"Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury
Signifying nothing."
--Shakespeare, Macbeth
I'm not often one to quote The Bard, but my day in court yesterday reminded me of nothing but Macbeth's conclusions about life upon his hearing of the queen's death. My central conclusion from yesterday is that courtroom is nothing more than two theatrical performances going on simultaneously (all the world's a stage?) To the judge and the attorneys, the proceedings are mostly scripted comedy-drama, with elements of farce. They recite their well rehearsed legalese and misleading questions, and trade occasional in-jokes with one another. Meanwhile, the Plaintiff and Defendant get to muddle their way through improvised tragedy, with their fates at the mercy of the well dressed and highly paid jesters acting beside them. And to top it off, yesterday's performance certainly had the most anticlimactic ending I've ever seen.
For three hours, the motion that I made to protect my children from the ravages of the dangerous drunk that their mother permits to live with them devolved into a series of truths that could not be told, lies that were left uncontested, and, at the end, an announcement that the decision would be sent by mail at a later date, followed by a bang of the judge's gavel.
I don't have the strength to go into bloody detail, but here are the main points of the trial:
- I testified, mostly on the strength of my own knowledge and of several self-incriminating emails sent to me by my ex-wife, about the long and perilous pattern of alcohol abuse, drunk driving, and cover-ups in her home.
- I was barred from discussing hard evidence of her in the form of police reports, because police reports are considered hearsay unless the officer who wrote the report appears in court to testify.
- Her attorney repeatedly objected to most things that I said and tried to get me off on irrelevant tangents such as whether or not the drunken boyfriend's license was officially suspended on October 9 or October 19 (as if it matters--she still let him drive the kids after his second drunk driving arrest in six months). This was all done to waste time and run out the clock, as he knew that only three hours were alloted for the trial.
- My ex got on the stand and skated on the edge of crying for the better part of an hour as she painted herself as an ideal mother, her boyfriend as a wonderful human being who is trying to conquer his tragic disease of alcoholism, and me as one part sterotypical bumbling father who is overwhelmed at the thought of spending time with his children and one part jealous, jilted ex-lover who is trying to get back at her.
- She spun one tall tale after another: saying with a straight face that she never dreamed that their "maintenance plan" of giving him 64-80 ounces of beer a day could ever be considered alcohol abuse; insisting that last week's domestic dispute, which was described in the police report as her boyfriend yelling and throwing things at her, was really her yelling and screaming to him about how mad she was at ME; and, especially, that her boyfriend had not imbibed a drop of alcohol since going to jail last October, in spite of common sense and ample evidence.
- She refused to accept a condition that another incident of her boyfriend drinking or even getting nabbed for drunk driving would automatically result in him being tossed out of her house, arguing that alcoholics never truly beat their disease, and he could be forgiven for an isolated slip-up.
And then the lawyers chewed up the last 10 minutes of our time discussing who would be paying the other lawyer in the room, the Guardian Ad Litem, and then we were dismissed. The case is now left twisting in the wind for at least several more weeks while the judge takes her sweet time writing up a decision. So all the sound and fury signifies nothing, at least not yet.
Meanwhile, things are in typical SNAFU mode. I am hanging around Maine for two more days (possibly longer if I get held up by Hurricane Irene), and was hoping to spend most of it with my kids. I had previously arranged to get them during the day on Saturday, and then emailed my ex four days ago to see about having them Friday night as well. When she didn't respond, I had no choice but to call her at home two hours after the trial ended. She of course barked at me that I can't just drop a last-minute request on her. I told her that I had informed her days earlier, but she snarled that I know she doesn't check her email much, so, no, I couldn't have the kids Friday night. It's just one more example of how she has no concern at all about what's good for the kids, as they haven't seen me in three weeks.
So that's the way it is. More to come.
Friday, August 26, 2011
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
54,600 Miles, ready for takeoff
It had to happen sooner or later...a blog entry from the airport. I thus haven't accrued any additional miles, and won't until my plane departs in 90 minutes. Tomorrow is the big day--the court hearing. Nearly nine months after filing my "expedited" motion to modify our divorce judgment, D-Day is finally here. As expected (see previous entry) the Guardian Ad Litem (GAL, for short) concluded that my ex is wacky and delusional, but shouldn't lose the kids because: 1) they are extremely attached to her, and 2) I don't live in the same community where they allegedly have a support network.
Now I will admit that my kids are attached to their mother, but they are also attached to me. She did manage to bamboozle the GAL by convincing him that, because she's still nursing our 4-year old daughter, that our little girl simply can't be away from mommy. Of course she just got done spending 15 full days away from mommy and only cried for her one time after hearing her voice on the phone. I am fully convinced that, at this point, the nursing is 110% about the mother, not the child.
As for the second issue, I don't see why my residence matters. Their mother puts the kids in harm's way every day of their lives by letting an unreformed drunk live with them while their other parent (me) has a safe, secure home. The GAL asserted that the kids have a strong support network in their hometown, specifially citing their grandmother. Never mind, of course, that their grandmother was barred from their lives for more than 6 months last year for suggesting that the drunk should go, and that they see her at most once a month, though she lives two miles away. To me, the point is this: one parent puts them in danger and the other does not. Shouldn't they live with the one who keeps them safe?
Well, anyhow, there may be some hope. Call me obsessive, but for the past 1.5 years I have checked up on the drunk boyfriend by scanning the local police log that gets posted online every two weeks. Time after time there was nothing, and I began to think that maybe he actually is serious about staying out of trouble. And then yesterday I took one last-ditch peek at the current report and, Eureka, there it was--a domestic disturbance last Thursday night, the very day that the GAL report arrives. I still don't know all of the details but it seems that my ex and her boyfriend got in a violent screaming match at 6:30 pm (while the kids were home) and a neighbor called the cops. Though they were dismissed with warnings, there is now hard proof of very current bad things going on in her home. I've gotten my hopes up 100 times before, but doesn't this event at this late date portend something positive for me? Shouldn't it?
So will truth and justice prevail? One can only hope so. There will certainly be no shortage of material for the next entry!
Tune in next time for the conclusion to this cliffhanger.
Now I will admit that my kids are attached to their mother, but they are also attached to me. She did manage to bamboozle the GAL by convincing him that, because she's still nursing our 4-year old daughter, that our little girl simply can't be away from mommy. Of course she just got done spending 15 full days away from mommy and only cried for her one time after hearing her voice on the phone. I am fully convinced that, at this point, the nursing is 110% about the mother, not the child.
As for the second issue, I don't see why my residence matters. Their mother puts the kids in harm's way every day of their lives by letting an unreformed drunk live with them while their other parent (me) has a safe, secure home. The GAL asserted that the kids have a strong support network in their hometown, specifially citing their grandmother. Never mind, of course, that their grandmother was barred from their lives for more than 6 months last year for suggesting that the drunk should go, and that they see her at most once a month, though she lives two miles away. To me, the point is this: one parent puts them in danger and the other does not. Shouldn't they live with the one who keeps them safe?
Well, anyhow, there may be some hope. Call me obsessive, but for the past 1.5 years I have checked up on the drunk boyfriend by scanning the local police log that gets posted online every two weeks. Time after time there was nothing, and I began to think that maybe he actually is serious about staying out of trouble. And then yesterday I took one last-ditch peek at the current report and, Eureka, there it was--a domestic disturbance last Thursday night, the very day that the GAL report arrives. I still don't know all of the details but it seems that my ex and her boyfriend got in a violent screaming match at 6:30 pm (while the kids were home) and a neighbor called the cops. Though they were dismissed with warnings, there is now hard proof of very current bad things going on in her home. I've gotten my hopes up 100 times before, but doesn't this event at this late date portend something positive for me? Shouldn't it?
So will truth and justice prevail? One can only hope so. There will certainly be no shortage of material for the next entry!
Tune in next time for the conclusion to this cliffhanger.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
54,600 Miles
The summer has gone by and The Frequent Father was on the move. 1,100 miles to Maine to get my son, 500 miles to Maryland for two weeks with him, 500 miles back to Maine, 1,100 more back to Georgia. Later, 1,100 miles to Maine to corral both kids, 1,100 miles to Georgia for two weeks with them, and one more 2,200 mile round trip to return them and return myself...so that's 7,600 miles in all. Fortunately, there were plenty of good times to go around. Unfortunately, the drama continues to unfold.
Let's start with the fortunate.
For two whole weeks in late June and early July I had my beloved boy with me every day, with nothing to do except hang out with him and enjoy summer. I picked him up from school on his last day of first grade and took him to my parents' house so we could all spend some time together. I took him swimming every day but two, and by the end of the trip he had transformed from being afraid of the water to being able to swim a whole 25 meter lap by himself. We went running at the high school track each day. I had shown him a video of Usain Bolt running the 100 meter dash in 9.58 seconds, so now my boy wants to train to be the world's fastest man. He is very fast for a 7-year old, and can actually run 100 meters in less than 18 seconds, so he's halfway to his goal!
We also did lots of DC tourist stuff--I took him to the Smithsonian, Washington Monument, Lincoln Memorial and even Mount Vernon. He loves presidential trivia, so Mount Vernon was a great experience for him. The only bad part about the trip is that I had to return him on July 3, so I didn't get to spend Independence Day with him. I spent that day traveling back to Atlanta and preparing to start my new job on July 5. The job has been underwhelming so far, but the paycheck is a wonderful elixir, as is not having to stress out about my work situation for a while. The job is only a contract position, though, so I am still seeking a better opportunity.
The real fun came in Round 2, when I went to work on Friday, flew up to Maine after work, arrived at midnight, hit my favorite late night restaurant in Portland, slept in the rental car, picked up both kids at 5am, and caught the 7am flight to Atlanta. The next two weeks were jam packed. On weekdays when I was at work, my son went to "superhero camp" at the YMCA, and my daughter and stepdaughter stayed home and had "princess camp" while my wife worked in the next room. On weekend days we went swimming, had playdates with their many step-relatives, threw a birthday party for my daughter (she's 4 now) and even took a trip to Six Flags. The three kids (my 2 + stepdaughter) all did mostly well--we stayed 11 hours! It was an exhausting but phenomenal experience to operate like a family for an extended period of time.
But all was not perfect. My son continues to have a number of behavioral issues that I simply can't figure out how to overcome. I feel helpless, as his mother has refused to do anything to correct these problems, suggested that he only has them when he's with me, and concluded that I must not be a good parent if I can't manage my own child. After much wrangling she finally did agree to take him to a counselor, so he hopefully will get some direction. I hate to be cynical but I suspect that she only agreed to this because of the threat of the court case.
Ah, yes, the court case. In nine days I finally get my day in court. The guardian is set to deliver his long delayed report tomorrow, and I'm on pins and needles. On the one hand I am dying to see what he actually says about my ex's inexplicable behavior, to see just how outlandish it seems to an independent expert. On the other hand I fear the report, as I'm 98% certain that he will ultimately conclude that she's wacky and delusional, but that she hasn't done enough to merit losing custody.
Either way, the whole nasty business will be done soon, and I'll figure out how to proceed. In the meantime I have been a ball of stress and uncertainty. One day I swear I'll never set foot in Maine again (I told my wife that I'd rather have my manhood hacked off with a meat cleaver than move back there), and the next I'll seriously ponder applying for a job there. One hour I am frolicking in the swimming pool with my stepdaughter, and the next I am sitting on the couch with my heart aching after my son tells me that he's sad that I couldn't come to his karate belt test. I know that the hearing next week won't put the situation 100% right, but at least it will be done, the new rules will be written, and I can make the necessary decisions about my life and career based on them. I am not holding out hope that my days as the Frequent Father are coming to an end, but I'm not giving up either.
Let's start with the fortunate.
For two whole weeks in late June and early July I had my beloved boy with me every day, with nothing to do except hang out with him and enjoy summer. I picked him up from school on his last day of first grade and took him to my parents' house so we could all spend some time together. I took him swimming every day but two, and by the end of the trip he had transformed from being afraid of the water to being able to swim a whole 25 meter lap by himself. We went running at the high school track each day. I had shown him a video of Usain Bolt running the 100 meter dash in 9.58 seconds, so now my boy wants to train to be the world's fastest man. He is very fast for a 7-year old, and can actually run 100 meters in less than 18 seconds, so he's halfway to his goal!
We also did lots of DC tourist stuff--I took him to the Smithsonian, Washington Monument, Lincoln Memorial and even Mount Vernon. He loves presidential trivia, so Mount Vernon was a great experience for him. The only bad part about the trip is that I had to return him on July 3, so I didn't get to spend Independence Day with him. I spent that day traveling back to Atlanta and preparing to start my new job on July 5. The job has been underwhelming so far, but the paycheck is a wonderful elixir, as is not having to stress out about my work situation for a while. The job is only a contract position, though, so I am still seeking a better opportunity.
The real fun came in Round 2, when I went to work on Friday, flew up to Maine after work, arrived at midnight, hit my favorite late night restaurant in Portland, slept in the rental car, picked up both kids at 5am, and caught the 7am flight to Atlanta. The next two weeks were jam packed. On weekdays when I was at work, my son went to "superhero camp" at the YMCA, and my daughter and stepdaughter stayed home and had "princess camp" while my wife worked in the next room. On weekend days we went swimming, had playdates with their many step-relatives, threw a birthday party for my daughter (she's 4 now) and even took a trip to Six Flags. The three kids (my 2 + stepdaughter) all did mostly well--we stayed 11 hours! It was an exhausting but phenomenal experience to operate like a family for an extended period of time.
But all was not perfect. My son continues to have a number of behavioral issues that I simply can't figure out how to overcome. I feel helpless, as his mother has refused to do anything to correct these problems, suggested that he only has them when he's with me, and concluded that I must not be a good parent if I can't manage my own child. After much wrangling she finally did agree to take him to a counselor, so he hopefully will get some direction. I hate to be cynical but I suspect that she only agreed to this because of the threat of the court case.
Ah, yes, the court case. In nine days I finally get my day in court. The guardian is set to deliver his long delayed report tomorrow, and I'm on pins and needles. On the one hand I am dying to see what he actually says about my ex's inexplicable behavior, to see just how outlandish it seems to an independent expert. On the other hand I fear the report, as I'm 98% certain that he will ultimately conclude that she's wacky and delusional, but that she hasn't done enough to merit losing custody.
Either way, the whole nasty business will be done soon, and I'll figure out how to proceed. In the meantime I have been a ball of stress and uncertainty. One day I swear I'll never set foot in Maine again (I told my wife that I'd rather have my manhood hacked off with a meat cleaver than move back there), and the next I'll seriously ponder applying for a job there. One hour I am frolicking in the swimming pool with my stepdaughter, and the next I am sitting on the couch with my heart aching after my son tells me that he's sad that I couldn't come to his karate belt test. I know that the hearing next week won't put the situation 100% right, but at least it will be done, the new rules will be written, and I can make the necessary decisions about my life and career based on them. I am not holding out hope that my days as the Frequent Father are coming to an end, but I'm not giving up either.
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