Emily Paine Carter

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Here’s a Father’s  Day tip of the ol’ baseball cap to ex-husbands. Say what?!
 
Well, ex-husbands who are forever  fathers — a rarely celebrated group.

If this column does not apply to you: sincere congratulations! Go forth and enjoy your day. And single moms  acting  as  dads: Bless your efforts.

Mine are hard-fought words. Words that folks who recall the painful saga of “Bob and Emily Paine Brady: The Dark Years” will find incredible. Words that “only” took me 25 years to express.

Perhaps you also slogged your way through assorted counseling: Kudos to you for really, really trying to uphold your wedding-day promise to The Father Upstairs.

But did you end up muttering lines from Bob Dylan (“Everything Is Broken”) or poet W.B. Yeats (“things fall apart; the center cannot hold”)? Or a mess of country songs?

Did you eventually decide your soon-to-be ex was put on Earth solely to test your Christian forbearance? Were you tempted by sweet revenge fantasies?

Did you memorize your lawyer’s phone number? Decades later, Salem attorney Charlie Phillips’ number is still seared in my brain: 389-5439.  Did your eyes light up — even briefly — if she or he said your ex would be drawn and quartered in Library Square?

Mercy!
 
Now, pure grace: At last I remember that I married a pretty good man — as is, of course, my current  and  final, truly heroic husband, Rod. I see that Bob/“Grandbob” acts on behalf of our  children and precious grandkids — even when it is difficult.

We all have come to cooperate for the good of our very extended family. We get along — not just because Bob lives hours away in Nashville, Tenn.
 
Credits? My sainted parents, who figuratively and literally kept the doors open: When in Salem, Bob stays with them.

I can also thank that mellowing tincture of  time. And the grandbabies. And my 12-step programs: “We will not regret the past, nor wish to shut the door on it” (this took a while).  “Keep your side of the street clean. … Bitterness is like drinking poison, expecting someone else to die. … Forgiveness is a bridge that you yourself will have to cross one day” (don’t burn it, doofus).

Now I see my own faults — yes, far bigger than my dyeing all his food green for St. Patrick’s Day meals (“Erin Go Brady?”).

You know that without your ex, you would not have your same, wonderful children and grandchildren. There’s nature (DNA): Before our children were born, Bob and I wondered if they would have our allergies, noses, dry skin.

And nurture: Now both of our  thirtysomething “kids” ponder our other attributes: Financial sense and  job analyses (Bob’s!). Whose playfulness? Love of words and music? Humor?

So, here’s to Bob and all the decent, divorced Bobs. Not “Disney dads” trying to buy affection, but admirable, strong fathers unafraid to parent. Someday your kids will appreciate you.

And maybe your ex-wife will, too.