The Budget of Paradox

Sophia,

Yes, I know, you’re not a child anymore. But you have to remember that my most recent memories of you are several years old. So, when I think of you, there are certain limitations I have to deal with.

Anyway, I mentioned this before in some other letters. There’s an actress named Iris Apatow. When you and her were both children, you looked somewhat alike. Not identical twins, for sure, but you resembled each other in many ways: curly hair, the laughter, the silliness, the attitude, the fighting with her sister.

She was a child actor who often played the younger sister of another child actor who was actually her real-life sister. They appeared together as sisters in two or three movies. And in each movie, they fight like sisters really fight. Some of their scenes were actually improvised without a script. They fight like you and Morey used to fight. That’s why I find their interaction so funny: it reminds me of my kids. Iris, the younger girl, really reminds me of you.

I think of you all the time. Someone made this mix tape video of the girls fighting in the movies, and it makes me smile.

BTW, in real life, Iris is about 20 now. She dyed her hair black and she wears far too much makeup. In interviews, she sounds like an idiot. Please don’t be an idiot with too much makeup when you’re 20. You’re better than that. Don’t break your dad’s heart.

Sophia, It’s the last Friday in May. I think today was your last day of school. Your last day of school before high school. I’m sorry I wasn’t there.

I thought of something today I hadn’t thought of in a long time. There was a short period of my life, maybe from age 11 to 14, when my father would take me out to lunch on my last day of school. For a while, it was a bit of a tradition. School was dismissed early on the last day, probably about 1:30 or so. He would take me to this little restaurant called Texas Hots (of course, this was in upstate New York; “Texas hot” is a kind of hot dog). The restaurant isn’t there anymore. Sometimes I go look at my old hometown on Google Maps. The building is boarded-up and abandoned now.

I don’t have any photos of the place. Back then, of course, we didn’t have cell phones. Today, people easily take pictures of everything. I even looked on the internet and there’s not a single photo of the restaurant. It’s kinda sad. It was someone’s hard work and dream, and now, there’s scarcely any evidence it ever existed.

Texas Hots only sold hot dogs and hamburgers and french fries, stuff like that. The kind of place where the menu is on a big board made up of little moveable letters. The owner was this funny fat guy named Carl. I liked him because he didn’t seem to take anything in life too seriously. He just liked to cook hamburgers. Nothing bothered him.

Honestly, the place was kinda dumpy. Not really the place for a celebration. But I treasure those memories with my dad. My sister and my mom weren’t there. It was just my dad and me.

That feeling… the feeling of spring turning to summer, of school ending and the start of three months of freedom, it was intoxicating. The summer was always filled with so many possibilities. Suddenly, all at once, I was staying up late, always outdoors, always with my friends. It was a glorious time. That kick-off lunch at Texas Hots was always welcome. My father rarely told me he loved me or was proud of me. But I think those lunches were his way of acknowledging my success in the world as a child. It wasn’t the french fries I remember; it was the time with my dad.

Later, after my dad stopped taking me there, I would go there with my friends on the last day of high school for 10th and 11th grade. I could drive myself at that point. Thinking back, I really can’t remember my last day of school in 12th grade. I forgot that day completely. I had other things on my mind (another story for another day). I wonder what I did that day.

I’m sorry I wasn’t with you today. I was there in spirit. And we had our own Texas Hots, sort of, whatever that could have been, wherever that is.

I am proud of you, kid. And I love you.

Have you ever been to my YouTube channel? Yes, there are videos there from me. But there are also some playlists. Playlists are lists of videos I’ve picked out. They’re not mine, just my picks. Anyway, I’m listening to a Playlist I made called “Bleeding Out In A Warm Bath”. Sorry for the depressing title, but it’s a collection of songs I listen to at night when I’m alone with my thoughts. These aren’t the kinds of songs you want to listen to while driving around. It’s more like late-night background deep thinking music. I’m listening right now as I type this. Maybe you’ll listen some night when you’re lonely or anxious or afraid, and learn to just let it go.

https://www.youtube. … becker8192/playlists

One of the last times Morey Percy talked to me, she said you had gone to Disney World with some other family. This was a long time ago, I know. But I remember her saying that you didn’t enjoy the trip very much.

Why? What happened?

In an earlier post, I mentioned Tacos Gobernador at Pueblo Chico’s.

Now, I can’t stop thinking about them. I can’t wait to get back there.

I would love to see you there some day. I really, really would.

Tacos Gobernador.

Sophia, you were 6 years and 2 months old when I last saw you. That was the day the judge ordered me to pay so much money, I had no choice but to go work overseas where my skills are worth more.

Money is all they care about. “They”. The retarded lawyers and corrupt judges.

Hear me out. I was thinking today. Suppose you knew a 6-year old girl who loved both of her parents. One day, her father is abruptly pulled out of her life and she never sees him again. If the father had been killed in an accident, or killed at work, everyone would have sympathy for the little girl. It would be heartbreaking to imagine such an event. No one would want the job of explaining to her that she’s never going to see him again.

If I had been killed in Afghanistan, or in some car accident, people (even “they”) would have sympathy for all of us. Your mom would dress you and your sister up in nice clothes and take you to the cemetery. You’d get the chance to put one of your toys in daddy’s “bye-bye box”. You would have a chance to grieve and hopefully find closure.

Daddy in his Bye-Bye Box with some of your toys

But when some idiot “family court” judge separates us (a man who, by the way, doesn’t know anything about your family or care anything about you) decides the same fate for us, no one cares.

In many ways, I’m already in the Bye-Bye Box.

But I’m still alive. And so are you. Someday, I hope you can see how fucking sick and cruel the system can be. All of this over some money.

I love you so very much. I’m not dead. I’m really here, on Earth, still sucking down oxygen.

You didn’t deserve what happened to you. Kids need two parents.