What’s in a “Broken Home”?

I was born in 1969, to parents who were aspiring to live a revolutionary life.  For them, this simply meant working against and outside of “the system” as much as they possibly could.  They never married.  When I was two they split and decided to end a romance that had facilitated my arrival onto the planet.  By traditional standards I was a bastard child born out of wedlock to two young people who had never really considered marriage.  Some might say that I was the product of a “broken home,” or a home that never really existed.

Though my parents were young people they believed that there was indeed another way to live in the world.  They tried, as many did, “to be the change that they wished to see.”  Their politics and sense of radical purpose facilitated a tremendous distrust in the U.S. legal system.  So when they decided to go their separate ways they had to make some critical decisions about how I would be cared for.  Up until I was about four years old, they both continued to live in Los Angeles and juggle their parenting responsibilities between themselves and their networks of family and friends around the city.

Yet between four and five my Mother decided to relocate to Atlanta, Georgia so that she could work in factories and organize workers at “the point of production”.  My father had also decided to go south and assist Black farmers in Southwest Georgia in their fight to maintain sovereignty over their land.  I primarily lived with my Mother in Atlanta, but my Father would come up fairly regularly to spend time with me.  At one point he even moved in and lived in our basement temporarily.

Eventually my father left the South and returned to Los Angeles.  At some point during my early years they decided that I would live with each parent during alternating years.  There was no legal work or child support arrangements.  They lived by one simple rule.  Who ever had me took care of all of my expenses with the other parent contributing support whenever they saw fit.  My life was not perfect (whose is), but it was tremendously functional and emotionally tranquil.  I never heard or witnessed my parents argue when I was a child.  They often hugged when they greeted each other and emitted a deep since of sincerity and interest in the well being of the other person.  There was always laughter and humor in the room.  They never made me feel like I had to choose or side with one parent over the other.  In a word, they were principled when it came to me.

Unlike my parents, however, I chose to marry and begin a family in wedlock. My marriage lasted nearly seven years and we were fortunate to have two amazing children.  Though insurmountable challenges ended our marriage, I knew that new challenges lied ahead.  Fortunately, I had a sustainable model to turn to for direction; my “broken home.”