I live with my son in the same house I’ve lived in for over four decades. It’s not fancy, but it’s solid, full of memories, and it’s always been open to the people who mattered. That’s why, when Thanksgiving rolled around, I invited my son’s ex-wife to dinner. To me, it felt natural. To his current wife, Beth, it was anything but. She stood in my kitchen, arms crossed, eyes flashing, and said it was inappropriate. That it was disrespectful. That I was undermining her place in the family. I was tired. Tired of tiptoeing. Tired of pretending I didn’t see what I saw. “She’s more a part of this family than you are,” I said, calmly but firmly….CONTINUE READING IN BELOW