I'd like to thank Kenjisato again for editing and my friend Ashley for input.
I have had complaints my use of clichés well, I like using clichés they bring a little bit of humor into my writing. Thank you for reading.
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Money, the bane of all existence
I had taken a teaching job two hundred miles away from where my third wife, Judy, and I lived in Mesa, AZ. I needed a full-time teaching job.
I was a middle-school shop teacher, a dying breed in the school system. Schools were closing metal and woodwork shops all over the state because it was an expensive subject, as state law interpreted that because students were entitled to a free education, schools could not charge students for anything they made in class. My old-school idea of 'shop class' was to give the kids a dip in the water of careers, using their hands AND brain.
Depression sucks
I also was a rather outspoken thorn (ass) in my principal's side, as I was starting to move up in the teachers' union, even though I was a closet conservative. Most of my views did not meet well with most of the union higher-ups, but when it came to negotiations, they liked me being an SOB. Come contract time, I was always put on the negotiating team since I didn't give a fuck about the liberal teachings, and I didn't give a fuck about the principal's rainbows-and-unicorns ideas. I usually went straight after working conditions and wages.
I had told my principal that he was a horse's ass, and that he should go straight to hell, in twenty five words or less, and that he had had it out for me. Plus, since I was only useful to the union during negotiations, I did not get good union backing.
That year, my second marriage disintegrated because of a slimy, single father of one of the girls in my wife's Girl Scout troop, Paul. My wife, Delilah, had accused me of abusing our son, cop interviews, investigations, and all that shit; I am sure her slimy boyfriend (soon-to-be new husband) was behind the accusations.
I spent the last forty-five days of school in an in-patient mental-healthcare facility for depression, after telling my psychologist when I rode my motorcycle, I felt like the cars were moving in on me and about to sandwich me, anytime I rode down the freeway. I had forty-five days of sick leave accrued, and I also took the summer off, and hoped to start the next school year anew.
The new school year started and the principal put a full-court press on me, to the point of harassment.
The abuse charge was still hanging over my head. The wife got a court order saying I could only see my son with supervision! I said fuck that, I did not abuse my son! I will not be treated like a criminal. He didn't need to see me treated like that. So we went to the psychologist team meetings; one psychologist was, I guess, on my wife's side, and one psychologist on my side. My psychologist won, and after five months, I got to see my son without supervision. We went all over the state—caves, creeks, fishing, swimming at the YMCA, snow play areas, we went to California to see Aunt Jean and the beach. There were times when I brought him home tired, the wife would take him to the walk-in clinic for a blood test to see if I was giving him drugs!
The damn stress was there, so I resigned from my job to be effective at the end of the school year.
That fall, I started substitute teaching in six different districts. Shop teachers loved me. Sometimes, I would be requested by two or three on the same day. I also was certified to teach math, so I had math teachers vying for my services, too.
I was also a sports official and I would take games at some of the outlying high schools because they had a hard time getting officials to this come out to games. My best friend, Bill, and I took volleyball, baseball and softball games all over the state, sometimes overnight. AND, I also officiated high-school football and soccer, and officiated college baseball, soccer, and lacrosse. Sometimes, I would end up in bed with some single softball mom or volleyball mom, who would recognize me in the bar after the games.
I started to go to a new church that had a great singles fellowship. The fellowship was a religious meat market—there were single women, single men, single mothers, divorced dads and more. We got together for volleyball, church services, coffee, movies, and things like that.
I happened to notice a very attractive woman, Judy, who happened to be a teacher. We started going out. I found out she was six years older than me. She had the most beautiful B-cup breasts I'd ever seen. They were awesome.
Then, my father died of cancer. And my wonderful little sister, Jean, got a divorce.
I took one of those Reader's Digest 'How is your mental health?' test. It gave you points for things that had happened to you in the last year, and it said if you had one hundred points or more, you should see a mental healthcare professional. I totaled up my points, and I was over three hundred points.
At that time, my mom decided to go live with my sister in California. That would leave me homeless, so after Judy and I had some discussions, we decided I would move in with her. It was acceptable for her junior-high daughter, because her dad was a 'sommertime' dad—only 'some of time' he would see her, and 'some of time' he didn't.
Married for the third time, gulp
After a few months, we decided to get married. It was really a marriage of convenience; we were more like roommates with benefits. She liked the benefits and new ones, too. Hell, I was a man, so it was okay with me. I can love her. And I did.
Oh, there was love, but no real commitment on her part. We were actually married longer than either one of the times I was married before. With me taking the job out of town, that basically ended it.
The end of Paul
My son's mother divorced the slimy guy she had married. He was physically abusing my stepdaughters and my son. He got arrested for kiddie porn on his work computer, and got fired from a big electronics firm. My ex sent our son to live with me to protect him; finally something smart. She took Paul to the cleaners—the house with the pool, the vacation home, the good car, and half of his retirement. He had taught her well. Karma is a bitch, Paul.
The Ending with Judy
One spring, Judy and I (and Jon) had different weeks for spring break; Jon and I had the first week and the next was her spring break. Jon and I drove up, I dropped Jon off at his mom's and Judy and I had a great week. I helped her grade papers, so we could go out and spend some husband-and-wife time together; just a great time.
The next week, Judy came down to my place, and helped me grade papers. Jon was in seventh heaven to have two parents around at the same time. Judy and I had agreed that she would leave Friday, so to get back and get ready for the week, following the break, with her students. When Jon and I got home, there was a note. It was just like Judy to leave a love note, and it started out like one.
'Had a great time all week with you guys. I am filing for divorce on Monday. I do love you... ...blah, blah, blah, blah. — Judy'
I looked at it and said, "Holy shit, Jon. You don't have a stepmother anymore."
At that time, Jon and I were living in a one-bedroom apartment with a bunk bed that had a full on the bottom and a twin on top. I walked over to the apartment manager's office, and put a bid in on the apartment next to me, which was a two-bedroom, and I knew the lady was moving within the month. I didn't have to save money and put it in the family checking account anymore.
The court
Judy thought she would do a do-it-yourself divorce; that was okay with me, as it saves money. The judge and I had to fix some shit that Judy goofed on. The judge found some errors and then asked me if I knew of them. I promptly told him what I had told Judy a week before, on how it should read.
She had said, "I worked hard on this, I am not changing it." The judge hand-wrote my changes into the divorce papers.
As I left the courtroom, my son asked me, "Where do we go now, dad?"
And I answered, "
We're going to Disneyland
!" like they did on the Super Bowl commercial. My friend Bill was in the back of the courtroom, said all of the women looked daggers at me and the judge, and he had to stifle his laugh.
The divorce was final that day, December 4th. During the Christmas holidays, Judy called me and asked me to come up to see her for New Year's; perhaps, a 'service' call?
I flatly said, "NO!"
She did a little crying, and said she was lonely.
I was able to say no because, one, I did not want to drive two hundred miles, and two, I had just walked in the door from a week in Massachusetts, romancing a very, very hot redhead who could have become my next ex-wife.
Judy hung up, crying.
After three wives