The War II: The Stink of Justice

Somehow my last post came off as being about spanking. It was supposed to be about a parents right to raise their child as they see fit. I'll come back to the discipline thing, because I think there is stuff to explore, but I want to finish this up.

So, I got arrested because my kid lied about me closed fist punching him and throwing him into a desk to the point of breakage. Pure fiction. But, I can ALMOST tolerate that, because I do think there are children out there that need protecting, and maybe if the cop errs on the side of caution... No, it sucks. Clearly if we are going to ask police to enforce family, they need to be trained to better discern a situation. I called 911 on an out of control child in a man's body and I ended up in jail. The kid is 6 feet tall and about 225. The police report listed him as 5'8" and 150 lbs. They also gave me an extra inch of height and put nearly an extra 50 pounds on me. They made it look like Rubeus Hagrid went all WWE on Frodo Baggins. We are a little more evenly matched than that.

So, excusing the arrest as best I can, I'm thinking this will all go away as the truth comes out. Clearly if there is one quality I possess in spades,it's naivety.

So that scene in Law and Order where you and your lawyer sit down with the DA and hash this all out. Pure fiction. The DA actually NEVER talked to me, from start to finish. He never even talked to my wife until months later when he realized she was going to be his number one witness, but she was actually on my side.

In the interim I am notified by the county sheriff that my name is entered into a child abuser's database. This is without conviction, or even an arraignment. I have yet to learn how to make this go away.

So day 1 of court (which if not for my Father-in-law bailing me out would have let me rot in a group cell for a week) what happens is the judge gives you the indicated sentence. This is what they will give you if you plead guilty right there. They also imply that if you fight on, the punishment will be harsher. They really want you to plead guilty and get out so they can slog through the stacks of DUIs and parole violations they deal with every day. I plead not guilty and ask for a public defender. I fill out forms 'till my hand hurts and go home.

2 weeks later, I appear and go through this exact thing all again, because no public defender has my file.

2 weeks later, I appear and simply postpone my case as my Public Defender JUST GOT MY FILE THAT MORNING! (Her name is Alison, and I do appreciate her efforts) She sends out an investigator to , uh, investigate. I drop off my step son's file, which includes behavioral problems dating back to third grade, multiple suspensions, CPS reports that pre-date my involvemnet, an expulsion hearing, half his lifetime of serious counseling, and not one but two arrest reports. It also includes signed statements from his mom, grandparents, pastor and a close family friend spelling out the situation that he an emotionally disturbed child, and I am not of the character to beat him. I literally have 25 people ready to testify to my character.

The DA ignores all this and presses on. The truth is, our DA's office wants to appear tough on crime, so the have a policy that they do not drop charges. Common sense be dammed. My lawyer AND her supervisor contact the DA's office to encourage them to see the light. No go.

I make a what I think is a critical mistake. I sign a form that allows me not to appear in court. I miss an appearance. The DA digs in his heels, and I will always wonder if I could have talked some sense into him in person.

We go to court again. My lawyer is involved in a jury trial, so we postpone. This is my 5th court date. We declare trial readiness. I'm going to a jury trial. The DA claims he never got the discovery packet, so I make another copy of the stack and drop it off. Alison thinks we are going to cream him, but of course can't guaranty that. This is all taking a serious toll on my mental health.

6th court date. The DA files for an extension. This is automatically granted. I learn he can do this several more times.

The DA calls my wife, to prep his witness. She gives him an ear full and reminds him the kid no longer resides in California. I don't know how they can have a trial at all, because i have a right to confront my accuser.

7th court date. I learn the most stunning fact of the whole ordeal. I can fight this thing and WIN. Not Guilty! Acquitted! and STILL have to pay up to 1000 dollars in court fees for use of the system. I realize that I would need real money to get real justice, and I don't have it. Spending 5 grand on a lawyer gets me nothing, and need a 10+ grand lawyer to get the DA to take notice. I need to be ready to spend a grand on court fees. I need to ask all my witnesses to be ready to go at a moments notice, and be on stand by for maybe ANOTHER month. My mind is reeling. I can't take it anymore.

The DA gets another extension over my lawyer's protests. And finally, he makes his move. I can plead guilty to disturbing the peace, an infraction (kinda like a ticket), and pay 100 dollars and this is all over. I stall for 10 minutes so that I don't appear too desperate, and sell my soul for the sake of my family and friends, and fiscal responsibility.

This whole thing from bail, to putting the kid on a plane to Texas, to parking and copying fees, buying a new dress shirt for court, Dry cleaning, and etc. takes us just north of 2200 dollars. Thank God for my in-laws who helped us out with the vast majority of this.

I spell all this out so you readers can know what to expect if the bad times come upon you. Be on your guard. I wonder how an average person can afford justice, and I fear it will only get worse. I'm still wondering what to do to work this all out for good. If you have any ideas, please let me know, either here, or write to platypibri at gmail dot com.

Up next, I intend to dwell in depth at the blissful heaven that is my little Katiebug.

fin.
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And now for a diaper change....

Brian
muse.platypionline.com

The Battle

	The aftermath of the explosion. Fun, eh?

Bare with me, this is not fun. So, last time I set the stage. Here's the description of the day. Now, my step-son has been violent with me from the start. 5 years ago, he tried to choke me for forcing him to take shower. He has hit me more times than I can count. I guess I should have made a bigger deal of that, but he couldn't hurt me, so I just shrugged it off. And I suspect, something is wrong inside him that he feels the need to be hit to be loved by a man. I dunno if his real dad ever hit him, because he's lied so much, I can't trust anything he ever said. I suspect his dad doesn't, because he seems to think his dad doesn't love him either.

So, have I ever hit him? I smacked him in the mouth once for calling his mother the one intolerable word. I put him in a wall once for raising his hand to her while again uttering said word. I, with great force, knocked a trash can out of his hand that he was swinging at his mother. See the pattern?

So, it was on this day June 3rd, 2007 that it all finally came to a head. I had come back from the store. I was making french toast and needed some essentials. My wife, having had Katie on the 15th of May, was recovering from a C-section, was depressed (not dangerously so, just melancholy), and was taking care of Katie's constant need, breast feeding. And then, we were going to drop Katie off at my mother-in-law's and go to the movies. If... the boy did his chores.

He did not. And, as a parent I do not negotiate. I dictate terms. I can be, and am, flexible. But, I dictate terms. Because I sure don't have to waste my money on movies, if I am not getting what I expect. My step-son always struggled with this.

So, being denied what he wanted, he went after his mom. If he harassed her enough, maybe he could go. So, I formed a barrier between our room and him. Nothing that hasn't happened before. He tried to insult me, and I (literally) reminded him he wasn't very good at verbal sparing. As, in "how many times have we done this? Has it EVER worked?" So, being by the changing table, he started messing with the baby's hygiene stuff. Maybe I should have let that go, but I took it away.

This was apparently the cue he needed to become violent. I handled this the way I usually did. He got in what shots he could before I restrained him. I held his wrists against the wall, and put my hip against him so he couldn't kick me. Again, maybe I should have done something different. But, it just seemed like a kid beating a cinder block wall. As long as he doesn't hurt himeself, why make a big deal?

Well, not being able to over come me, he began to destroy things. He started with the desk we had just bought my wife for her birthday. Next, I think (it happened really fast, the exact order of events is hazy) I picked up his playstation and threw it to the floor. He screamed as if I had stabbed him. I forget sometimes, as developmentally arrested as he is, that very young children form deep attachments to objects. It was not my best move, but I was so furious about the desk, I did it to vent, and not do unthinkable things.

That was my first critical mistake. My second would occur an instant later, as he began destroying the furniture, closets doors, and walls in his room. After years of being told it was the right move, I called 911. If I could go back, I would not do this. James, knowing exactly what happened, was terrified, and begged me to hang up. Begged his mom not to let them take him. And called his Dad in Texas.

I relaxed. I had often called friends to come over and provide a calming presence to our unstable home. I figured the police would do the same.

So, this is a long story. To sum up I told the police what I just told you, about the restraining, the playstation, everything. They arrested me. If you can imagine my state of mind. I couldn't believe it. I was sure everything I had done, if not optimal, was certainly legal. I was carted off, booked, put in an orange jumpsuit, and put in a 10 x 12 room with 10 other guys, 3 of whom were convicted felons, a murderer, a rapist, an a fraudster.

Much later I would read the police report. My step-son had told the police I threw him into the broken desk (here I must say, the sheriff was a moron. The damage to the desk was clearly inconsistent with the story. He had grabbed the door and punched it away from the desk. Throwing something into the desk would have caused collapsing damage, not scattering damage. Don't these guys go to a school or something?)

He also said I punched him. Now, how can I prove I didn't? I probably can't. I can only offer up the anecdotal evidence, that I, like most big guys, am a grappler, not a slugger. Big guys hold, and press, and slam. We're too slow to be punchers.

But, you know what else couldn't be proven. That I DID hit him. There was NO physical evidence. My wife swore out a statement to this. Clearly, James was not hurt in anyway, and with a smug expression, tried to talk to me when my father-in-law posted my bail. I said nothing, went to bed, and left the house early in the morning.

The next morning after I left, apparently liking what he saw, my step son called the police on my wife, saying she was threatening to kill the baby and herself. Luckily, my wife was on the neighbor's phone with the police at the same time, because the truth was, our son had hit her while she was holding the baby. My wife was NOT arrested. CPS came out and arranged to have the boy removed. They would later back pedal on this being a forced removal, but he was gone. To Texas, with his father. What small remorse he would show would come too little too late.

This should be the end of the story. It's not. I half expected all of this from the boy. Our justice system, that surprised me.

next: The War.

Rough waters ahead.

I know that a few parents read this blog now and I feel I have a duty to tell a story. It's a difficult and emotional one. It talks about our ability to parent as we see fit in the society we live in. It will paint an ugly picture of me, perhaps. It will paint an uglier picture of our legal system, and it's peripheral agencies. I'm not going to pull any punches. I'm going to take a deep look at the concepts of fear and respect in parenting. The fact will be laid out with precision, but there will be a lot of my personal opinion too. I'm not a trained medical professional, nor am I an ordained member of the clergy, so, consult with the appropriate professional before considering any of my story as "wisdom" to live by.

I'm going start my story tomorrow. But today, I will set the stage.
Look, I can't tell my whole childhood here. There are too many varibles to try to put the whole equation here. So, My mother felt her parents never loved her. Still Kinda does. My grandfather, despite tremendous talent and intellegence, had such piss poor self esteem, he bullied and belittled everyone to prove his worth, and was openly angrily jealous of the casual childhood of his grandchildren. So if you only get two things, get these. My mother loved me ALWAYS, even in spankings, and I always knew it and she made me as a delicate flower. An artist and a musician. And, my grandfather made me into fighter, skilled in physical and emotional combat. And, I have warred between the two all my life.

My wife, in short, has much emotional baggage. It's not my right to talk about her family life, but it left her with a hair pulling disorder she has to this day. She has an ex-husband that was physically and emotional abusive. She is very passive.

My stepson has emotional problems left over from the divorce, and has felt unwanted as custody changed hands several times. His grandparents and father have hindered his mothers ability to parent from the beginning. He is 6 foot, 200 lbs. His mother fears him because he is violent, and also because he reminds her of, and some time becomes for her, his father. She fears to confront him.

So, I am an overly sensitive fighter, my wife is passive and meek (at least in this area), and my stepson is emotionaly unstable, physically formidible, and developmentally arrested.

Powder Keg.

In June, this powder keg finally blew up. And it sent me on a journey I never expected, and will never forget.

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And now for a diaper change....

Brian
muse.platypionline.com

Growing Up Dad

Monday, September 25th, 2006. If I ever forget the date, I'll certainly never forget the day.

My wife Ann and I have been through a lot lately. We have recently moved across town after sharing a duplex with her parents proved less than ideal. She had recently started a relatively good job accounting for the police department when City Hall called dibs and yanked her away to a really good, career path, job as a city accountant. With all of this going on the last few months, finding time to be intimate was rather difficult, to say the least. So, of course when she really started to complain about an upset tummy, I naturally assumed stomach flu. So did she. After three or four days, however, she decided to take a test. Then she called me to bring home another test after work (I didn't know this was the second test).

I want to keep this blog, and eventual podcast, family friendly, so I'll say I was thinking something that sounded kinda like "Oh Shoot!", only it wasn't. Well, the results of the second dip test made us decide she should go to the Urgent Care clinic. Well, three strikes makes it sound so bad, so lets say it was a third strike, only we were bowling. We were three for three on positive tests. Three up, three down, end of an inning.

Yep, I am going to be a dad.

Full disclosure here, I'm already a dad. When I married my wife I took her then 10 year old son as my own. He's a great kid and I love him a lot. But, let's face it. Jumping on the train at ten is hardly starting from scratch, and our relationship has a lot of "buddy buddy" in it that comes from being a "step" father (as if that's any less important or difficult a job). But, here I find myself, at 34 having thought "He's 14. I'm almost done!" only to hit a chute instead of a ladder and going all the way back to start.

Am I excited? Oh heck yeah! I started a blog, and I'm planning a podcast! I went right out and bought two books on being a dad. I started a blog, and I'm planning a podcast! Which is where y'all come in.

Why "Growing Up Dad"? Because, like I think all first time expecting father's feel, I feel so scared, alone, and overwhelmed that the welfare of a little tiny baby is about to be entrusted to my hands that I think I might just hurl. I pray every night "God, all I care about is 'healthy'. That's all I want. Please." And I wish someone was here to do it with me. So, why not do it in public, on the web, where new fathers can go with me, and more experienced fathers can help us out as we are "Growing Up Dad".

Up front. I plan on this being a RESOURCE. I'm already working on book reviews and interviews. I'm subscribing to a couple of parenting magazines. And I know a boat load of great dads, my dad included, that I plan to mine for wisdom gold. I plan to cover the whole enchilada. Marriage. Siblings. Clothes and Toys. Educational stuff. Recall notices. Everything I worry about is going right here. And I figure I got a good 20 YEARS worth of content coming up. And I want to also say right up front, if I can get relevant sponsors or advertisers that can help me make this a great place to come, I will. That's way down the road, if at all. However, I wanted to be up front and make this pledge. I will always be open and honest. If I mess up here, you'll be the first to know. I hope we can build a great community here. If you want to write me a personal note, you can write to growingupdad at gmail dot com. Goodness, I haven't installed spell checking in FireFox yet. Well, I hope you'll forgive me.