The Budget of Paradox

Sophia,

There’s a culinary instructor at your school named Chef Phillips. Next year, he’s taking some students on a trip to Costa Rica. It’s a small Latin American country very near Panama. As an EC Glass parent, I get the school’s newsletters.

I would love to pay your fees and have you go on the trip. There is such a big world out there beyond Lynchburg. I want you to see it.

I’d love to meet you in Costa Rica, even if only for a couple of days. I visit Panama all the time; it’s easy for me to get to Costa Rica.

I told your mom. She said no. And then, bizarrely, she said I’m responsible for alienating you. I really have no idea how to reply to that. In addition to all the other things I’ve done to try to be in your life, she made that statement literally right after I invited you to meet me in Costa Rica.

I really have no idea what goes through Kirsten’s brain sometimes. She hires lawyers to fight me — and lie — when I want to see you. But somehow, she’s concluded that I’m responsible for our alienation.

I’m really at a loss for words.

I can’t iterate it enough: I love you and miss you. I hope Costa Rica works out. Or something. Paris. Dubai. CDMX. Something.

Dad

Sophia,
I’m still thinking about what (your mother claims) you said about me: that I’ve “showed you” who I am. Your mother didn’t elaborate, but I’m sure it’s meant to be an insult.

Who am I? I know you were too young to appreciate this, but here is a true story about who I am.

I did the heavy lifting when it mattered. It was a labor of love. And my feelings never changed. What changed is that a bunch of limp-dick retarded faggot lawyers decided they know what’s in the best interests of my children better than I do… people you’ve never even met. And they didn’t do it for love. They did it for a paycheck.

Your dad loves you. If the whole world forgets about me, I hope you remember that.

Dad

Sophia,

Your mother just sent me this e-mail. I guess she speaks for you now if you refuse to speak for yourself.

I’m curious about the line, “he just spends all of his time telling me who he is, like I’ll be impressed”.

Sometimes, I get to see and do a lot of cool things. And yes, I want to share them with you. But there’s more. You were meant to go along for the ride. You were meant to be a part of my life, a big part. And if I only talk about myself, it’s because I don’t know you at all. Well, I know you’re inexplicably absent from school often, just like Morey was. Your mom loves to brag that she’s a great mom, but always leaves that part out.

I am very eager to hear about your life. Your mother has been withholding visitation since 2015. Don’t you think I’ve TRIED to see you? I’d be happy to show you the court papers and my lawyer bills (and letters from your mom’s lawyer urging the court to deny my requests).

“I know who he showed me he was”. According to your mother, you wrote this. BTW, awkward sentence structure, which makes me even more suspicious. Surely you’re not as poor of a writer as she is.

Anyway, I’m puzzled by this as well. We haven’t spoke since you were 8 or 9 years old. And you’re making a reference to what I’ve showed you? What have I showed you? What are you talking about? THIS IS WHAT I’ve been showing you.

I’m trying to show you love. But the internet is not the right venue. And it’s a one-way conversation. But it’s all I have.

“The truth is rarely pure and never simple.”

Yours most Sincerely,
Dad

Sophia,
Did you know that the last place I saw your mom — before she filed for divorce — was in Morocco? You were very young, only three years old. But your mom flew to meet me in Paris. We were there for a week then flew to Morocco together for another week. We had a great time. At least, I remember it as a great time. That was the last time we would be husband and wife together.

We even had dinner at Rick’s Café in Casablanca. It’s the setting of an old film called Casablanca. There was an excellent film in 2006 called Babel. Part of it was set in the mountains of Morocco where your mother and I did some hiking. The movie featured a married American couple vacationing in Morocco, but they’re on the brink of divorce. Funny how life imitates art. Here is a scene from the movie.

I took a lot of photos on that trip. If you want to see them, I’m happy to share.

Morocco is a beautiful country. Its name is derived from the old Berber language. It means “Land of God”. I always liked that.

Morocco is in north Africa. I’ve been to other parts of north Africa before. I’m probably going back to north Africa next month. Parts of it are nice; some parts are terrible, of course.

I’d love to meet you there someday. We can eat figs and baba ghanoush.

Thinking about you today,
Yours most sincerely,
Dad
p.s. go watch the movie Babel

Sophia,
This blog is about you. But, today, I need to acknowledge something just for me. As you probably know, before I met your mother, I was married to another woman. She died in a car accident 153 days after we were married.

We were married 30 years ago tonight.

Thirty years. When I say it out loud, it’s hard to believe.

We got married on the beach of the campus of the University of California at Santa Barbara, not far from the marine sciences building where she was a senior with only a few months left before graduation. My friend Dennis was the only witness. Later, we all went out to dinner at a nice restaurant in Goleta Beach Park. During dinner, Dennis told dirty jokes. It was a nod to the traditional role of a Best Man. The idea of a Best Man started in Medieval times when weddings would hire a jester to tell off-color jokes. This was done to draw the attention of the Devil away from the newly-married couple.

Robin and I kept our marriage a secret from our friends and families. I remember calling your Nana Julie the next morning to tell her.

30 years

I don’t expect you to care very much about someone you never met. Why would you? But she was a good person. She was kind to animals and old people. She had a good heart. Sometimes, I would drive six hours just to have lunch with her. I miss her very much.

Appreciate the people you love while they’re still alive.

Dad