The Budget of Paradox

Sophia,

This is a rant. I admit it. If you’re not interested in reading it, I understand.

In fact, I’m not very interested in writing it. But I feel like some things need to be documented just in case, you know, someday when you’re older, you feel like knowing the truth.

I wanted children. My first wife and I wanted children, but she died before that could happen. I thought about having a family again soon after I met your mom. Some children are the result of surprise pregnancies; some kids are fathered by men who aren’t interested in being fathers. I get that.

But not you or Morey. You and Morey were conceived by married parents who loved each other, and lived with each other, and had careers, and money, and time, and space in their hearts. We were ready. Even as a newborn, Morey had her own bedroom. On Friday nights, I didn’t go out drinking or hang out with my friends. I stayed at home. I dealt with a crying baby, poopy diapers, teaching Morey to read, and watching Dora the Explorer videos with her. I took Morey hiking and surfing and flying. I took her to concerts and the zoo and the desert. I loved being a dad. And I wanted all of these things for you, too, and more.

I wanted to give you the world.

From 2004 to 2008, your mother made most of the money in our marriage. And she managed our finances. But that 4-year period ended in total financial ruin. We lost everything. And for the next four years, from 2009 to 2013, I made all the money. And I was in charge. And that 4-year period ended with us on top. We were debt-free. I paid your mother’s taxes and debts. We had a fat savings account. You and Morey lived in a nice house with nice birthdays and vacations and Christmases and summer camps.

Things go better when I’m in charge. I know that’s a source of tension and embarrassment for your mother. But I don’t give a shit. She and I were in the business of making our children’s lives better. For years, no one earned more money and spent more money on you and your sister than I did. No one. I could choose whatever future I wanted for you. As a parent, there is no greater feeling than that.

Things go better when I’m in charge. Some people could drop acid in the wallpaper section of Home Depot and still not see a pattern here.

But, for reasons I still don’t understand, your mother wanted some scumbag lawyers and some retarded faggot judge to take over, and micromanage my family and my finances. The lawyers and the judge – strangers all – decided they know what’s in my children’s best interest better than I do. Imagine that. They were strangers. They never even met you. But they’re going to decide what’s best for you? Please make it make sense.

And, naturally, they fucked it all up. You and Morey and me were doing just fine until then. Everything moved like clockwork. All your needs were getting met. You had a loving father involved in your life. It wasn’t broken, so a bunch of strangers from the government decided to “fix” it.

I can’t iterate this enough: We were doing just fine without any help from anyone. But a bunch of lawyers wanted to get involved, and now, everything is broken and no one cares.

I know you can’t see that. You’re only 15 and I don’t expect you to understand the world or even your parents’ divorce. But maybe someday you can see it. I still have all the documents if you ever want to see them for yourself; the tributaries of truth. I’m not lying about anything. In fact, the truth is much worse, but I can only put so much into this rant. You wouldn’t believe half of it if I told you everything. But it’s all true.

This life that you have now, I didn’t want this. I fought hard to keep dirty lawyers from dissolving my family. But in the end, the government decided it was more important to ruin my family instead of a working, reasonable, realistic solution that everyone could have lived with. If Family Court had a national anthem, I would take a knee.

Your mother says that you don’t want me in your life at all anymore. I can’t hear it from you directly, so I guess I’ll just have to take her word for it. This, from the same woman who testified in court that I shook you as a baby and set your house on fire, but has no evidence of anything. I know she knows she’s lying, but she was under the spell of a scumbag lawyer who promised her lots of money if she lied in court. It was like a drug she was on; the drug of pure self-righteousness. And they weren’t just lies, they were anti-truths. Sadly, your mother couldn’t see that she was being manipulated. You were cheated out of a father because some lawyer wanted to drive a nicer car. That’s the truth no one else will tell you.

And of course, the lawyers who were supposedly looking out for the “best interests of the children” are long gone and don’t give a shit about you or your sister or your problems. They don’t care about my career or my ability to support my kids or participate in their lives. I predicted that you and Morey would have behavioral problems (I have it in writing, going back ten years!), but my opinions were pushed aside. I lost my vote, my voice, my sovereignty, my children. The man who solves problems and makes your life better was told to fuck off because they said it was in your “best interests”. I’ll never understand that. I guess you have to go to law school to understand such galactically retarded shit.

One of my jobs as a dad was to review your math homework. In math, you’re required to show your work. It’s too bad we don’t require Family Court to show its work. The lawyers don’t have to show their methods or strategies; the judge never explained his decisions. They only consider the evidence that they’ve manipulated (just like people, court evidence will say anything if you torture it enough). And if anyone needs proof of the potential for abuse in the Family Courts, they only need look at our case. To think my daughters would grow up in their legacy, it horrifies me.

I love you always. Maybe you’ll start to understand some of this before I die.

Yours,
Dad

Sophia,

What’s going with you and your school? I don’t know what’s happening. But something’s happening.

Whatever the problem, you have a father who prides himself on being able to fix problems.

I wish I could help. Whatever it is.

Talk to me.

Dad