Divorce wasn’t all that uncommon when I was growing up. Especially in a showbiz town like Santa Monica, California. In fact, it was common. And I don’t think being a “joint custody kid” was that uncommon either. What made my situation different than that of the other kids I knew was that the parents who shared me lived so far apart and in such different and often conflicting cultures.
When my mom decided to leave my dad I was just over one. Florida wasn’t that far away from Evansville, Indiana and a lot of Evansville people would drive down to Florida for winter vacations. Some even had second homes in Florida. It was the place to go and that’s where my mom headed with me.
So joint custody wasn’t a big thing when the two sides were within a reasonable distance of each other.
When WWII ended and my stepdad was released from his US Navy post we all headed to California where he was born and raised. My mom, stepdad and sister Mimi and I fit comfortably in the big Packard sedan with suitcases packed in the cave-like trunk. I’d prop myself up on my knees to get a peek of the country we passed through and sometimes hold Mimi up to the window so she could see. The back seat was like a livingroom sofa so we had plenty of room to play games and sleep if we wanted. No seatbelts or special seats for us.
While my mom and stepdad looked for a house to buy in Santa Monica we lived on the Malibu ranch owned by my stepdad’s cousin. Fred Roberts was a successful businessman who’d opened a large grocery store in Santa Monica and built that into a mini-empire with a chain of early supermarkets and liquor stores. He’d also invested wisely in real estate. His Malibu ranch (Roberts Ranch up in Solstice Canyon) was not only a place to get away from his nearby businesses, it provided a very handy tax deduction. He also had a big yacht that served the same purpose.
Fred became “Uncle Fred” and his lovely wife Florence became “Aunt Florence.” While Mimi stuck close to the main house I had the run of the place. I was four and Aunt Florence insisted that I wear proper footwear around the ranch. So she bought me my first pair of cowboy boots. It was a magic time in a magic place. I got to ride a horse for the first time. I learned to check for scorpions in my boots before pulling them on. What kid wouldn’t find that magic.
The ranch had a resident hermit named “Con” or “Khan” who’d wander around the place. I first ran into him at The Grotto, with it’s handbuilt stone shrine to Mary, mother of Jesus. It was probably there she became part of my life.
Con was not easy to talk to. It was more like he allowed you to be with him in silence before he decided whether or not to break the silence. Being four going on five I was full of questions and he was very patient and kind. He looked gruff and a bit scruffy, but that just made him more interesting. We spent a lot of time down at the grotto on the stone steps enjoying the cooling peacefulness. Most of my questions went unanswered, but he told me I was “fey,” a term I wouldn’t understand for a few more years.
Uncle Fred gave my stepdad the job of general manager of his supermarket chain and appointed him editor of the company’s free weekly community newspaper called ‘The Roberts News’. The job came with one of the small cabins owned by Uncle Fred along the Pacific Coast Highway near Big Rock in Malibu.
It was there, on the beach in front of our cabin where, on a surf mat, caught my first wave a few years later. I’ll save that story.
After living on the ranch for a number of weeks my mom and stepdad were able to rent a house in Santa Monica just down 9th Street from the house they’d just bought. The new house needed some work done on it so the rented house was a temporary thing to allow me to start school at Roosevelt Elementary.
I remember my mom and stepdad discussing the pros and cons of enrolling me before I turned five. If I started kindergarten in September before my fifth birthday in December I’d always be a few months younger than my classmates. But if I started the next year I’d always be a few months older. They decided to enroll me early.
Joint Custody © Robert R. Feigel 2022 – All Rights Reserved
Pieces from a Puzzling Life 