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When my ex and I were early in the process of getting divorced, she enlisted us for a workshop by Villa Pinedo, a Dutch organization by children of divorced parents for children of divorced parents. It had a profound effect on the both of us.The workshop was given by two brave young young women with different experiences but both with their ups and downs.These are the two lessons I took away from that workshop:Never ever talk shit about the other parentDivorce is a very painful experience with a lot of conflict and feelings of hostility toward one another. Well too bad! Suck it up! You are the parent and you need to protect your children from your struggle. They are in a very tough spot because they love both parents and both parents are a part of them. When you criticize the other parent, they feel that as a critique on them and they are put into a loyalty conflict. That is very damaging to children.Make arrangements with the other parent, don't leave decisions up to the children.Negotiations about when the children are with whom, where and how to celebrate birthdays and holidays are difficult, impactful and highly emotional, especially when you still have lots of emotions about the other parent. It may be tempting to ask “With whom do you want to celebrate your birthday?” because shouldn't the children get a say? No! That puts them immediately into a loyalty conflict. Never ask them to decide between their parents! Be an adult. Park your grievances and work out with your ex what arrangements are best for the children. It is hard, but the kids need to be your first priority right now.As a bonus, I found that the shared focus on the well-being of the children made the later stages of our divorce easier to handle and wrap up. It now provides a basis for good cooperation with my ex.Hope this helps.

My mum is 87 and currently in full time care as a result of dementia, but that’s a story for another question. She is the epitome of the success of Australian Multiculturalism.In 1965 she was living in Lebanon, divorced with a 2 year old son. It was bad enough in any culture to be a single mum in 1965, let alone in Lebanon and mum wanted the opportunity to work and provide a good life for her son and herself without the stigma society imposed on single mothers. So in her 30’s she decided to migrate to Australia and start a new life for herself.As the 2 year old son, I only have snippets of memories of our experiences in the early years but I have heard mum proudly recount those experiences many times over the years.1965 Mum and I on our way to Australia on board the greek migrant ship “The Patris”.Mum had a married sister living in Sydney and applied for immigration under the family reunification program and was accepted. We lived with my aunt and her husband for the first 12 months. Every morning mum would take the train into the city to look for work. She could not speak English, but had learnt a few key words to help her get by. She knew how to read and write in French and that was an advantage.One morning on the train she notices a crowd of people getting off the train in an industrial part of Sydney and she decides to follow the crowd. She comes across a man standing outside a gate in a suit and tie as people walk through the gate.“Can I help you?” The man asks as mum stops shy of following people through the gate.“Job? “ Mum spurts out in very broken English“Are you looking for work?”“Yes please”“Follow me.” He say smilingMum had stumbled across the workshop of the government owned phone company called ‘PMG’ which stood for the ‘Post Master General’. Today it is privatized and known as Telstra. The man at the gate was senior enough to offer mum a job working for his department. She still recalls his name today “Mr Cannon”.The moment mum had a job, her brother in law asked her to go guarantor on a loan. Mum refused because she wanted to save and borrower for a house and thought being a guarantor would limit her chances. My uncle thought that was ridiculous,. Women did not buy houses in those days, besides women’s wages were 75% of the men’s award wage, she would never be able to afford her own place and he told her as much. From his perspective he felt she owed him as they were the reason mum’s immigration application was accepted and they allowed us to live with them so he was extremely angry at mum’s recalcitrance.“There’s no longer a room for you here. Take your son and find somewhere else to live.”For the next 4 years mum rented rooms from strangers. We moved to 5 different places in those 4 years before the department of housing approved mum’s application for public housing.Our experiences varied from place to place. Some people were lovely and very welcoming, others were nasty and sometimes physically abusive. I remember mum constantly making me study her work phone number and the emergency no and telling me if front of the owner that if he touched me again while she was at work I was to call the police and then call her at work.These were obviously difficult years for mum. Having the responsibility of raising a son on her own, getting up as 6am to go to work every morning and leaving me to make my own way to school. Living in a single room in a house full of strangers, as well as the stigma of the day being a single mum, not knowing the language and being an immigrant.Australian society in those days was extremely racist and I grew up with constant taunts of “Wog”. She would pack me a school lunch and I would often throw it away rather than be taunted by other kids with paid lunches teasing me about my “wog food”. In an ironic twist , decades later the same food would be served up to the same generation in very expensive restaurants at exorbitant prices and would never be as good as mum’s cooking.School holidays were the worst for her as she worried what I may get up to during the day. Sometimes she would give me train fare and I would make my way by public transport to a cousin’s place that was of similar age. I attended 6 different schools growing up, but the experiences of my youth made me both independent and street smart.Mum would complain to friends she made that she was home sick and longed for the days in Lebanon. They would discuss how much easier life was over there and how much more beautiful the country was compared to Australia.Then came the housing commission apartment. While close to the city, and with city views, the apartment was part of a huge public housing complex. It would not be dissimilar to the “projects” you see in movies set in New York.Known as “The Block” in Surry Hills, this was one of Sydney’s first government housing projects. It has since become riddled with socioeconomic problems and has the infamous title of “the suicide block”. Today there is talk of demolition, but for mum in the early 70’s, it was heaven.It was lower socio-economic and the area was dangerous, but the very first moment we walked into to apartment mum says “This is like heaven”.For me as a preeteen, it was an exciting adventure, but I can only imagine the feeling of liberation and freedom mum must have felt after years of being at the mercy of others when it came to just somewhere to live. During that time, mum’s English improved dramatically and she taught herself to read and write and she also became eligible for and took up Australian citizenship.I clearly remember the day we went to the city town hall to be sworn in and receive our citizenship. After the ceremony, we were given a certificate, a bible with the picture of the queen on the inside cover and we got to shake hands with the Sydney’s Lord Mayor.Mum sat me down when we got home and says“ You are Australian now, don’t let anyone tell you your a “Wog”. You should be proud to be Australian, no other country would have given us as much of an opportunity, and I thank God everyday for bringing us here, but I want you to also be proud of your heritage, you come from a beautiful and rich culture steeped in history. Never forget that. ”Something in mum changed in those years. She would no longer talk about being home sick or how beautiful it was back home. Whenever people would talk about how much better it was back in their country, mum would get angry and say “Well why don’t you go back if you’re so unhappy here. No one is stopping you.”We lived in that apartment for 3 years before my Grandfather passed away in Lebanon and mum received a small inheritance. Along with what she had saved, it was enough for her to put down a deposit on her own place. He had also left her an apartment overlooking the Mediterranean in Lebanon, but Lebanon in those days was in the midst of a civil war and the value made it not worth selling.Mum stayed with PMG all her working life. She was there when it changed names to Telecom, when it was privatized and became Telstra and retired from there in her 60’s. She paid the house off and returned to Lebanon to visit every summer for 3 months and stayed in the apartment. After 4 years she tells me she is selling the apartment.Mum on the day of her retirement from Telstra.“Why mum? Where are you going to stay?”“I’m not going any more, there is nothing there for me. My home is here.”“What about your relatives, friends over there?”“They have their own lives. I feel like a stranger now over there. My home, my family my friends are all here. This is my country and here is my home.”My oldest son had to do an essay for high school a few years back nominating an unkown Australian as an unsung hero and explain why. Having told him over the years about how brave his grandmother was, how tough her life was compared to his and how much she had accomplished in the face of adversity, he wrote his essay about her.I moved in with mum for 2 years to look after her when I realised she had dementia, but as her condition deteriorated, I could not provide the level of care she required. It was tough putting her into full time care, but she is comfortable and happy. While her short term memory is failing, she remembers with vivid clarity the early days of her new life in Australia and has a whole new audience in the home to recount her adventures to. She holds listeners captive as she recounts incidents of from her early years, and I have often heard people ask why she didn’t retire in Lebanon.“Why on earth would anyone leave the best country in the word?” is her standard response.Mum with her grandchildren 2020.Australia’s population in 1966 was around 11 million. Mainly immigrants from the UK or descendants of early convicts and settlers. It embarked on a massive immigration program around the 60’s and now has a population exceeding 25 million. The cultural background of the average Australian today is very different from that of the 60’s when mum first arrived. She is one of millions of migrants, all with similarly unique stories to tell, all having chosen to become Australians.

*This act came From a complete stranger*Changed me forever :)We are a family of 3. Our native is Coimbatore (a city in the western part of tamilnadu). After shifting to Chennai in 2011, we usually preferred to spend our holidays in our Native (coz we were new to Chennai and didn't have any known faces) . The climate of Coimbatore was another thing that lured us to get back home during vacations. So tranquil and serene.Year 2014,It was one such 3 day holiday, so we decided to visit Coimbatore. Since there were no bus or train tickets available, we decided to drive all the way(around 500kms).We had the car called “Matiz” by Daewoo (an old one though) which was in quite a good condition, yet a 500km drive was uncertain.Anyways we mustered up all our courage, put our entire trust in it and started off. The onward journey was pretty smooth. No issues. We reached Coimbatore, had a good time with the family.And it was time to leave after 3 days.We started around 6pm.Again,it was our time to trust our white jalopy to get us past the 500kms. So as it goes, This time out trust wouldn't pay off.The tube that supplied the coolant to the engine had been bitten by a rat (i guess) and entire coolant and water drained out. This lead to the engine getting overheated.Around 12:00 am, when we were 2 hours To chennai, smoke started frothing out of he engine and the engine seized. We were somewhere in the dark in a rural place along the highway.Stranded !! Me,mom and dad didn't know what next.There was a light glowing in the dark, so we went and asked for some water from the people of that house, to cool the Engine.That family is the hero of the story.They readily came to our help (at 12:30 am) .... Provided water and tried to get Matiz back to work. The young son of the family called up his friends to help us out. Finally when we realized none of it is gonna work, it was around 1 am.Back in Chennai we had a another car which was running as a Cab. So we decided to call our driver to pick us up.The driver reached our spot at around 3:30 am.Believe me, till 3:30 they gave us place inside their house to stay, provided food, tea, stayed awake with us,gave all things that were needed to make sure we were comfortable.We couldn't even have the possibility of towing matiz back, they willingly opened their place for parking and ensured they will take care of the car.We left thanking them for their hospitality. This doesn't end here.The next morning the son and his friends somehow managed to get Matiz to a nearby workshop repaired the whole thing and got everything fixed in a couple of days and gave a call to my dad saying he could come and take it.Humanity Still exists....That's what we are in this world for. To love and help one another No matter what.That one family helped and loved us irrespective of our religion,caste,language,colour or anything for that matter.It's all about helping, loving and standing for another Human being when in needPeace...!P. S :1)2–3 weeks later we visited their house just to thank them. That night without them would have been a different story.2)More often than not, when we cross that place(called vikravandi-rajshree sugars), we just drop in to say a Hello :)3) We sold that matiz and bought a Swift. LoLThanks for your time.. :)