My life experiences, relationships, family, friends, teachers and environment played a big role how I approached parenting when that time came for me and the eventual career choices I made as a result of the changes that followed. I was the keeper of the family photos, I was the one who wanted to know all of the family history, where we came from and why we moved away from our roots out to the wild, wild, West. My memories never faded and actually became a search for some type of authenticity of who I am and who these people were in these old photographs, how they came to be. So it would be appropriate that when my siblings and I reached adulthood I would be the one who would retrieve these precious memories before the trash man came, I didn’t understand how someone could so callously throw away such valuables but values would become the center of discussion and surprises were yet many to be had. To parent or not to parent, to be allowed to parent or not allowed to parent that is the question. Casually tossed to the side like the photos dumped in the trash, some parents just are not allowed to be parents. Historically this has been so and still there are a few that just simply cannot accept the norm as the way it shall be for them, and so they rebel. And rebel I did. Not accepting what was offered to me in so far as access and a life with the children I assisted in bringing into the world, I found myself at war instead of some cooperative union between the egg and the sperm, forever.
No, it was complicated and a narrow pathway that left few options for the non custodial parent. That is what I was determined to be and was expected to comply as millions of others, generations before, willingly and unwillingly eventually submitted to. Even within my immediate family it was expected. Walk away from your children and forget about them, pay your Child Support and see them, know them if they choose to, when they are grown. That I could not do. What was crystal clear though is that I needed options as what was presented to me was a lifetime entangled in the “misery industry”. Though I knew little then compared to what I know now it was glaring out, screaming at me that this was not right, this I could not do. I had to create my own options, I needed more information other than the little that I had and time was not on hold, people were moving on children were growing up and being moved around. What I thought was a clear pathway to the American Dream had become a bottomless sinkhole. Dropping everything except what was directly related to my case, my children and my life, I went into intense search and research of the bottom line, the end result, the most common and the most predictable outcome(s) and it was ugly. Given the specifics of the individuals I was working with and the legal parameters I was confined to working within, an immediate change was warranted, a drastic change that would guarantee an outcome that I desired and could live happily forever with.
Hardcore hardball no prisoners no emotions winner take all, that was what I wanted. If you want to run with the big dogs you cannot piss like a pup. This was a heartless game I was in and the sooner I recognized my adversaries for who they really are now and not who they were then the sooner I could get on with my life, my new life after these events. The strategy revealed itself through a series of unavoidable revelations, there was nothing I could do physically to change the situation and all that was left was to make the best, well beyond best even idyllic, of this undesirable outcome. Unknowing to me at the time was the value of separating one’s self from emotions and distractions that are inevitable in everyday life. Goals, dreams, careers, plans and the future can all be adapted or revised often for the better. Things that seem so terrible at the time later prove not to be so terrible after all. People who once seem indestructible so perfect and untouchable can push themselves off their self built pedestal. Everyone has some good and some bad, some brilliance some ignorance. Everyone at some time exhibits genius and everyone without exception makes an error or mistake, known or unknown, at some time. Everyone. No exceptions. I kept meticulous notes, often contemporaneous, primarily of the many hearings and judgments, admonishments and belittling rants I was subjected to for later reference, for my children to know of later. They were reminders, these notes and documents of The Court, of what I encountered and how their lives were discussed and debated long after their memories had faded and as they became adults. I recalled and turned to these notes often to show others that had no idea that what they were experiencing happens every day and millions of times before. The Walking Wounded, they needed proof that someone could relate that someone had been there before and survived it.
Life changing it was that day when the light shined on me. I knew what I had to do and how I would deal with the outcome as there was no other choice that allowed me the freedom I enjoyed before these events took place. This was a good decision for me and I proceeded forward.
Inspiration comes of working every day.