I have always envied my father for his social skills. His ability to walk into a room and be able to talk to anyone amazes me. I cannot do that. It’s a skill that his entire family has. Unfortunately, my mother’s family does not and I am very much my mother’s son (in a lot of ways).

I have always been uneasy in social situations because I do not understand the rules of any particular group of people until I’ve had time to study them and discover where the lines of social interaction fracture and divide them into discreet groups. (Maybe that’s my problem.) To watch someone walk up to a group of unknown people and fearlessly begin to interact with them is a talent that eludes me and fascinates me in the same breath. I cannot do that.

To be certain, a group of people I do know is a completely different story. With people that I’m familiar with, I am unafraid to offer my own opinions, jokes and observations. The difference is, I feel, that these people know me and have already made their judgments about who I am as a person (and I have done the same about them). It’s very much a matter of comfort levels and, while I have a very high tolerance for things I have no interest in, I do require a certain degree of personal comfort before I’m willing to invest my time and energy.

Knowing this about myself and my parents makes me wonder about their marriage. While my father may be a very social animal, he is also a very difficult person to live with. (And so am I.) The one thing I learned from my divorce is that just because you love someone does not mean that you can (or should) live with them. I think that aspect of their personalities had more to do with their separation than either of them would be willing to admit.

I am keenly aware of irony. It’s something that my grandfather taught me to appreciate in life. Examining the absurdity of a situation has become second nature to me, if only because I can appreciate the loops of story that bind one person to another until they are tied together by a phrase or scene that can only be understood in context. This time, though, I don’t want to examine the context and irony of the marriage that produced me. Beyond the fact that it seems to be an overly futile exercise, it’s not my job. I have my own life and divorce to sort out. There are all manner of echoes that I could pay attention to, if I were so inclined, but I’m not.

It’s just not something I really want to examine in any detail. Not right now. Maybe not ever. It’s simply none of my business.