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(Dedicated to Marjorie W., R.I.P.)
Kay was a matronly attractive woman in her late seventies who still practiced within the realms of her lifelong profession as a therapist, although now just on a part time basis. She was very intelligent and held a double Masters Degree. My lawyer had referred me to her, and this was about my fourth session with her.
Wisps of white hair framed a slightly wrinkled, full face that clear, bright, knowing eyes looked out from as she asked me, "What would you do if it was a blizzard out and he came knocking on your door, needing a place to stay, and something to eat? What if he told you he had no place else to go? Would you let him in?
The "he" she was referring to was my soon to be ex-husband. I looked at the blue carpet on the floor and scooted my butt deeper into the cheap red vinyl chair, forcing myself to relax my hold on the wooden armrests before answering her. There were no couches here.
We had been over this before, and in exasperation I said, "I would let him in."
"That's not what I want to hear." Her voice was thick with disappointment. Or was it disapproval? She continued, "That isn't a normal response."
I argued, "He's still the father of my children. And he is also a human being". I looked her square and tried to keep my right eyebrow from rising as that, I was sure, would be an accurate show of the frustration I was already beginning to feel.
"Kay, what IS normal? Are you saying I"M not normal? That I"M not competent? That I'M 'crazy' or something?"
Kay was silent for a moment as she perused my face. Then gave her head a slight side to side shake as she quietly explained, "No, I didn't mean that at all. I'm just saying that you are getting a divorce and you cannot let this man back into your life. Not under ANY circumstances!" She was adamant. "It isn't 'normal' for you to still care about him like this. Not when you're getting a divorce".
l countered, "Well, as I just said, he is STILL the father of my children, and getting divorced will never change that. What would my kids think if they found out that I had turned him away and put him out in the cold? I can't, and won't, do that! Not to my little boys! Normal or not. But you still haven't told me what you mean by 'normal'.
She expelled a tired sigh, then, "Normal is the 'usual'. It's the 'standard'. It's what MOST people would do in a given situation. And most women in your situation would not let the man in."
By this time I had gotten out of the chair and was pacing the center of the room. "I am not MOST women. I am me and this is MY situation! This is totally absurd! He's not going to hurt us or anything. He's never laid a hand on me".
I returned to stand behind the chair I had recently vacated and queried further, "Normal? By whose standards? So you're telling me that if you have a bowel movement three times a day, and I only have one maybe once every three days, that you would be normal, but I'm not? Kay was trying to hide a smile but her eyes were twinkling as she watched me. I swear I heard her stifle a giggle.
I also noted that my voice had risen and I realized I needed a concentrated effort to re-gain my composure. I told myself to take deep breaths and to calm down. Breathe and focus. I slowly and quietly exhaled. I closed my eyes and felt my nostrils flare as I sucked in a fresh breath. I placed my fidgeting hands on the back of the chair, and making a visible effort to lower my voice, I continued, "Who makes this stuff up anyway? Some so called 'expert'? Humph!"
Kay said, "Normal is a standard that has been set by society, and in order to fit in you need to conform to that way of thinking."
She put her hand up to silence me as I opened my mouth to speak. I closed my mouth. But by now I knew I was glaring at her. I turned and walked over to a bookcase along the wall and stared at the various titles as she added, "It's true that we are all individuals and while we need to hold onto that, we don't want to become TOO different either. So we have to 'bend' a little in order to fit in with everyone else".
In a snotty voice I again referenced the bowel movements, "So am I suppose to take a dump three times a day? Or is once every three days okay? Who's gonna know? Who's gonna care? What does 'society' say is 'normal' about that?"
Kay looked at her watch and lifted the legal pad from her lap. Wheeling her high backed executives chair closer to her desk she laid the pad down and picked up her date book, saying, "Unfortunately our time is up. We can continue this next time, but I want you to work on this. You need to have the right answer in order to convince the Judge if it comes up in court." She began studying her schedule to pencil in our next meeting.
**********
We never did reach an agreement concerning "what is normal" and "by whose standards", and it never came up in court. However, before it was all said and done, Kay had dubbed me the most cynically skeptical person she had ever met. We developed a close friendship and stayed in touch over the next few years until her death.
