The Budget of Paradox

Sophia,

Joyous Kwanzaa, my spawn.

I wanted to call you yesterday. But I don’t know any of your phone numbers or media accounts. I don’t even know where you are right now. I asked your mom. Then I asked Kimberly and Nana Lee. Everyone ignored me.

I still don’t know why everyone is terrified that you might have a loving father in your life. Seems stupid to me. Every time you surrender to fear, you give up a little bit of your soul.

I hope your Christmas was enjoyable. At the very least, I hope peace was upon you, even for a moment. Life is so full of distractions. It’s important to have a moment of peace once in a while.

I am very sorry that I missed another Christmas with you. As far as I can recall, we’ve only had one Christmas together, in 2009, when you were only a year old. I have photos to prove it. I’d post them here but it’s probably a waste of time. You’ll probably never ask to see them. But, please prove me wrong.

I have no idea if you’re receiving the gifts I send you. I still don’t know if you got your birthday present this year. It seems pointless to keep sending you things if they’re being retired directly into the trash, which I suspect is their fate.

Nevertheless, I love you and miss you.
Dad

Sophia,
I’m a little worried about you. I finally got access to your school records. Last week, every day, I got an e-mail saying you were absent from school. Of course, I don’t know why. Maybe you’re sick. Maybe your mom sent you to Hawaii. I wish I knew. I hope you’re okay.

I want to call you on Christmas, but I don’t know where you are or which number to use. I e-mailed your mom, but so far, she won’t answer.

I know she thinks (and maybe she’s convinced you, too) that I’m some horrible monster who shouldn’t have access to his own children. But if you take the time to listen to her reasoning, you’ll see she has no evidence of anything. All of the lingering stink comes from her and her lawyer. No teacher ever said I was a bad parent, no therapist, no doctor, no counselor, no judge, no court… no one. No one ever said I was a bad father. In fact, your Aunt Kimberly testified at my divorce hearing and had nothing bad to say about me. Before he died, Papa Bear liked me. At least, he did when I knew him. Nana Lee liked me, or seemed to. She always invited me into her house and never said I was a bad father.

This idea that I’m a horrible father came from your mom and her lawyer…. but only after we disagreed about money in the divorce. Only then did the stories start emerging: stories that make no sense. When I had my security clearance upgraded, your mom was happy to tell the government that I was trustworthy and reliable. But after arguing about money, she claimed I was violent and crazy. Okay, I’m violent and crazy, but during our divorce, she let me take you and Morey overnight, unsupervised. Your mom even invited me to your house to have dinner with all of you during the divorce. But still, she expected the judge and everyone else to believe her story that I was violent and crazy and a dangerous father.

This whole situation is so cruel and pointless. You’re my daughter. We should be together, especially on holidays. We should be in each other’s lives. Instead, your mom is holding on to some retarded lie her lawyer invented. A lawyer, who, by the way, is now long gone. The lawyer threw a hand grenade into our lives, carelessly let it explode, then walked away. She doesn’t care about the destruction she caused.

Do you have any memory at all of me hurting you? Hitting you? Slapping you? Abandoning you? Shaking you? Yelling at you? Of course not. It never happened. I never even spanked you. Morey has no such memories, either. On the contrary, I went to great lengths to make your life better. And to make you laugh. And let you feel love and grow and be smart.

I miss you terribly. I hope I can reach you on Christmas Day.

I love you,
Dad

attorney Betsy Phillips of Rustburg you horrible cunt. i hope you die painfully and slowly. suck my cock you ugly bitch. if there is a God in Heaven, surely you will burn in Hell. You hurt children. That’s Nazi-level shit. You are the reason there are metal detectors at the courthouse entrance. Hopefully someday you’ll piss off a father with less restraint than me and you’ll get what you deserve. My Senior Partner BHP myseniorpartnerbhp.com

Sophia,

I tried again to contact you. I don’t know if any of my messages are coming through. I truly have no way to reach you. I wish you at least knew that I was trying. I love you and miss you. Maybe someday we can salvage something from our relationship. I’m sure you must only think of our relationship as a total failure. I wouldn’t blame you. But I hope you understand that it wasn’t my choice. Not at all.

Maybe you’ll never read these words.

I had one small victory. Dr. Rule, the principal of E.C. Glass, finally gave me access to your school records. I only had to threaten him with a lawsuit. Again.

Your records contain your photo. I was surprised. The only photos I have of you are several years old. I still see you with blonde hair, like you had when you were a child.

It kills me a little to see you struggling with math. Your mom will confirm that I’m a math weenie at heart. I’d love to tutor you. In fact, I’d love to get you a whole year ahead. If I were there, I’d be sure you knew the material inside and out.

And what’s up with your attendance? Morey had the same problem in high school: Always late. Is your mother not capable of getting you off to school in the morning? I know she’s a single mom. But she prefers it that way. In fact, she insisted on being a single mom. I was expressly invited to fuck off. So, for someone who wanted all the responsibility, she doesn’t seem to be doing a very good job.

I used to take Morey to Kindergarten every day. And that’s when we lived in Waimea and she attended Island School in Lihue. It’s a 45-minute drive, but somehow, we made it on-time every day.

Anyway, I’m just frustrated that we’re apart, and you basically have no idea who I am anymore. I hope you believe me: this is not the life I expected to have as your father.

I hope to hear from you.

Love, Dad