Learning to honor

The black duffel bag is on my bed.

“Okay! Come on now! Collect five pair of underwear and five pair of socks. Your Shabbos shoes aren’t in their normal place. Please find them! Here’s your new white shirt and l’kovod Shabbos yarmulke. Put them on top where they won’t get squished.”

Kovod. Honor.

This is a scene that gets replayed every three weeks. His nicest clothing, laundered and folded just so. His suit clean and little black loafers are polished.

He’s headed to his father’s for the weekend.

A decade ago I watched a dear friend struggle with weekend visitation. His ex wife never wanted to share their daughter’s nicer clothing, sent them in near rags. They had beautiful things, but as far as the ex was concerned, it was up to the father to provide separate clothing to be worn when they were with him. They always arrived late and ill prepared. Instead of enjoying their time together, they were running around for necessities.

I’ve seen this play out with other divorced friends and was determined when our marriage ended not to subject my former husband or our child to this punishment. Our kids see it all. We don’t have to say a thing. Don’t tell your kids to honor the other parent unless you’re prepared to do it yourself.

Not so easy, you say? Don’t I know it!

I decided to practice kovod. I would honor my ex husband in ways that had become difficult at the end of our marriage. I would do it so our son could without reservation.

At first it wasn’t easy. We were still hashing out financial details and these discussions became heated. The solution was to restrict our contact on these matters to email and if we had to speak, do so during school hours. It was rough.

Over time and with practice, it became easier. Conversation became lighter and communicating our son’s needs wasn’t painful at all. We reframed it into a holy endeavor. We became friends again.

Today it’s no longer an act. I deeply respect my ex husband and his contribution to our son’s life. His approach to child rearing is mostly in line with ours and the ways in which it’s not aren’t harmful. I include him in all decisions because it’s his right to be involved. His opinion matters.

My ex has fully accepted my new husband as our son’s third parent. By doing so, he’s given our child permission to love his Abba as much as himself.

This played out unexpectedly during one of the drop offs. I looked up and saw my son had one hand in his father’s and the other in my husband’s. The two men glanced at each other and at the little boy they love without an ounce of awkwardness.

I had to look away to hide the tears in my eyes.