I’d sent a generous sum of money earmarked for Yom Tov clothing, and let my ex do what she wanted with it
Ialways felt self-conscious, sitting in the ice cream parlor on my own with two kids. Like the whole setup just screamed “divorced dad having his visitation.”
Of course, it wasn’t really true. Plenty of fathers take their kids out alone; there’s nothing really attention-calling about it. And the kids — not really kids anymore, Chaya’s already a teenager and Shmuli’s not far behind — loved going out for ice cream. At home, they didn’t get such luxuries, apparently.
“Pizza or ice cream?” I asked them, when they got into the car together one February afternoon. “You guys hungry?”
“Starving,” Shmuli grumbled melodramatically. “Can I get a whole pie for myself?”
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