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So . . . . . just how long are you “divorced?”

Let me explain. Recently, talking with a male friend who has been divorced about as long as I have, he confessed that, when confronted with a form asking whether he was “single,” “married” or “divorced;” he puts himself in the “single” column.

I thought, but perhaps didn’t say, “But that’s a lie and probably violates the entire reason the form had for asking the question in the first place.” Statistically once you’ve been divorced, forever you’ve been divorced; unless of course, you remarry. Some people should just count their blessings forms don’t ask for a “number of times” in addition to the “divorced” column.

But seriously. No one can take away the achievements you’ve had in life. You were the prom queen, the valedictorian, the top salesman for the third quarter, an executive at a Fortune 500 company, given “The World’s Best Dad” mug from your daughter. Those things are all yours whether you lose your figure, can’t work a computer, can’t make a sale during the fourth quarter, get downsized out onto the street or find out your daughter “hates” you. At the same time, if you declared bankruptcy, burnt a house down, wrecked an oil tanker causing a big oil spill or got divorced; you can’t just magically erase those things either.

Put it this way: if you encounter a form that asks whether you ever burnt a house down and you once did? You can’t say “no” simply because you don’t have a match in your hand right now.

Of course that’s just the forms . . . . the facts. Anyone the south side of 40 has learned not to let “the facts” get in the way of “the truth.” My driver’s license may tell you my chronological age, but it doesn’t exactly say how old I am . . . . . Scratch an adult the right way and you’ll discover huge chunks of kid just underneath.

After all the forms are filled out, it’s not the facts that are important; it’s how we frame and label ourselves “based” on the facts.

How long are you “divorced?”

I know a man locally, let's call him Matthew, who has been divorced as long as I’ve known him, about 15 years. I’ve never even seen his wife. Yet, let the conversation stray just the wrong way and Matthew's good for at least a half hour of “my ex-wife” tirade conveyed with vehemence that would make you think it all happened yesterday. “Divorced” is a suit he wears and it is one he finds so comfortable he will wear it forever. Of course, it is just one suit in an entire line of clothing I think we could call the “things that have been done to me” collection. It’s not a new collection, but Matthew's added to it over the years and the clothes now fit so well, he forgets where the fabric ends and he begins. It has become his identity and he’d feel naked without it. Perhaps it began an elaborate “misery loves company” “you show me yours, I’ll show you mine” game or maybe Matthew just developed a strong “sympathy” tooth and like a rat trapped in a maze that once magically produced cheese, he just keeps pushing the button.

At the same time there’s a woman I know locally, let's call her Sherry. On her Facebook page, Sherry's divorce is listed, right on the same luggage rack, side by side, with her education, her employment and her hobbies. In fact, her divorce is given more weight than those other things: The divorce is the only one where Sherry describes the quality of the entry, noting it gave her a "valuable life lesson." She has no problem marking that "divorced" column and probably wishes more forms asked the question. If you told her "your divorce happened more than a decade ago, you're supposed to mark 'single' now." Sherry would feel cheated. "But I wasted years of my life on that marriage and for what?" Sherry's divorce isn't a suit in an entire line of clothing, it is more like a ring or a pin she earned for years of service; and like any good accessory, she finds it suitable, not just for special occasions, but for every day use.

How did Sherry fill out the rest of the Facebook form?

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