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My parents divorced when I was eleven years old. Today, I'm twenty-eight and the only child of my parent's union, but let me tell you, I'm not bitter at all about how or why my parents decided they simply could not live together. You see, unlike most adults who decide to end their marriage, my parents were the exception to the rule. That's right. See, just after my tenth birthday, my mother Diane, and my father, Dan, decided that they still liked each other enough, but just were no longer in love. Neither mom nor dad was sure what caused the change in their feelings for each other, but they both realized their true feelings at the same time. Not once did they argue about the house or who would retain custody of me, or, anything really. Their split was amicable and easy. In fact, when mom moved out, she bought a house three blocks away from where I lived with my father, making it easy for me to see either parent. When I was with dad, whom I lived with only because it was easier to keep my stuff in the same house, he never once spoke badly about my mother. Mom never spoke badly about dad, either. No arguments over money, property, or custody of me. Just two people mature enough to know that their time had come to an end. When they decided to split, mom and dad took me to dinner and in gentle and clear terms, explained how they felt. Neither attempted to convince me to live with them only, and I was free to choose who I spent time with. Even today, seventeen years after their divorce, mom and dad are still pretty good friends, they're just not lovers. Oh, sure, they loved each other once, but it was in a more platonic sense rather than one based on romance. Because they were honest and able to treat each other with ...

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