Expensive decision, divorce

Fifteen years ago, when her youngest was still a pre-schooler, the marriage soured. She swooped up the four children and headed home to lick her wounds, count her losses and assess the situation.
With no husband, insufficient child support and an entry level job, every penny had to be pinched. She hated going to town with the kids. For even the simplest, most inexpensive toys or snacks they wanted, she was the one to squelch the childish hopes, “put it back, we can’t afford it.”
One afternoon, she and her mom sat at the kitchen table reviewing her situation. The children played quietly in the living room. As the adults talked, the children’s voices grew louder. They too were puzzling over the recent changes in their lives.
The first grader importantly explained to her kindergarten brother, “Divorce means we don’t have a dad anymore.”
He knew how to solve that, “We’ll just have to get a new daddy.”
In the kitchen, the adults turned to listen.
Big sister, shook her head fiercely, “Uh, uh. We can’t get a new daddy.”
“Why not?”
“Cause we can’t afford one.”
“Oh,” he slumped down. He knew the finality of that statement. He silently turned back to the comfort of his toys.
Not only could they not afford a new daddy, the old one disappeared from their lives for months on end. At times his only connection with his children was through sporadic phone calls.
One evening, after they were settled into a home of their own, the phone rang and the now second grade son ran to answer it.
Waiting to be handed the phone, my friend stood close by as her son answered, “Yes sir, no sir. Yes sir. That’s right sir.”
Eventually she realized he was talking with his absentee father. She walked away to grant him some privacy.
After he hung up the phone, she asked, “Was that your dad on the phone?”
“Yep.”
“Yep?! To me you say ‘yep’ and to him you said ‘yes sir’ and ‘no sir.’ I’m the one who is always here for you, but he’s the one you are polite to?”
“But Mom,” he protested, “You always said we should be polite to strangers.”
During the teen years, the politeness and respect faded under the harsh reality of an absentee father: Infrequent visits, no money from dad, not even for allowances. All they had were isolated phone calls at his time and convenience.
He called one evening when the four teenagers were out for the evening. The 18-year-old daughter was the first to return.
“Your dad called earlier this evening,” my friend said.
“What is it now? Another broken bone or is he on his death bed with skin cancer again?” she went to her bedroom without calling back.
Her enthusiasm was gone after the years of waiting for her dad to involve himself in her life. For too long he had declared he could not afford to meet his children’s physical needs, withdrew and became a stranger to them, they had decided they could not afford him.