I was married to my daughters mother for a year and a half. I got divorced at age eighteen or maybe I had turned nineteen. It happened so long ago, it seems like I am recalling someone elses life. At the time I was married, I was miserable. Both of us were not equipped for it. Neither of us were faithful. During our marriage, my wife started dating a new guy. I knew him, we had hung out on many occasions. I liked him, he was a cool guy.
One night I came home from work to find she had changed the locks to our house. A four bedroom house, I was somehow allowed to purchase at age eighteen. In the living room her and her boyfriend were laying on the couch, watching a movie. The front window shades were drawn open on purpose, so I would see them. The guy got nervous and ended up locking himself in my bathroom while I took my fists and feet to our brand new Ford Escort. I broke out the headlights, dented the front fenders, hood and broke a rearview mirror off. The funny thing about that is I was actually ecstatic about the thought of our relationship ending. It was tumultuous to say the very least. The night I proposed to her I was going there to break up with her. She had stopped taking birth control without telling me. When I got there, she told me she was pregnant. I immediately got down on one knee and asked her to marry me. Absurd, I know. That is how the end of eleventh grade went down.
A few weeks passed after my Ford Escort episode. I was now living back with my mother while the divorce was raging on. I had a moment of clarity and thoughtfulness. I called the guy she was dating and asked him to go out for a beer. I told him he should know what he was getting in to. He refused for fear of us just meeting up and me kicking his ass. I understood his concern. I should note in any other circumstances he could easily beat me in a fight. He was much bigger than me and he could fight. I had seen him fight on a couple of occasions. Little did I know at that time he had already knocked up my wife and had proposed to her. They had even set a date.
The divorce finally went through after many more wild nights and drag out fights, including my wife walking into a bar with her fiancé to find me (her husband) with another girl and coming over and punching me and trying to kick the girls ass. This happened on several occasions actually. We all hung out in the same places as there were not many bars to go to. Lots of fights, near fights, scenes being made.
A mere two weeks after we divorced, they got married and she was thoroughly pregnant with his baby. A few months after they got married I got a call from her new husband. I answered and the first thing he said was, “I should have gone and had that beer”. I laughed as I knew what hell he was in the middle of. They stayed married a good while though. After their divorce, he and I became friends and we would take our daughters on camping trips and sit up all night fishing and talking about how crazy all that shit was.
Today, twenty-six years later I am sitting at a coffee shop writing out envelopes to send invitations to my granddaughters first birthday. My daughter asked me to design and print them. It just made sense for me to mail them instead of mailing them to her to mail. I wrote out an envelope to my ex-wife and one to her ex-husband. I am telling you and I can not stress this enough. It feels like I am writing as someone that is not me.
At a time I was trying to graduate high school and figure what I was going to do with my life everyone was telling me I had ruined my future. Turns out I have an amazing daughter and two grandchildren. Not a bad place to be at all.