melanie is overcome with the need to have the children take a walk in the rain. When she reads to them they are spellbound, and transported into other worlds.
My landlord was kind enough to let me move two blocks up the hill- up Niazuma Avenue.
The story of Melanie’s childhood isn’t really mine to tell, but I’ll relay a few things that give some sense of who she is. She spent some of her summers growing up with her Grandparents in Michigan. I’ve actually seen their house when I was in Grand Rapids for a writer’s conference. Her grandfather called her his “little spark plug”, and that nickname summed her up. She was precocoious and alive. Because of books and her church background, she was aware of an unseen world, still, she was constantly amazed by things she found in this one. Whether it was a pretty new leaf, an animal, a new flavor of ice cream, or an idea, it was met with a familiar gasp and “Oh my gosh!” Every day was and still is a day of discovery.
She inherited traits from both her parents, though her mother gave her the attention that shaped her. She got charm and passion from her father. She’s the same girl whether alone or in a crowded room. But when she does enter a room, or when she speaks, there is a magnetism to her, and heads turn her way. I don’t think she know about it. I’ve watched it again and again- she captures attention.
From her mother she received strength and kindness and a hunger to know. I’ve also watched her turn her wonder for the world toward a person- she can see into them and draw them out. She has done this for me.
Melanie was rebellious. Not in a lawless or reckless way (like myself). She just would never settle for things as they were. While she was happy in her safe, religious world, she always knew there was more. And she wasn’t afraid to look for it.
She grew into a vocation that is an extension of her own wonder. She is as natural a teacher as there has ever been. Her joy of discovery spills out of her and ito the imagination of children. The classroom is at times chaotic as students work freely at a task. Or, the room is vacant because Melanie is overcome with the need to have the children take a walk in the rain. When she reads to them they are spellbound, and transported into other worlds.
My landlord was kind enough to let me move two blocks up the hill- up Niazuma Avenue.