I’ve passed many a satisfactory hour complaining about my ex-wife, bitching about the logistics of our shared custody, and congratulating myself with the thought that all our problems are her fault. And they are. Seriously.

One thing I’ve learned, though, is someone always has it tougher than me. This past weekend Tomoko and I drove down to D.C. to visit a friend of hers who had just had a baby. The friend’s husband had a teenage daughter from a previous marriage. They had a custody arrangement similar to mine, joint, with lots of moving the child back and forth over the course of each week.

What’s more, the teenage girl’s mother had only just remarried, to a man who had two boys from his previous marriage. They, too, had a complicated custody arrangement with much back and forth, only in their case, the girls mom and her new husband had chosen not to live together, because making the custody work–the boys live and go to school in Virginia, the girl lives and goes to school in Maryland–would have been impossible.

These are all teenagers and college isn’t that far off. But at least for the next several years this triangular, multi-state, multi-home, tri-divorced, tri-kid, mish-mish will hold. My ex-wife lives three blocks from me. My son goes to a school equidistant from both of our homes.

I’m still right and she’s still wrong. But it could definitely be worse.

Seemingly from nowhere JP discovered baseball about three weeks ago, when he demanded a glove and bat, started watching games with me before bed, made serial inquiries as to when we might attend a game, and also wanted to know when he could participate in his own “big game” (his phrase).

I was a little unprepared for this, as he hadn’t shown any interest in baseball to that point, and he was also already enrolled in two other athletic activities, hockey and swimming, which take up the better part of our weekends.

Hockey, which is dead cute when done by four-year-olds, ended a couple of weeks ago, and I decided to see if I could sign JP up for baseball. According to the website of the local organization that runs kid baseball in my neighborhood, JP, who just turned five, was too old for T-Ball, and would be placed in “Pee Wee”. Fine.

I should explain that all of JP’s activities come only after prolonged and Kafkaesque negotiations between his mother and me. The reason for this is that, generally speaking, his extracurriculars fall into the nebulous black hole known as “our time”. That is, we switch off weekends with JP, and if baseball is on Saturday, for example, then one week I bring him to the game and the next one his mother would. Her time and my time. Which means we have to cooperate, which is never easy for either of us.

JP’s mother was only moderately enthusiastic about baseball. Her biggest concern was she didn’t think JP was ready for Pee Wee. Given that she has never played even a second of baseball in her life, I’m not sure how she made this determination, but there it is. When I told her that he had already aged out of T-ball she suggested I call the league and see if I could plead with them. I didn’t want to do this.

Don’t get me wrong: JP is only an average athlete (he has my genes), and at this stage, he can’t hit, run, throw, or catch. Which is only to be expected, particularly as he has never really played before. I knew that most of the kids in the league would have learned the basics the year before in T-ball, and it might be hard for JP at first, but I figured he would pick things up. Meanwhile, I didn’t see any reason to stick him with the little kids just because baseball was a new interest.

This gets at a fairly common mother-father interaction, in which mom wants to protect the body and self-esteem of the offspring, while dad wants said child to “suck it up” and be thrown headfirst into the pool. In a divorce, the instincts of each parent aren’t fettered by having to live with the other person. There’s a tendency, then, to go further in the direction of your natural inclination than you might otherwise. In my case, my inclination isn’t necessarily to push JP: it’s to believe that I’m always right. I never asked to see if he could be placed in T-ball.

Ultimately, it made no difference. I had missed the deadline to sign him up, so young Casey will have to wait ’til next spring to strike out. Meanwhile, JP and I have been going to the park and learning the fundamentals as best I can teach them, including having him hit off a tee.

He’s getting pretty good.

When you get divorced people tend to ask a lot of questions, most of which are uncomfortable. I won’t bother going into all of them and limit myself to the most frequently asked one: How are you going to feel when your ex brings a new partner around your son?

The sexist implications of this one always irked me (feminist that I am). It seemed to suggest that my ex-wife and son were possessions that I needed to guard,. Another person–presumably another guy–messing with my goods was a circumstance one ought to confront aggressively. Not reacting in this fashion further suggested a lack of male fortitude (which is a nice way of saying if you–as Dad–can’t beat up someone trying to be you–as Dad–then Dad–or you–is a pussy).

Truth is, right after I split with JP’s mother I wasn’t sure how I would react when and if she found a new person. I thought I wouldn’t care–one of the reasons I knew I wanted a divorce was that so little about my ex could rouse emotion in me (other than anger)–but it was hard to predict. I tried to play scenarios out in my mind, imagining what it would be like to see JP in the playground with another person caring for him. Nothing really came of it.

Ultimately, I did feel something when my ex got serious with another person (they live together now): relief. I was never able to communicate successfully with JP’s mother while we were married; interacting with her when we no longer were proved no easier. But her partner, at least on a superficial level, was someone I could talk to. Now if I have to arrange things relating to JP, I try as much as possible to involve his mother’s partner. It makes my life simpler, reduces the number of fights, and allows me to deal with someone who seems more rational than my ex (although the choice of taking my ex as a partner does tend to make me wonder).

I figured this all out only recently, when JP, after years of bitter, agile, asymmetric, VC-like resistance, surrendered and began eating his vegetables. Is he thrilled by asparagus? Amused by arugula? Enthralled with cauliflower? No. But he eats them, with only a pro forma effort at arguing, negotiating, and weeping.

When this began I asked my ex what she had done. I certainly hadn’t come up with any solutions. She told me it wasn’t her, but her partner who had gotten fed up with JP not eating his vegetables, and with methods the CIA might recognize and approve of, had broken his will and set him in a more positive direction.

This is a good thing, and no threat to me at all. I’ll just have to teach him how to throw.

I both enjoy and kinda dread the process by which JP figures things out regarding his life as a child whose parents have divorced. I enjoy it because I enjoy being witness to his development emotionally and mentally, and because it’s often funny (ever see a kid try to figure how to take off his own t-shirt?–pure slapstick). I dread it because I know that his life so far has been one of some tumult and change and it saddens me to have to face it.

We’ve had a few discussions of late about what marriage is, what it means, and what his role will be in the wedding ceremony I’m having with Tomoko later this summer. I asked him a few days ago if he wanted to be my best man and he actually said no. Not that he was against the wedding or anything, he just didn’t want to do it. Apparently he’s entering his teenage years somewhat early.

That led to a longer and more broad ranging discussion about weddings and what they mean. Go ahead: give a simple, clear explanation of a wedding so that a four-year-old can understand it, and without dipping into any no-longer-if ever-true gender stereotypes (wanna be the guy to tell your kid marriage is when a man and a woman…?) It ain’t easy. Add in the concern that once I start talking about the wedding, we could be forced to discuss step-mothers, which would mean Tomoko potentially replacing his mother, which could leave to all kinds of upsets.

Basically I just told him that a wedding is a thing that people who love each other do to tell everyone they know that they’re in love, and they exchange rings when they do it. Don’t think that’s a good explanation? Maybe you could drop by and do a better job. Beers on me.

Anyway, JP seemed to accept that without too much comment. Then last night he brought the topic up again. No, he still didn’t want to be my best man (tough shit, kid–you’re doing it): instead, he thought it would be a great idea if we got married. Me and him.

“Not for real,” he said. “But just for playing!”

That, quite frankly, didn’t seem like such a bad idea. He could participate, feel like he’s doing something special, fun for the whole family.

So, this weekend I’m going to marry my little boy. We’re going to get toy rings, and bake a cake (Tomoko’s going to have to do that), and we’ll have a little ceremony at home.

“With presents!” JP said (I said no to that; kid’s trying to play me for a fool).

OK, analysts–anyone got a clue what this all means? I don’t entirely, other than he’s just trying to figure out what marriage means for him. How will he be affected by my new wife? Tomoko has been around for a good portion of his life. Does marrying me change her status? Does it change his? What about this new child, Ellie, who’s always around? What does this mean for Mommy? Why can’t she marry her partner?

You can just sit back and watch the thoughts cycling through his head one after the other. I’m rather impressed myself–no acting out, no weird emotional outbursts, just curiosity and his desire to get in on the expressions of love.

Can’t beat that.