I Am Sofa King Annoyed.
Welcome Firedoglakers! The following post is a big old personal vent about parenting, and while I’m happy to let my personal life hang out, I’m going to close comments on this one. I’ve received some very supportive posts that I will be following up on, but I’m not prepared to actually have a discussion about my situation with folks I don’t know very well. I hope you understand.
On Thursday night, right before driving the 8 hour round trip to pick up Sam, my cell phone went missing. It has never turned up and a new one is on the way. In any event, I called Sam’s mom very late that evening to let her know it was missing and that she could reach me on my girlfriend’s phone, which I brought along on the trip. After picking up Sam, I made a point of calling, as I always do, when we reached Philadelphia so she would know we’d arrived safe and sound.
Generally when Sam visits I have him to myself: I don’t feel comfortably calling his mom about minor behavior questions, because I don’t want to reinforce socially-ingrained notions of “the irresponsible father” (even if my unfamiliarity with Sam’s habits is largely a result of her decision to remain in Montreal, 500 plus miles from Philadelphia), and his mom realizes that this is father-son time and generally doesn’t call until three or four days into the visit. So, when I called Virgin Mobile to order my new phone Friday morning, and was told it would be here in about two days, I figured it wouldn’t be a problem.
Christina told me Sunday evening that his mom had called looking for me, so I tried to give her a call on Monday using Christina’s phone, but as usual, her answering machine at home was full, and she STILL hadn’t turned on the voicemail on her cell. Meanwhile, when I emailed all of my contacts to let them know my cell had gone missing and I needed replacement numbers, my ex’s email bounced mine right back at me. Christina emailed me this morning to let me know that his mom had called again, and while I was at my brother’s place this afternoon, I finally reached her, where I was accused of being irresponsible, spurring worries that I’d abducted him, that something had happened and I hadn’t told her, etc etc: the whole diatribe was a pile of shit and I am now so fucking annoyed I don’t know what to say.
“How would you like it if you tried to call Sam and couldn’t get through,” she asked bitterly.
“Oh, I can tell you all about that,” I said, “Because half the time I can’t reach you. Your cell still doesn’t have voicem–”
“I haven’t had time to set it up,” she replied. It’s been three months since she bought the thing. “Besides, even if I don’t answer I see that you’ve called.”
“And your machine at phone is always out of memory,” I continued.
“That’s because I do consulting now,” she snapped. “It gets filled within two days, I can’t help it.” That’s an interesting way of looking at things: when I have custody of our son, I have to make sure the lines of communication are always open. Anything less is unacceptable. When SHE has custody of our son, dulce et decorum est if she can’t be reached for days at a time and doesn’t return phone calls immediately.
This “abduction” trope popped up once before, and caused a big ol freakout in October, but this time I didn’t lose my cool: I told her never to say those words ever again. “I’ve never given you any reason to believe I would do something like that,” I barked.
“Well, I don’t know that,” she replied.
“Well, let me remind you,” I said, “I have too much invested in, you know, NORMAL LIFE, to go kidnapping our son. Like a house, remember? The one I own? The one I pay a mortgage on? Or my job? The one where I have a salary? And a pension? I’m not going to give that all up to, you know, go live on the the lam. I’m not STUPID.” Honestly, I was more offended at how puerile, how inane the suggestion was, that I’d kidnap my son. How long have you known me, you stupid stupid bitch? I wanted to scream. Where have I EVER given you the impression I would kidnap our son? Jesus fucking Christ, we dated for a year before Sam was even conceived, and during the first two years of his life, I not only made a point of traveling to Montreal to be there for his birth, I traveled up to see him and his mom every month, even though I was unemployed and desperately searching for work. And since the breakup, I have been a model separated father. I haven’t missed a single payment, I have spent untold sums and used up thousands of minutes on my cell calling him at bedtime. I have avoided fights with my ex at every turn.
The fact is if anyone could be characterized as a potential abductor, it’s my ex, who (for starters) had me wait for her to move in for over two years, and then at the last minute decided to stay across the international border in Canada. “Better offer at McGill College” was the reason at the time: that “better offer” turned out to be empty promises, and in this evening’s conversation she admitted that she’s not doing McGill so much anymore (translation, “it fell through”).
It gets better: two summers ago, before the breakup, my parents were heading north on vacation and volunteered to drop Sam off with his grandparents. In doing so, they inadvertently handed over my copy of his birth certificate, and I have been asking for a new copy EVER SINCE. His mom has offered me excuse after excuse as for why the document hasn’t appeared.
It gets better than that: I have a pile of organized, dated receipts from my child support payments, which I have made without fail every month since we broke up in August 2005. I pay every month: I don’t see Sam anywhere near as regularly as I pay. His mom has never provided me a receipt to demonstrate that she’s spending the money on Sam: for all I know, she could be spending it on Wayne Gretzky memorabilia, or whatever it is Canadians spend their loonies and toonies on.
It gets better: almost as soon as she dumped me, I took out a $15,000 loan on my house in part to buy a van so I could be able to make the 8-hour trip to pick him up (the original plan was to move to Vermont, where I’d be an hour or so from Sam, but the job scene, like the weather, isn’t so hot up there). My ex only started driving lessons two or three months ago, and still says she won’t be buying a car: it’s too expensive. Yeah, tell me about it: cry me a fucking river about the expense of owning a car.
It gets better than that: this past summer, I was a half-hour late arriving to pick up Sam, where I was told that if I was 10 minutes later, Melissa and her folks were going to go back to Canada. As if Sam was their kid. As if I had no right to see my him, even though I’m his next-of-kin, not them.
It gets better. Tonight she said “what if something happened, how would you get him to the hospital without a phone”, which is funny, because I would think it’s more important to have his health insurance information in the hospital. That’s something that’s never been provided to me, even though I PAID FOR IT.
Oh, and about that cell? I didn’t want one, but bought one because I knew I’d be on the road a lot for Sam. His mom just got around to buying one two months ago.
Furthermore, while I have a salaried job with benefits, ie the kind of job that implies stability and permanent residence, she works in food service, an industry noted for transient workers who drift from job to job.
I think the evidence shows pretty fucking clearly that if anyone is being prevented from seeing Sam regularly, it’s ME. If anyone can be characterized as a potential kidnapper, it’s my ex.
So to recap: my ex lives 10 hours away across an international border with my our son; grants me a week or so of access every other month (except when she doesn’t); has no voicemail on her cell, chooses not to use email, and her answering machine is regularly to backed up to receive messages;works in a fly-by-night, here-today-gone-tomorrow job, doesn’t drive and doesn’t intend to buy a car; and hasn’t provided me with a copy of his birth certificate despite months of cajoling, nor his health insurance information.
I pay my child support every month, increased the amount (without being asked) by $50.00-$100 in April 2006 when I got a cost of living raise, bought a vehicle to see my kid, bought a cellphone; have had a stable job with a salary for the past two years, and pay for my son’s health insurance. You tell me who’s got more potential to just disappear into thin air, and you tell me which parent has already explicitly demonstrated that she is capable of doing exactly that.
Yet I’m not worthy of even one fucking iota of trust. NOT. ONE. GODDAMN. IOTA.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK THAT. And Melissa, if you’re reading this, FUCK YOU FOR THINKING SO LITTLE OF ME. MAYBE IT’S TIME YOU LOOKED IN THE MIRROR.
And perhaps it’s time I started treating her the same way she treats me. Perhaps it’s time I started demanding receipts accounting for every single one of those $350-$400 I send up every month. Perhaps I’ve given her too much leeway regarding those important documents, and should demand them before I give her one more dime. It seems I’m held to a much higher standard of responsibility than she sets for herself, and perhaps it’s time to raise her bar as well. I’m tired of getting treated like I’m some kind of dick when all I’ve done for the past 3 fuckin’ years is bend over backwards to stay in my ex’s good graces.
And right about then is when someone I thought was my good friend decided to ream me a new asshole for forgetting to mention her blog at my intro post at firedoglake (the post I drafted the night before and edited on 2 hours of sleep after driving 8 fucking hours to get my son). When I realized my mistake, I felt terrible, but apparently an apology wasn’t enough: it was better to rub my face in an honest mistake, and one that I already felt terrible about, like I’m some kind of fucking dog that had not only shit on the rug, but had done it on purpose just to be a dick. “Bad dog! Bad dog!” I suppose I am: perhaps I should go get euthanized or something, would that make everyone feel better?
I feel terrible about my oversight, but after my apologies were thrown back in my face, I’m not sure if I even WANT to make amends tomorrow, which is what I planned to do.
That is why I am the Sofa King. Sofa King Annoyed.
Fuck you.
March 7th, 2007 at 8:20 am
Man. I wish I had something to say that could help, but I don’t. If it’s any solace, even when you’re boiling mad, you’re a great writer.
Your post about your last visit with Sam was powerful, too, and I saw exactly what you were talking about in the photo.
Hang in there.
March 7th, 2007 at 4:27 pm
Boy do you have a battle on your hands. I’s a battle that you don’ have to lose though, if you are willing to do the foot work necessary to get a handle on it. I’m willing to help if you wish. I don’t have a law degree but I do have sources and can maybe help you research for answers to some of the basic problems. First, the birth certificate, you need a copy for your records. Try the Bureau of Vital Statistics in the state and city that he was born, they will be able to tell you exactly what you need to do to get a copy. It sounds like his mother is very insecure and suffers a little arrested development. There isn’t anything you can do about that but you probubly know her patterns and should use them to your advantage when it comes time to make your next move. Make a list (in order of prioity) of all of the things you need to have done ie…birth certificate, insurance info, pediatrician established, emergency contact…
This will not only make you feel better, it might make her feel better too. When you get a pediatrician, make an appointment for a wellness physical so he has a chart there and they have some history on him. Man, I can see things getting better for you and Sam already. Remember, you can lean on me, I don’t mind.
March 7th, 2007 at 4:47 pm
Kinmo you are fantastic. Thank you.
March 8th, 2007 at 7:39 pm
Hey Brendan, Followed you over from Firedoglake. Live outside of Phila and enjoyed your post last week.
It took me seven years to get divorced and it feels like a daily battle, I have one piece of advice. WRITE EVERYTHING DOWN EVERY DAY!!! It saved me. Then if the worst happens you will be prepared with a written record. Next you are entitled to all his information. Call insurance company get them to send extra cards to you, same with every piece of info you want. As his father, they must give you info. When he starts school, they are required to send any and all info to both of you, regardless who he lives with. I know there are attorney who work pro bono, if you need one I might be able to find a name.
Lastly, right now Sam is young, but as he grows up he will realize who his mother really is. They always realizes their parents true selves. Be good to yourself.