The Budget of Paradox

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

Sophia,
How are your teeth? When’s the last time you went to a dentist? When I was a kid, Nana Julie made sure I saw a dentist every six months. I remember getting out of school for a few hours to go to appointments. She always made it a priority.

Getting the kids to a dentist was a sore spot during my marriage to your mom for some inexplicable reason. She had no interest in taking Morey to a dentist. She said Morey’s baby teeth would just fall out anyway someday. So, I made an appointment and took Morey myself. I still remember being with her during her first exam. She was probably three or four years old at the time.

Slightly off-topic, but the town where I grew up put sodium fluoride in the drinking water. It helps prevent tooth decay. Not every town does that. Nowhere in Hawaii does that. I don’t know if Lynchburg does it. The first time I ever visited a dentist in Hawaii, he took one look at my teeth and immediately knew that I grew up in a place with sodium fluoride in the drinking water. It’s so obvious.

I always bought mouthwash for you and Morey that contains sodium fluoride. Not all mouthwashes have it. You need to read the label. Most mouthwashes give you fresh breath, which is nice. But you really need sodium fluoride on your teeth when you go to sleep.

When I was in Afghanistan, I remember talking to Morey on the phone. I asked her when’s the last time someone looked at her teeth. She was surprised by the question. “There’s a doctor just for teeth?” She had no memory of ever visiting a dentist in Lynchburg. Money wasn’t the issue; I had great health insurance. A dentist visit would be free. Your mom just had to make an appointment and take you. But she wouldn’t do it. I still don’t understand that. A few days later, I was still mad. I called her up and told her that refusing to give the kids dental healthcare was essentially child abuse. There was no reason not to take you and Morey to see a dentist.

Eventually, I made an appointment myself for you and Morey — from a tent in Afghanistan. I reminded your mom of the appointment, but she still “forgot” (so she says), and it had to be re-scheduled.

When I found out you had no mouthwash with sodium fluoride, I had an entire case of it shipped to your house. Morey and your mom thought I was crazy for doing it. Yeah, I’m the crazy abusive asshole with great teeth who wants his kids to have great teeth, too.

The next time your mom tells you that I want to kidnap you, say, “Yes, and he’ll bring me to a dentist!”

Thinking of you today, and your teeth,
Dad

p.s. if you want to go hardcore, find mouthwash with chlorhexidine gluconate. Yeah, I know, lots of big chemistry words. But it’s great stuff if you want great teeth. You really need to read the fine print. If you want some, but can’t get it, let me know. I’ll be sure you get some. Ask ANY old person. They all wish they’d taken better care of their teeth.

Sophia,

Your Nana Lee has a neighbor on Kauai named Michael Ceurvorst. I was searching the Internet and found this story. Nana Lee didn’t write the story; one of her friends wrote it. It’s about Michael’s birthday party several years ago. But Nana Lee was there (so was her husband Joe and her business partner Neil). Nana Lee even read poetry at the party.

But the big focus of the party was Michael’s daughter Lucille, who had flown to Kauai from very far away to attend. It was agreed that Lucille’s visit was the best present he could get on his birthday.

I don’t know if we should call it irony or a total lack of empathy. But there’s a latent dark streak in that story. No one seems to care that you and your father can’t be together on holidays and celebrations. I guess you and I aren’t part of the “chosen people”, blessed by Nana Lee.

It’s too bad. It really is. I think you deserve a father in your life.

I hope you had a nice birthday yesterday.
Love, Dad

lee morey, lucille teckla ceurvorst, michael ceurvorst, kauai, lucille teckla ceurvorst wolff, joe sylvester

Sophia,
Happy Birthday. There’s so much to say, but I can’t fit it all here. Just know that I’m thinking of you today.

I had a small gift sent to you. It arrived at your house last week.

It would be nice to know if you’ve actually received it or not.

I love you and miss you,
Dad

Sophia,
Joyous Thanksgiving, kid. I hope you have a pleasant holiday today. I wish I knew where you are right now. I’m guessing you might be helping your mom cook today. I don’t know if she makes a big deal out of Thanksgiving anymore. But she did once.

When you were very little, I have memories from the house on Willow Lawn Drive. I remember your mom sending me out to buy the ingredients for brining the turkey. I had to go to Home Depot for one of those big orange buckets. Most of the ingredients, such as rosemary and apple cider, were easy to find. But getting juniper berries took some work.

Your mom used to go a little crazy making a large meal for Thanksgiving; she insisted on cooking everything homemade.

I’m not complaining. There are certainly worse habits. It’s just a memory.

No turkey for me today. I’m in some warm, distant city among people who don’t know anything about Thanksgiving (but, bizarrely, they have Black Friday here).

I miss you especially on the holidays.

With love,
Dad