I never expected my parents to split up. I know most children of divorce say that, but mine stuck it out all the way until I was in college. Sure, my dad slept in the guest room sometimes, but that's because he snored...right?
My mom told me she and my dad were separating during Christmas break of my freshman year. That Christmas in particular, watching my parents exchange gifts with little jokes on the tags, guessing the Bruce Springsteen boxed set and Queen Cutlery knives before they opened them, I remember thinking just how lucky I was to have a mother and father who truly loved one another. We always did Christmas as a family of four; me, my folks, and my younger brother hauling the whole operation to my grandmother's house three hours away.
My brother and I would wake up at dawn and rush downstairs to open our stockings before the sun rose; only stockings were allowed before Mom and Dad woke up. We'd shake our presents under the tree until we could hardly stand it any longer, then we'd drag our parents out of bed and Mom would make tea and we'd curl up on the couch with the dogs and exchange gifts. Eventually my grandmother would emerge and force us all to smile for pictures as we groaned and shooed her away and laughed together.
The hardest thing about my parents' divorce has been adjusting to Christmas morning without my dad. My family was never particularly religious--in fact, my dad's side is Jewish, and we grew up celebrating almost every holiday while observing almost none. But Christmas was our tried and true tradition, our chance to just be nice to each other and love each other for a full day, a time for my brother and me to act like kids even once we were far too old. We never strayed from our routine of traveling to Grandma's as a unit, not even that one year we all came down with the flu.
The first couple Christmas mornings after the divorce were rough; I recall more than one instance of flinging verbal assaults at my mother because of it. But over time, my brother, father, and I began to develop a tradition of our own.
It started the Christmas Eve I returned from studying abroad in Spain. Dad picked me up at JFK, and we decided to meet my mom at a central point in Manhattan so she could trek my brother and me to our grandma's in New Jersey per usual. We chose my dad's best friend's apartment as a meeting place; he was already having some other friends over for the holiday, so why didn't we all stay for a glass of wine?
We had so much fun that night that the following year, my dad, brother, and I were invited back. Now, half a decade later, it's become a tradition as ingrained in our holiday season as Christmas morning at Grandma's: My brother and I have a lovely, festive Christmas Eve with our closest family friends on my dad's side, and after dinner, the two of us drive to meet Mom at our grandmother's house. I even look forward to those two hours in the car with my brother, the perfect chance to catch up and trade music.
Divorce is an angry beast--there's no denying that. It's easy to conjure up feelings of loss for the family that once was, especially around the holidays. But one positive outcome of my mom and dad's separation is the close, adult relationships I've fostered with each of my parents individually. These new holiday traditions have been the perfect opportunity for just that.
And besides, my dad must enjoy having Christmas Day to himself now. After all, everyone deserves a break once in a while.