I’m nearly 40 years old and my parents have been divorced most of my life. My relationship with each of them is unique–crafted by their human experience and mine. Just like everyone else, we are affected deeply by the decisions we’ve all made. And tonight, though deeply exhausted, I’m tossing and turning, thinking about the consistency of my dad’s phone calls.
My dad calls me on Sundays.
When I was a child, I believe, it was every other Sunday. As I’ve grown older, more Sundays may pass between the calls and we alternate who does the calling, but we talk. I love those calls with my whole heart. I rattle on about my world and he listens, and it doesn’t matter what stories bubble up for me to share with him. Some Sundays, I go on and on for so long that when it’s over, I giggle like a little girl and brag to my wife and children about his willingness to sit there while I go on and on.