I’ve heard the divorce stories. You know, the ones where she takes the paid-off SUV and leaves the man with the sedan with payments remaining. The one where my uncle took my aunt’s hand-knit lace doilies that my great-grandmother made. The one where she took his favorite movies from the shelf. But this one…this one I hadn’t heard before. And it’s my story.
…
It was August 2019 and we finally, after three months of nearly always talking about it, told the kids that we were getting divorced. He was going to move out and soon. Right. Well, not as soon as I had hoped.
It was October when he finally moved out, after threatening me, telling me that I should move out and he should keep the family home, even though I would most definitely get the kids. And after his insane sister called and told me that she thought he should even keep the kids with him…because he was such a good dad. Little did she know. (By the time she got off the phone with me she knew a fair deal more…)
It was May when I knew it was over. It was no joke. The yelling and swearing on Mother’s Day had broken every last bit of affection I had for him into shards that stabbed at me, not unlike many of his words for decades, and continue to baffle me to this day. The barriers to moving forward had fallen suddenly and violently.
…
Fast forward through a hellish 2.5 years of Divorce Roulette (where I absolutely died at the end), and it was over. But it’s never really over, is it?
It’s been 2.5 years since that final decree that changed my life for the rest of my life (and not in a good way) and I got a phone call from my son.
He invited his father to come meet his first grandchild. My son wanted to be on HIS turf, to be in HIS space with HIS people when his father was around. His father is a powerful manipulator and narcissist and each of his children know him well enough to know what they need to keep themselves safe. But my son was kind enough to let him visit.
In the conversation discussing this plan, my ex asked, “Hey, do you want me to bring some sourdough starter down with me? It’s the starter from all the bread you grew up with.”
Sidenote: I raised my kids on a farm with chickens, ducks, goats, and sourdough bread. Lots of bread. Long before it was a trend…
Back to the story:
“I’ll teach you how to make sourdough bread if you want”, he said.
“Sure”, my son stated. Then got off of the phone and immediately called me. There was a story to tell.
…
You see, I was JUST down there for a little over a week, making SOURDOUGH bread with a new starter. I was cooking and cleaning and helping take care of the baby. I was prepping for the baptism and the gathering afterward.
But in one of the millions of conversations it came up that during the divorce, my sourdough starter disappeared from the fridge. It was actually AFTER the divorce. One day, I just couldn’t find it when I was going to feed it.
I lived in an old farmhouse, with a door that locks, but with no key. So, when I leave it, it stays open. And guess who went into my house one day, a couple of years after he moved out? I’ll give you one guess.
Yeah…the sourdough starter thief.
…
Bizarre as it is, it’s still a little funny. You see, my ex didn’t even know how to use the washing machine when he moved out. He hadn’t cooked for nearly 25 years. He had never cleaned the house either. He had refused to help parent our children or show up for me when I needed him most. And now…he is the sourdough superhero.
My ex is there now, no doubt talking about himself. He is likely telling my son about his new certifications in shamanism and reiki and his pole vaulting HS girls track team. He’s likely talking about his new 100K plus job at the university that I first got him a job at a decade ago. He’s talking because that’s what he does best.
And he might even “teach” my son how to make sourdough. Not because my son needs to know. He already has my new starter and his mother-in-law’s starter in his fridge with recipes “and instructions. I already taught his wife. But…he’s the sourdough superhero.
Get out of his way, folks. He’s going to save the day, one loaf at a time.
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This post was previously published on medium.com.
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From The Good Men Project on Medium
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Photo credit: Margaret Jaszowska on Unsplash
