Mr. Write's Page

My ex-wife Deanna lives in Jefferson, a few miles from me. This is a relatively (pun intended) new thing. Up until last fall, Phoenix was her home.

But now, with all of our kids and grandkids back in Georgia and living within an hour of here, Deanna made the move, too. These days, instead of seeing photos of events and activities she missed, she attends them.

The last week of April was a good example.

Wednesday was Field Day at Jefferson Elementary School for the second graders. Field Day is a competition between classes in track and field events. Deanna was on the sideline all morning, cheering for Maddie’s class, The Green Machine.

Thursday was Sarah’s 5th birthday. Sarah is in Pre-K. At lunch time, her mama showed up at the school with chocolate cupcakes for the entire class. Now that Deanna lives here, too, all four of Sarah’s grandparents could be present to see it.

We asked Sarah’s teacher how many of her students could muster all four grandparents for a school event. Sarah is the only one.

Friday was Deanna’s birthday, and we took her to dinner at her favorite restaurant, El Centinela.

Saturday was the day of Sarah’s birthday party. Her parental units rented an inflatable water slide for the kids, and we sat around and watched, and ate snacks, including more chocolate cupcakes.

So, the week was busy and fun and exciting, and Deanna had a blast, and she probably congratulated herself every day for moving back to Georgia.

For me, Friday night at the Mexican restaurant was especially memorable, for reasons I will explain.

El Centinela is Spanish for the sentinel, which sort of implies a setting of silence and solitude.

The restaurant is anything but that. It’s a crazy, noisy place, as Mexican restaurants often are, especially on a Friday night. That makes the place an ideal choice for kids like Maddie and Sarah, who are part jumping bean and whose volume controls often malfunction.

At this point, let me elaborate about my marital status.

Deanna and I got divorced in 1989, which is a long time ago. A couple of decades is plenty long enough for emotions to cool, and we’ve managed to maintain a cordial relationship — probably moreso than many couples who split up.

And that’s cool. I’m all for civility. It’s better for your blood pressure. And it spares the rest of the family a lot of grief and unpleasantness that isn’t their doing.

Now, I always knew that, sooner or later, the grandkids would get curious about us — why we live on opposite sides of town — why we aren’t a couple, like their other grandparents. What’s up with that?

When the matter occurred to the three older grandkids, Kelsey, Katie, and Maddie, they either figured it out for themselves or asked their parents. Divorce isn’t an alien concept to kids these days. They get it.

As for Sarah, the issue had not yet bubbled up. Until Friday night at El Centinela.

It happened after dinner, while we were waiting for the check. The adults were chatting and finishing off a pitcher of Dos Equis. Maddie and Sarah were in orbit around the table, flitting from person to person in an animated fashion.

At one point, Sarah materialized next to me and climbed into my lap. “Rocky,” she said, “I know who your son is, and I know who your wife is.”

Apparently, with so much family stuff going on that week, she had been pondering relationships.

“Dustin is your son,” she declared proudly, “And Grandy is your wife.”

I always knew the subject might come up, but I had no answer prepared.

“You’re right,” I said. “Dustin is my son. And Grandy used to be my wife.”

She blinked in confusion. “Used to be?”

“Well, Grandy and I aren’t married any more. But we’re still friends.”

She looked stunned. “What? You broke up?”

Maddie and The Green Machine at Field Day.

Sarah, the birthday girl.

Deanna and Dustin.