The Sunday Night Swap

I've seen it in two different parking lots around my home here lately.

On Sunday evening....about 6 pm...two cars pull up to parallel spots at the end of the parking lot. In the spots far removed from the store.

They're not there to shop, they're certainly not there for fun...they're there to fulfill a court-ordered arrangement...the child swap...

Sometimes the cars have other passengers in them...the new wife or boyfriend...the "exes" meet out back near the trunk where they hand off the offspring.

I'm drawn to it.

The human drama of a kid's life when he swapped from one house to the next... He hugs tightly the departing parent...obviously unwilling to let go...but he has no vote...definately not the age of majority...

I lived it.

I'm not a particulary "navel gazing" type. If I spent too much time thinking about the deep marks left by the shoes of the past on my soul...I'd have to deal with it...I'd rather not.

Clearly...I'm not in touch with a therapist...

Yet, this drama lived out in parking lots around my home grabs me at tender spot...and I experience some some sort of foundational memory...that stirs me powerfully...like my very identity is scraped again by the rake of "disfunctionality."

I'm not pious or delusional about divorce...it could happen to the best marriage...even mine...

But somewhere in the "Mommy and Daddy want to do what is best for you, even though we don't live together anymore" I felt like merchandise...swapped in the grocery store parking lot...

...Every Sunday night...