Defending Dads

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Tag: divorce

Forty-One Years Gone I

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On September 25, 2016

In Forty-One Years Gone Series, Uncategorized

No one lives forever. Not even matriarchs. But when matriarchs die, those who had been under their influence are buffeted by shock waves long after the event.

My grandmother Ruby had been perched atop my maternal family tree for some sixty years. She had six children. I am the only child of her eldest daughter, born three years after Ruby’s youngest. Ruby had been my guardian for so much of my childhood that, in the eyes of many of our relatives, I am her seventh child.

Ruby had a strong personality. Her difficult life demanded that. While I understand and respect this, to hone my personality, I needed to escape the umbrella of hers. And I did. I estranged myself from my maternal family for seven years.

I relocated my former wife and children to Pennsylvania during the estrangement. Then, the unthinkable happened: My marriage began to fail. The tension in my home had grown so intense, even months before papers were filed, I was compelled to live elsewhere for a time. My grandmother gave me shelter, no questions asked.

Eventually, I returned to my home. Despite counseling and making every reasonable effort I could to heal my home, nothing improved. In fact, things grew worse. And in the middle of this were the innocent babies I would never have brought into the world under such circumstances. The only family they had ever known was a shambles. Then, the papers were filed. Soon after that, I was evicted from my home…though I was still responsible for the mortgage.

This was the cruelest blow to me because I understood the implications for my children of our sudden, court-imposed separation. I was crushed. I called Ruby. Once again, she gave me shelter, no questions asked.

I stayed with Ruby for over a year as I fought to maintain my connection with the kids, worked, paid down bills and weathered the storm of a needlessly contentious divorce. I could see even through this deluge of issues that Ruby was fading, but I found it difficult to accept. She had been in and out of the hospital several times before eventually succumbing to a variety of ailments last August.

Neither I nor my immediate family were prepared for Ruby’s death. She had been the heart and soul of our family for so long, it was all but impossible to imagine a world without her. Ironically, she had equipped us so well with the tools to handle adversity that we jumped right into that world, strange place that it was.

I moved back to Pennsylvania and focused on establishing myself there not long after Ruby’s passing. I left her apartment vacant and, as I continued to deal with grief, the divorce and sustaining my life, failed to maintain tenancy. I needed to be close to my children. The decision for me was easy.

In seemingly the blink of an eye, a year went by. Ruby’s possessions remained in the apartment. I was the member of her immediate family living closest. No one appointed me to any role. Clearing out her place was something I simply had to do.

Learn more…

Jail for Justice — An Open Letter to the Media XV

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On August 24, 2016

In The Jail for Justice Series, Uncategorized

For the remainder of my time on the intake unit, I either listened to accounts of or spoke about the utter failure of the courts to handle divorce in a way that is less devastating to fathers and truly beneficial to children and their futures. Worse, no one seems inclined to change anything, not even the fathers chewed up and spat out by the process.

I guess that’s how it goes with the human condition. Throughout history, minority groups targeted for persecution by hostile majorities have endured inconceivable abuse. Egyptians enslaved Hebrews, Romans massacred Christians, the English crushed just about anyone who wasn’t English and so on. While I don’t suggest that divorced fathers are crucified, fed to lions or broiled in iron maidens, I think ample evidence exists that we don’t get much love.

The thing we divorced dads have to draw strength from is that in each case I’ve referenced, change did come. It always does. But what is any of us going to do to help it along? Who among us has the courage to speak up? Which of us loves his children enough to take decisive action?

By the afternoon of Monday, July 25, 2016, the intake unit was to be purged to make room for a new group of sinners. The current crop were ordered to gather our belongings and wait by the gate. A head count was conducted, then we were marched through the main gallery bound for our respective regular housing units, our homes away from home.

That gallery was literally a hot mess. Men bustled about on the tiers. They at first seemed oblivious to us, but in a matter of seconds, we became the center of their attention. Some men even left their cells to get a gander at us. They must have been bored nearly to death to be so fascinated by a group of inmates on their way to their assigned cells. Some made catcalls, a gesture so hackneyed and pointless that none of us bothered to look up.

At the far end of the gallery was another set of gates leading to the annexed section of the jail. Guys had been talking this place up since we were in the bullpen. As we passed through the portal from the ancient side of the jail to the new, there was a marked difference in air quality and temperature. It reminded me of what it’s like to step into a brand new subway car from a muggy, dimly lit platform. I might not have been going home just then, but neither would I be exiled to the Black Hole of Calcutta. How’s that expression go about clouds in silver linings?

Truthfully, I didn’t care where they sent me. My mind was beyond the grasp of its surroundings. I had my notes and contacts. All I had to do was wait.

On the regular unit, the crew I met at intake had been assigned to various cells. The capacity of these cells was eight, so each of us had seven new personalities to learn. There wasn’t a lot of time for mingling. When you see a familiar face on the tier, you nod, exchange a word or two then move on. This wasn’t high school, after all.

In summary…

Jail for Justice — An Open Letter to the Media XIV

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On August 20, 2016

In The Jail for Justice Series, Uncategorized

Wow. As I’m writing this post, a glance at the title field reveals the Roman numeral “XIV”! I intended to write a kind of op-ed piece, not a TV series, but be that as it may…

So I was sitting in the dayroom listening to guys relate their stories. On my grandfather’s ashes, I was appalled. No less than 1/3 of the men on the intake unit were there for penny ante stuff related to alleged violations of Protection From Abuse (“PFA”) orders or child support arrears totaling less than $1,000.

Jail? For that? Really? Are they locking guys up for jaywalking, too?

Before I go on, I need to establish some things:

  • I relocated to the Lehigh Valley because it is a wonderful place to live and raise children;
  • People here are generally friendly, thoughtful, respectful and law-abiding;
  • At the time I relocated, I did not foresee any marital issues that would result in the morass in which I find myself enmeshed; and
  • My days of gambling with my life and liberty were over for more than a decade before I even considered leaving New York, which is to say that I do not flout nor do I intentionally run afoul of the law. I’m a father and, generally, a busy one — I try to set an example for my kids and I have no time to be running back and forth to court for nonsense.

Yet, here we are, or rather, there I was:

  • In jail;
  • Not convicted of any crime;
  • Taking up space;
  • Watching painfully bad TV;
  • Waiting for the results of a TB test;
  • Wearing a jumpsuit better suited for a scarecrow than a human being;
  • Eating foods of dubious origin;
  • NOT earning money for child support;
  • Missing my kids, friends and family;
  • Ordered to pay a fine, then incarcerated before I could even visit a bank or make a phone call;
  • At the mercy of people who would violate my constitutional rights because I had the nerve to point out that they were violating my constitutional rights;
  • Listening to other guys whose constitutional rights were violated, some of whom were held prisoner for failing to pay child support arrears when their incarceration had cost them their jobs, others because they were simply accused of violating PFAs, even if there was no evidence that they had done so and consequences be darned;
  • Stuck in Northampton County’s modern take on the debtor’s prison; and
  • In jail!

So I took notes, gathered contact information, jotted down ideas and cultivated strategies. The men on the unit might have been content to rot in jail while the creeps who put us there spent the weekend laughing it up somewhere, but I’ve worked too hard to have any kind of life to allow some good ol’ boys to rip it from my hands simply because they can. No sirree.

The take-aways:

  • The show performed the previous day in Room 8 went off without a hitch, as if the players had recited their lines ad nauseum over hundreds of performances;
  • Too many men on the unit were telling the same story for it to be a coincidence;
  • No one can be expected to pay off a debt from a jail cell; and
  • Karma is, er…not a friend of the unscrupulous.

Learn more…

The Womb Has Proven Mightier Than The Pen

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On August 18, 2016

In Rants, Uncategorized

What has happened to the media? How many new-school journalists actually apply to their craft what they’ve learned in journalism school? Why is it that truly socially relevant stories go ignored while platoons of writers and photographers rush to cover what some celebrity-of-the-moment is wearing to walk her purse-pooch through Central Park? I don’t know. What I do know is that, even in this age of virtually all nonsense all the time, a single person with uncommon resolve and the right approach can bring about monumental change. Sometimes, it boils down to that.

The welfare of my children is worth every abrasive post, reasonable reference, revelation, taunt or stunt or any other price I might have to pay to bring attention to our plight. The American divorce/support/custody complex is a largely outmoded, corroded, grotesque, asinine system that frequently denies involved fathers and their kids the right to be whole after the courts have arbitrarily torn them asunder. It is time responsible fathers of our era stopped paying the price for the deadbeat dads of the 20th century. Who of the media dare to address this topic proactively and extensively rather than allow it to remain the backstory to myriad examples of antisocial behavior?

I know that common sense today is as fashionable as top hats and tails, but the decades of evidence that broken families tend to produce broken people glow in the dark like plastic skeletons on Halloween! The American media need to wake up, pull their heads out of Kim Kardashian’s backside and do their jobs! Start observing, culling data and telling the truth about what divorce courts, judges and lawyers are doing to good fathers as a matter of rote rather than acting in the best interests of kids!

In many states, divorce, custody and support matters are churned through a feudalistic machine where gender, money, convention and the whims of lawyers and judges routinely outweigh truth and the actual circumstances of any given case. That people in position to make changes, including the media, legislators, lawyers, judges and even beaten down fathers, some of whom happen to be members of the aforementioned groups, do nothing to fix this dysfunctional system is positively shameful and contributes to the degradation of the American family.

Given what many young men have seen happen to their own families or those of friends, it’s a wonder any would want to walk off the same cliff that previous generations of men have. Family values are clearly in decline and the punishment meted out to fathers for simply having been part of failed relationships is often excessive and inequitable.

Am I just a disgruntled soul ranting about some perceived injustice, the kind of guy to be avoided when choosing a place to sit at a favored pub? No, because first, I don’t go to pubs and second, I’m addressing concerns that far outweigh my personal struggle. I’m challenging American journalists to investigate the decline of the American family and the alienation of the American father as aided by laws and the parties charged with upholding those laws. This is not only relevant news but a long-perpetuated social injustice demanding the kind of activism that spawned movements to protect women’s rights, civil rights, immigration rights or any rights systemically denied a targeted group in this country.

For the purposes of sports broadcasts and fantasy leagues, a legion of statisticians are making a very good living generating data that contribute as much to our society as, well, Kim Kardashian’s backside. What would happen if the same kind of focus were applied to something that actually mattered, like the emotional impact of court-imposed separations and lop-sided custody orders on kids and loving fathers? What story would 10 years of data tell about the effects of inflexible, arbitrary support demands on fathers forced to either abandon their pre-divorce standard of living or face incarceration? God knows the internet and social media are teeming with the testimonies of dads whose rights are not only denied, but practically extinguished. The only question is: Who in the media will finally stop pretending that this isn’t a national crisis?

Jail for Justice — An Open Letter to the Media III

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On July 31, 2016

In The Jail for Justice Series, Uncategorized

Imagine going into a court of law in the United States in response to a petition secure in the knowledge that opposing counsel was in collusion with the sitting judge.

Imagine court officials of such a base nature, they would play God with the life of a person about whom they know only what they might have heard from a biased attorney and what they’ve surmised after skimming over a case file riddled with lies.

Imagine that such persons were so intent on teaching you a lesson, they had little to no consideration for the peripheral damage their actions might cause.

Imagine being advised by your own attorney, who did not attend the hearing, to make a show of being respectful of, even awestruck with people you would avoid like the HIV virus under any other circumstance.

That’s what I faced Friday, July 22, 2016.

I don’t care what any God-awful lawyer or pompous county judges think of me, nor do my children or the people who know me. I do care that I am only one of many casually shafted by such people who make snap judgments not out of any sense of justice, but as the result of shameless, rampant cronyism within a government agency. It’s wrong and it needs to be addressed.

For your consideration:

  • The hearing held July 22, 2016 was the culmination of a petition for contempt of court originally filed March of this year alleging that I failed to comply with a property settlement agreement entered into July of 2015, to wit, I did not sign paperwork related to the division of my retirement plan;
  • It was known to all involved parties that I was not represented when presented with said paperwork;
  • I advised all involved parties that, prior to retaining new counsel, I would not sign any paperwork pending review by said counsel;
  • Regardless, opposing parties filed a petition for contempt of court on the grounds cited above and advised me of same;
  • Acting pro se, I communicated to opposing counsel my unvarnished observations of him, his behavior and my utter relief that he would soon be a distant memory to me;
  • Upon securing counsel, at a subsequent hearing which I did not attend, I was not found in contempt of court, however, the presiding judge still imposed upon me a $600.00 fine;
  • Already under considerable financial strain, I could not pay such fine;
  • Opposing counsel, whose implications that I had been less than a loving, devoted and supportive husband despite abundant evidence to the contrary absolutely litter the case file, seemed to take offense to my calling him out, here and via direct communication;
  • When I failed to remit payment within the time prescribed in the standing order, opposing counsel renewed his petition for contempt of court, demanding even more money though he was well aware of my financial responsibilities and that I was no longer employed;
  • At the July 22, 2016 hearing, acting de facto pro se, I offered valid arguments to which the presiding judge demonstrably turned a deaf ear; and
  • I was found to be in contempt of court, opposing counsel was granted his fee and I was ordered incarcerated for 2 months or until such time that the imposed fee was remitted to the county court’s administrator’s office.

For your further consideration:

  • The considerable financial demands made of divorced middle class fathers, including child support, car payments, auto insurance, mortgages, groceries, kids’ activities, entertainment and sundries, render absurd any order that I pay opposing counsel $600.00 for a petition that was denied;
  • Opposing counsel, while adept at smearing my name to suit his nefarious purposes, is paradoxically thin-skinned;
  • I have never seen a government agency act as a bill collector for an attorney in private practice;
  • Had I remained incarcerated for the duration of the two-month term imposed, I would not have been able to earn the money to meet critical financial obligations (I could have lost my home and car) including the fee imposed by the court; and
  • The psychological impact on my children of yet another unwarranted, court-imposed separation would have been cruel, unfair, incalculable, and for those responsible for such a circumstance, unconscionable.

The only conclusions to be reached are that opposing counsel and an elected county judge, both members of the Pennsylvania Bar Association expected to uphold the standards of that organization not to mention honor the public trust, were of the conviction that collecting $2,400.00 from an unemployed father of two was of far greater importance than anything going on in my life or those of my children, and failing that, I should spend two months in jail.

Really?

Learn more…

Jail for Justice — An Open Letter to the Media II

By

On July 29, 2016

In The Jail for Justice Series, Uncategorized

Bodhan Zelechiwsky and his cronies at the Northampton County, Pennsylvania courthouse are about as predictable — and interesting — as a bus route. I appeared there for a hearing July 22, 2016, a week ago today. As expected, the narcissistic Zelechiwsky flitted about the courtroom like a peacock, so desperate for attention, I thought he might trip over his own feet. As the presiding judge was clearly working by his own clock, we peons waiting for hearings scheduled for as early as 9:00 AM had to endure a 2-hour delay before he appeared. That a person so inconsiderate of the time of others could be either fair or impartial was a dubious prospect. When His Honor at last deigned to grace us with his magnificent presence, I could tell by the way he walked out of chambers how the day would go for me. I was prepared.

When I was finally called to stand before the judge, things went as I knew they would with two notable exceptions: (1) though I was visibly trembling with revulsion at having to play a role in that farce, I was able to make valid and coherent arguments (which were, of course, dismissed out of hand by His Honor) and (2) I was awarded an all-expenses-paid, all-inclusive weekend getaway to commence immediately!

It was all so convenient: A deputy opened a side door in the courtroom and escorted me through a labyrinth leading to the spa. At the front desk, I was asked to check in my street clothes and issued a fashionable jumpsuit of the finest fabric. I wish I had pictures, but possession or use of electronic devices by guests was against resort policy. Fortunately, there was a photographer on duty. She took three pictures of me, forward facing and both profiles. Apparently, the shots were so good, the resort elected to keep them.

Once settled in, I took a group tour of the grounds. There wasn’t much to see and the food wasn’t fit for sale at a truck stop, but the conversation was fantastic! I was enthralled with the backgrounds of and tales told by my tour mates. The last time I learned so much, I was in a classroom. The most important lessons were that the challenges I face dealing with Northampton County’s courts are staggeringly common and that short-sighted, desensitized divorce attorneys are merely a symptom of larger, systemic problems.

The prevailing sentiment among my tour mates is that the laws governing divorce and child support in the state of Pennsylvania are needlessly punitive and unfavorable to working class men inexorably dragged into the system by thoughtless, vindictive and/or self-centered spouses. As hostile as these laws are, those charged with enforcing them apparently do so with a heavy hand, destroying the quality of life for men who had the temerity to marry and father children.

Then, there were discussions of certain lawyers and judges so high off their own vapors that they seem to think themselves above the law. I heard many stories of men gifted vacation packages like mine, but for longer durations and under more absurd circumstances.

When my sojourn was over, any doubts I may have had about the course of action I’m taking were gone. Families are being demolished and the lives of hard-working, dedicated fathers are being ruined. How is this beneficial to the innocent kids caught up in post-divorce dystopia?

Learn more…

Distance + Time = A Yet Stronger Bond

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On June 11, 2016

In Tales from the Front, Uncategorized

Over the time I’ve lived apart from my children, my confidence in the bond between the three of us has grown from tenuous to unshakable.

Our love for each other never waivers. This is critical to my resurgence as a father, man and human being. I have dropped weight, negative emotions, specious ideals and any interest in wading in the sewer of the divorce industry. I want LIFE. I want it for me and I want it for my children. My new life has shaped my new goals.

No shattered personality, bureaucrat, shyster or impostor can change what is obvious to anyone who sees my kids and me together. We are the real deal because as much as they can be, they are my priority and this is understood between the three of us. I feel blessed to be part of such a synergy and vow to my children that I will do nothing to violate it.

I haven’t seen the kids for a week. Why is not important. What matters is that I put them first and I look at our separation in a positive light. I will never be one of these fathers that lets this situation get the better of him. Our time together is informed by human frailty; it will never be perfect, but it will always be the best we can make it because our bond is that strong.

I’m no saint, but my relationship with my kids is sacrosanct. It may be the one thing in my life that I ever get right. When my time comes, the least of gifts I can leave them is that they can feel good about whatever cliché they put on my headstone.

Guys, I love you and I’ll see you soon.

Escape from Purgatory

By

On June 10, 2016

In Tales from the Front, Uncategorized

So many major life events have hit me in such a short time span that I found myself in what I recognize now to be a state of shock. I had so much to deal with that, often, I couldn’t deal with anything. Oh, I’ve had the occasional stretch of hyper-productivity, but it has been tough to sustain momentum due to the sheer volume and difficulty of responsibilities I face. For men of my age facing similar challenges, this situation is commonly referred to as a midlife crisis or adjustment disorder.

The path to self-satisfaction and long-term happiness begins with self-care; for too long now, I have put my problems before ME. I woke up this morning with the express intent to change that dynamic. This post is Step 1.

My first clues that I was going through something were feelings of extreme fatigue, physical weakness and constant hypervigilance. I would experience one or all of these symptoms at any given time. At home, I felt a creeping distance developing between my ex-wife and me for which I couldn’t identify a single, clear source. Alarmed by the possibility that, after years of struggling to build for myself and family a better life, I stood to lose it all, I resorted to online research.

I discovered a wealth of information from reliable sources that explains the midlife crisis and/or adjustment disorder and the best coping methods for dealing with them. I continue to follow the steps when I am motivated, but there are days when I simply cannot muster that drive. Then, there are days like today, when the quiet, indomitable spirit that has driven me from the streets of the Bronx to where ever I am today, peeks over the horizon like the New Mexico sun. Hope not only returns, it walks arm-in-arm with determination and ability. I am reminded that my struggle is not my own; I am rebuilding my life for the kids, too.

For the self-aware, a paradox of the midlife crisis is that, even with the help of a good supporting cast and the innate understanding that they have the power to pull themselves through with flying colors, they are also at times beset with self-doubt so crippling that they can lose sight of this. On such occasions, It can be comforting to lock one’s self in a motel room in a small town long enough to stop thinking; to give that over-worked brain a well-deserved rest. Once rested, the brain is better able to take stock of the situations at hand, prioritize them, concoct plans of action, then act on those plans. Direct, concerted action is the tunnel out of the prison of indecision, the purgatory constructed from the ruins of good plans gone awry.

I am doing serious introspection today, the kind I have avoided for weeks because I was so mentally exhausted from 4 years of sheer hell. I am going to re-examine all the obstacles to long-term happiness that I must overcome and figure out how to get ‘er done. Whatever life there is left for me to live, I will live it on my terms.

The path to self-satisfaction and long-term happiness begins with self-care; for too long now, I have put my problems before me. I woke up this morning with the express intent to change that dynamic. This post is Step 1.

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