The Act

And the Oscar goes to… What’s-Her-Name and What’s-His-Face. Fabulous, fabulous; couldn’t be happier for you, really. But let’s talk about acting for a moment. Actors get jobs and then they act for as long as their union contracts stipulate; so many hours a day for so many months. Then the job ends. They drop the façade, go back to their lives, pop open a Tab and finish their games of Angry Birds or Words with Friends, or texting angry words with friends. But what if the acting gig never ended? What if you found yourself in a situation where you had to act intermittently, but all the time, day or night? You have to be always ready to be “on” and the job will never end? And the acting you have to do is truly important and will affect others’ lives deeply and permanently? Know what I’m getting at? Do you see where this is heading?

No one has worked harder at acting than the divorcing parent with his or her children. There is a no more seminal performance necessary than when Mom goes to the ATM and suddenly discovers that her joint bank account has been cleaned out. What does she do when she gets back to the car with her kids in the backseat? She acts. And when the husband arrives home unexpectedly to find another man’s car in the driveway? And the ensuing argument wakes the sleeping child? You better believe he needs to act. Because when those parents can put a tourniquet—not a Cub-Scout-first-aide-lesson tourniquet, but a stranded-in-the-Alaskan-frontier-without-a-flare-gun tourniquet—on their true emotions and look into their child’s face and say—WITH A SMILE—“Everything’s okay,”—man, oh, man, that’s acting. And to be that convincing takes Herculean Lawrence Olivier ability.

Because every fiber of your being is screaming with desire to tell your precious cherub what a stinker her parent is. Your misery wants company so badly that your body aches to sit your children down and tell them all the nasty little details of who had the nerve to do what to whom. But you don’t. In stead, you act. Because if you’re a good parent—which is code for selfless parent-- you will pretend to your child every time he comes breathlessly in the back door with blithe spirit and flushed cheeks, that the crisis you are in isn’t happening to him. Because, in fact, it isn’t. Your marriage is just that-- yours. So you must act your little heart out when she asks if Daddy can come to her birthday party or Mom can come to his big game. You smile, and you say yes, and then you act for the duration of the meal, chewing the inside of your cheek if you must to remain on task and not let the little barbs lined up in your tear ducts fire from within every time you look at him. You act that you’re happy to be on the same set of bleachers with your disloyal wife in front of your knowing community, because all that acting—in the long run—will bear the fruit of confidence in your child. All your acting will allow your children to grow up and not have to act; so that your sons can be their most relaxed self, and your daughters can feel precious and loved.

Because the whole name of the divorce game is love, and if your kids don’t feel that they have permission to love both their parents equally, they’ll take you down as teenagers and most likely take themselves down as adults. So, you act. You act your heart out. And when your daughter gets dropped off from a vacation with Daddy wearing earrings that his new girlfriend picked out for her, you smile and tell her how great they look. And when your son arrives home telling you how mom’s new husband was really helpful with his science fair project—because he’s sooo smart-- you beam. “What a great guy,” you even say out loud because for you, divorced parent, Oscar season never ends.

So, as impressed as I am with Meryl and Jean Dujardin, I am so very in awe of you. When your children are older and well adjusted; you’ll know when the time is right. When they’ve asked you for the hundredth time or perhaps for the very first time to tell you what happened; then you can be honest. And that will be your acceptance speech. Keep it brief, and list all the reasons you're grateful and thank all the people who helped you through. Until then, though, whatever you do and however you’re feeling-- no matter what-- keep acting.