A MOMENT OF JOY IN A HOUSE DIVIDED

This can be a real tough time for children of divorce, particularly the young ones.

Traditional Christmas stories brim with nuclear families. Tiny Tim has a daddy who carries him home every night to his mother. Rudolph’s parents brainstorm how to protect him from all the other reindeer who laugh and call him names. Cindy-Lou Who not only has two parents but a village full of relatives in a town that bears the family name.

The geography of divorce is painful and inevitable: Mom lives one place, Dad lives somewhere else. Some holiday traditions necessarily die, but there’s one ritual that every child deserves to keep no matter how bitter the divorce: Every kid should be able to give a present to both Mom and Dad.

I learned the importance of this the hard way when my daughter was only eight years old. It was a few days before Christmas, our first since her father and I had separated, and we were singing Christmas songs as we wrapped presents at our dining room table.

Suddenly, I was singing alone. “Hey, what happened to the soprano?” I said. When she didn’t answer, I looked over and found her in tears.

“I don’t have a present for you,” she said, sobbing.

I tried to assure her that it didn’t matter, but she was inconsolable. From the time she was two, she always gave each parent a little present at Christmas. My offer to take her shopping only made her cry harder.

“But then you’ll see it,” she said. “It’s supposed to be a surprise.”

The next day, I told a friend who was also a single mother what happened. She didn’t hesitate. That evening, she called and asked for my daughter, whose chin raised in self-importance as she walked toward the phone. She spoke in whispers through a cupped hand, and after she hung up she told me she would be late from school tomorrow.

“I have an errand to run,” she said, grinning.

In a perfect world, divorced parents shove aside feelings of hurt and resentment toward their ex-spouse and support their children’s relationship with them. They don’t interfere with visitation, and they help them pay tribute to the other parent on special occasions. They remind them of birthdays, for example, and take them holiday shopping.

Alas, this is not a perfect world. Many of us can’t bring ourselves to commit even an indirect act of kindness toward someone who has hurt us deeply. So, we lead with our injuries, and our children inherit the wounds. They want to love us both, but we constantly telegraph: Choose.

If I could, I would stick this little reminder in every single parent’s Christmas stocking: Whenever we thwart our children’s efforts to show love, we dishonor them and diminish ourselves.

This is a time of year when friends and relatives really can make a difference in such a child’s life. We all know single parents; most of us know at least one with a young child. A simple phone call will let us know if we can help.

We’re not talking DVD players here. A handmade ornament, a little bar of scented soap, a cardboard frame plastered with Elmer’s glue and glitter to hold this year’s school picture—it doesn’t take much to honor a child’s heart. As for what you’ve given them, well, that gift is priceless. You’ve just taught them they don’t have to choose.

The night my daughter returned from Christmas shopping with my friend, she looked like a pregnant second-grader as she held the bulging gift under her coat and ran to her bedroom.

“Mom!” she yelled. “Where’s the wrapping paper?”

“In the closet,” I yelled back.

“Mom! Where’s the tape?”

“With the paper.”

“Mom!”

“The name tags are in the bottom of the bag.”

Almost an hour later, she emerged, carrying the package as if it were a gift of the Magi. I took one look at it and made a mental note: Buy more tape.

Dropping to her hands and knees, she slid my gift under the tree, right next to the one she had wrapped for her dad. With her head still buried under the evergreen, she started singing.

“Christmas is coming…”

This time, it was I who could not sing.