The school my son attends had a policy, when he was starting out there, that no seats could be held at musical programs. “Come and claim a seat for yourself early, but don’t save any for others” was the open invitation. At the time, the school was still sharing a stage in the building of its neighbor church, and these rules served a purpose. I guess. I really wouldn’t know, because 
for years I surreptitiously laid my scarf / jacket / briefcase across six or seven chairs to attempt to hold seats for our son’s supportive and extended family. Divorce may divide families, but it acts as a multiplication factor when it’s time to sit and listen. Yet, six or seven was never enough; some of us still stood. I took major ribbing from many factions, 
but I never received a citation, and the school never threw my kid out of school. (Questioning authority runs deep in me. I push most boundaries gently.)
You see, our son has been raised by a village. A village that loves him deeply and supports everything he has set his mind and body to, and that village shows up in force to 
his performances, games and recitals.
Just this past Tuesday, he performed his semi-annual piano recital at semester’s end, and 13 people from his village showed up to quietly cheer him on. His tribe, his people. It’s remarkable, really. My parents have been divorced for over 25 years; 
they show up at all their grandkids’ events when possible, sit next to each other, and speak rather easily between themselves. I know this behavior is exceptional when I mention it to friends whose parents are divorced and I learn how they have to “divvy up” the school event calendar as to which parents will attend which event. That way, the grandchildren can’t see or feel the simmering emotions. 
I can’t imagine what that’s like, and I’m reminded that I live in grace in this category of my family life.
Last week, we attended my niece’s vocal music show at school – the school she shares with my son. With the new stage in our new building, 
the rules for saving seats seems to have weakened and isn’t spoken as vociferously. I did notice that my sister was ultimately unable to “save a seat” for my husband’s and my late arrivals that day. And I can guess why: the ribbing got too intense, and she gave up what she’d laid claim to. I’ve been there. I know all about it.
People have jokingly said – and still say – to me, “Well, you can’t say he’s not loved,” or, “Is there anyone you didn’t invite?” or, “Wow. For an only child, he packs ’em in!” Each time, I just smile, say little, never apologize, and know in my soul that our tribe runs in a pack and invests everything in its young.
I wouldn’t have it any other way.
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