by Roger McEwan
Having read numerous blogs and listened to stories from friends, I think many people forget a fundamental fact about relationships: two of the people involved in every separation are adults. If you’re blaming your ex for your problems then you’re acting like a child; you’re part of the problem and not part of the solution. Adults sort out problems. Children name-call, slam doors, threaten, throw tantrums, storm off, don’t speak to you and generally try to be as obnoxious as they can until they get their way. If your own behaviour has any of those elements then it’s time to wake up and smell the coffee.
There will be cases where one parent is sadly misguided and deliberately uses his or her children as pawns for revenge or gain. I’ve heard many stories of people using childish tactics such as stopping financial payments, not taking the children to events or to get their way by generally just being an overgrown bully. If your partner or ex is like that, I have to acknowledge that it makes life bloody difficult and you have my sympathy. When adults act like spoilt brats it’s a tough situation to deal with. I hope I’m not being optimistic or naïve when I think that for the majority of people this isn’t the case and each parent is trying to do what’s best.
If you’re in a situation where your ex puts their needs ahead of your children’s and acts appallingly, I think you need to establish distinct boundaries. In this way you can hopefully control the frequency and nature of any interactions, thus minimising the impact on yourself and your children. For example, use school for change-overs. One parent drops the children at school in the morning and the other parent picks them up after school. I use the word ‘hopefully’ because you may need legal help to enforce the boundaries. Parents who don’t ‘get it’ are unlikely to respect boundaries that don’t have legal consequences if they’re breached. The increased recognition of domestic violence, although long overdue, has been incredibly positive.
If you recognise your own behaviour is not in the best interests of your children, you need to quickly build a bridge and take responsibility for your actions. You may need help to do this and there are a range of options available that will help you work through your personal issues. There’s never an excuse for acting like a child, even if they did do it first!
If you want an extremely positive example, Nelson Mandela spent twenty-seven years in prison and when he was released he bore his captors no animosity. How powerful is that! He exercised his choice to forgive and went on to do great things, incredible things. Imagine if he focused on revenge. His legacy, and that of the South African people, would be dramatically different and closer to that of Idi Amin or Muammar Gadaffi.
It’s in your own best interests to choose to let things go. It takes considerable energy to keep bitterness and resentment burning and it’s a waste. Do something positive with that energy and free yourself at the same time.
I don’t intend to finish this chapter with my top ten tips for improving the relationship with your ex. I hope it’s obvious that I don’t believe that’s the way the world works. If you want some tips use Google and you’ll be greeted with thousands of results. In among the madness there’ll be the odd piece of useful advice.
I think it’s easiest to keep it simple. The things you need to concentrate on are the basics for dealing with anyone: trust, honesty, listening, keeping your word, saying sorry, being empathic, etc. My grandma taught me what she called the golden rule – do unto others as you would have them do unto you. It really isn’t rocket science and as that advice comes from the Bible, it’s been around for a while.
Ultimately it can all be summed up in the phrase ‘act like an adult’. Being an adult has no correlation with age. It’s about your level of maturity and there are many middle-aged children around. Calm, rational, fair, wise, self-sacrificing, patient, reliable, trustworthy and honest are words I associate with acting like an adult. No matter what your ex, spouse, partner, lover or good friend does, if you always act as an adult then over time your relationship with them will change. The logic behind this comes from transactional analysis – check it out if you feel like diving into the theory. Be wary though; academics and experts are great at making common-sense bloody complex and hard to understand.
And definitely use sunscreen.
Reflections
What you say reveals more about you than anything else. Have a think about that before discussing your ex in a public forum.
Keep your children out of all disputes, debates and discussions. They may be little but they have big ears and will form an opinion.
If you’re recently separated, or your about to separate, it’s difficult to think and act fairly and justly but this is when you need to the most. Someone’s got to take the lead, so it may as well be you.
Separating is not an excuse for acting like a child, no matter who did what first. It’s your choice whether you act like an adult or a child.
Try to create an environment that allows bridge building between yourself and your ex, and those bridges will slowly build.
If you get on well with your ex, your children will be less likely to get one over you. They will still try, though, and you may get taken for the odd entrée.
18. Travelling
I have found out that there ain’t no surer way to find out whether you like people or hate them than to travel with them.
Mark Twain (writer, 1835-1910)
There are pluses and minuses to travelling with children when you’re a single parent. On the minus side, a second pair of adult eyes is handy when you’re trying to ensure no one is left behind or lost in the torrent of people encountered in airports and tourist attractions. Also, the comfort of being completely off duty when travelling is a luxury I haven’t had in years. I’ve had to get used to reading with one eye on Rog and Liv and, when nature demands, going to the toilet in extreme haste. I remind my children, in my own fatherly way, that they too need to stay alert. It’s become easier, but you have to stay alert as they’re still children and I’m responsible.
On the plus side, I get to decide where we’re going. That may not sound like a huge plus, but it removes any discussion about spending valuable holiday time visiting in-laws. That alone, I’m sure, would make it a massive plus for many people.
I choose destinations with Rog and Liv firmly in mind as you have to balance the perception of an idyllic family holiday with realism. Lounging around a pool all day, watching the comings and goings and waiting for the bar to open may sound idyllic. But paint into that picture two ratbags who’ve been asking ‘What are we going to do now?’ every five minutes and the imaginary joy evaporates. You also would have to pretend they aren’t your children when they try and drown each other out of boredom.
Once I’ve selected our destination the art is to have fun getting there. I want to be the ideal travelling family where everyone, especially me, is having fun. More prevalent are families on the edge. The mother leads the way, determined and unblinking, dragging a small party of bored and rebellious children and the father plods five metres behind looking defeated. Next time you’re travelling take a look around and you’ll spot the stressed, manic parents holding it together because they’re in public. That’s no way to travel.
We don’t have a part to play in those scenes. The children and I are in the smiling and laughing camp making the most of our travelling experience. It isn’t luck having sensible and self-contained children, it’s the result of consistent hard work. That effort is rewarded when we are journeying because they’re like small adults and I can relax somewhat knowing that I’m unlikely to find one of them dangling over the rail of the ferry because the other laid down a dare. They aren’t perfect, but a semi-loud ‘Oi’ is all that’s needed to settle things down. That or I threaten them financially. Hitting them in the pocket always makes them think twice. Occasionally I have to play the big, bad dad, but that’s because occasionally they’re being little brats. Not often.
The trick is making travelling a part of the adventure and not a chore on the way to the adventure. It should be exactly the same for adults. If travelling is part of the holiday then there’s no excuse for looking miserable. We actually live in a rather privileged age where travel is easy and available for many people (though not all by any means). Wind the clock back a few decades and most people stayed the majority of their lives close to where they were born. That’s why the opportunity to travel, even if it meant heading to war, was so attractive to younger generations. That and the fact that war was criminally oversold as a fun adventure: two weeks in Europe or the desert and then home in time for tea.
The children and I have embarked on a range of holidays – both close to home and the odd major jaunt – and they’ve all been amazing and positive experiences. Experiences that I have no doubt will play a significant part in shaping their lives. When the opportunity arose to take the children to the UK it was a no-brainer. Yes it was expensive and no I’m not lucky. I used the bank’s money. The only downside is that they want it back with interest. My logic has always been that one day I’ll have the money to travel but not with the children, and so we need to travel now. I’ll square the ledger in the future.
ENJOY THE JOURNEY
Leading up to the UK trip I sold the children on how much fun you can have on an aeroplane. I explained they would have their own screen and they could watch movies and play games. Even more attractive to Rog and Liv was the fact that we would get fed regularly. By the time we were packed and ready to go, although they knew it would be long trip, they were chomping at the bit. In case they got bored I was prepared with books, drawing equipment, magazines and snacks. My hard-earned lessons on parental organisation were standing me in good stead.
The first leg of the journey, which took ten hours, took us to Los Angeles and it turned out to be a doddle. The children happily watched movies and buzzed the flight attendants for extra snacks. Rog watched Wallace and Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit four times. Given there was a large range of movies to choose from, I found this … curious.
Liv was more eclectic in her choices and loved playing Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? As the questions are aimed at an adult audience, Liv drew me into her games and at each question she didn’t know the answer to she would turn to me with hopeful eyes. When my answers failed to deliver up a million dollars, as they did consistently, she frowned deeply. The questions were just like the TV game. They start at moronic – which fruit with a bend in it is yellow? They become general knowledge before you near the end when they become ridiculously difficult – if you planted the seeds of Quercus robur, what would grow? Although Liv was disappointed at not hitting the mythical jackpot, we all arrived in LA in great shape.
If you’ve travelled via the US then you’ll be aware that in the post-9/11 world the Americans have developed an understandable, but unhealthy, suspicion of travellers. Even those from countries who are in the Five Eyes spy club with them. We weren’t allowed to mix and mingle with other passengers and we were escorted to a secure transit lounge where the children discovered, much to their joy, that the snacks and drinks were free. My children are low maintenance and they tucked in with gusto while I decided that a beer was on the cards as it must be five o’clock somewhere. I then discovered there was no bar in this isolated part of the airport.
The two hours in the transit lounge went quickly in a blaze of chips, apples and sodas – but no beer. We were soon back in the air where tiredness finally overtook the children. Liv fell asleep on her tray table waiting for dinner and I’m not sure how Rog managed to curl up in his seat, but he did. I dozed off for a while but it’s difficult to sleep for long and we were all awake again. Rog was back watching Wallace and Gromit (really?) and Liv, feeling miffed, was buzzing for snacks to make up for the dinner she missed.
We touched down at Heathrow airport twenty-eight hours after we’d locked the front door and the travel had gone without a hitch. More than that, it had been a fun, exciting experience and the right way to kick off three wonderful weeks together touring England and a bit of France.
But while an overseas trip maybe the ultimate travel adventure, you don’t have to journey out of your own country to have wonderful family holidays. As many more New Zealanders have visited Australia than Stewart Island, the smallest of New Zealand’s main islands, I thought it would be a great trip for the three of us to tackle.
The children knew we were heading for Stewart Island but I didn’t tell them how we were going to get there. They assumed we would be driving, but instead I developed an itinerary based on the film Planes, Trains and Automobiles that saw John Candy and Steve Martin have to navigate their way home using all manner of transport options after their plane was grounded due to snow.
‘Who’s in front first?’ Liv asked as we locked the door behind us.
The front seat of the car has taken on monumental importance in my children’s world because it means control of the music. When I’m feeling tired or hungover, and I can’t be bothered refereeing, I announce ‘Both in the back’. Liv’s face will invariably appear at the front passenger window testing the water with a hopeful smile. ‘Ten dollars’ is my response – my charge if she insists on sitting in the front. Her smile will invert and she’ll slink off to the back with a ‘Poo you, Dad’.
‘So, who’s in front?’ Liv asked again.
‘Neither,’ I said, smiling.
‘Poo you, Dad.’ She somehow managed to say it with affection.
‘We aren’t taking the car.’ I enjoyed their confused looks for a moment before adding, ‘We’re walking.’
‘Walking to Stewart Island, what the …’
‘Now now,’ I said, cutting them off unless they inadvertently completed the sentence.
‘Walking to the bus station. Come on, we’ll get breakfast on the way.’ And we set off for Stewart Island on foot. I was wheeling our combined suitcase with the daypack over my shoulder. The children, ten and twelve, were carrying nothing. What a great dad!
The first leg of the journey was by bus to Wellington. I got the children the two front seats so they had a great view, something I’ve always taken childlike pleasure from. We stayed overnight in Wellington and we were up early the next morning to catch the ferry, our next form of transport.
There’s lots of time to kill when travelling, and to counter the boredom I was armed with books, magazines, iPods and a deck of cards. We found a comfortable spot near the café and I got out the cards. Liv, who adores games, sprang to life and Rog, just as keenly, put his book down.
‘Last Card?’ Liv said excitedly.
This was the only game my children knew at the time, apart from Snap and Pick Up 52 (which is only ever played once).
‘No, I thought I’d teach you a new game, Euchre. We played it a lot in my cricket days when it rained,’ I explained.
‘Eureka,’ Liv said, trying out the new word.
‘Euchre. You car.’ I annunciated it slowly to help get her head around the new word.
As Liv has grown she’s given me many special linguistic moments. Recently she said to me, ‘I know what you’re up to, because I’m side kick.’ Her sentence, as they sometimes do, stopped me in my tracks.
‘Psychic?’ I offered tentatively. Her face gave it away and, as I melted with laughter, I had to cover up as she rained down blows and admonishing cries.
Other memorable Liv’isms include a note with the words ‘cereal killer’. I can’t recall why she needed to use those particular words but it made sense at the time and I wasn’t alarmed. Her use of the words ‘tamofo’ and ‘o’sausages’ had me smiling for days. If you’re struggling to interpret them, I’ll put them into the context in which she used them. ‘Dad, do you use the font Tamofo?’ And ‘I’ve got a sore throat, I think I’ve hurt my o’sausages’.
We played a couple of open hands of Euchre
so the children could pick up the basics and they were hooked. Euchre – although for Liv it remained eureka for most of the trip – became an integral part of our travels and our favourite evening relaxation.
Our next mode of transport was the Coastal Pacific train. I love trains, although not to the level of being a trainspotter, and the Coastal Pacific is one of the best train trips in New Zealand. Although we were one of the last to board the train, the lovely lady in the ticket office said she had perfect seats for us, and she wasn’t lying. Three seats around a table right next to the observation car, an open car in which you can wander around and take in the view, and as far away from the buffet car and temptation as possible. Perfect.
We spent two days in Christchurch, where we saw at first hand the extent of the damage from the recent earthquakes. Parts of the city looked as if we had been transported to Aleppo or Beirut.
We hired a car to continue our journey, public transport south of Christchurch being problematic. We stopped at Dunedin, where we spent another two days taking in the sights. One place had the children bubbling with excitement – a tour of the Cadbury chocolate factory, where we ate and purchased enough chocolate to double our chances of type two diabetes. The Otago Museum and Baldwin Street, the steepest street in the Southern Hemisphere, were ticked off our list before it was time to be back on the road.
Invercargill was our last stop before Stewart Island. We stayed overnight and had an early-morning breakfast of muffins with hot chocolate for the children and coffee for me. Then we caught the bus to Bluff, the southernmost point of the South Island, where a catamaran was waiting to take us on the final leg of our journey across Foveaux Strait.
Nicknamed the ‘roaring forties’ for its latitude and roughness, it didn’t disappoint. The swells were impressive and during parts of journey the catamaran more kangarooed than cut through the waves. When I thought it was getting particularly rough, I glanced at the captain, who was yawning. I took this to be a good sign. Rog’s and my sea legs held up but Liv, who started out enthusiastically, ended up heaving over the back.
