• Another day in court.

    (Note, I’ve changed the names of those involved.)
    I’m in court and I call the next case. I call the mother on the case, and ask to speak to her in the waiting area, outside the court room. The mother is a middle age white woman. She is of average height, with slightly above average girth. She is wearing more make-up than she should. She explains to me that she just got the kids back from foster care. She does not tell me why the kids were there, but I can guess. She seems slightly unstable emotionally. She is worried that she will be evicted from her apartment, as she has been out of work and can’t make the rent. If she is evicted, she believes she will loose the kids again. The kids are there, playing in the corner of the waiting area (the toy area). I try to explain to her that we will try to get a support order for her today; but that it will be months before it starts, and that she should not expect anything right away. All this time, I am having trouble focusing her on the interview. She keeps going off on tangents, blurting out her personal concerns as they come to mind. My normally rushed approach to court is given pause by the thought of their situation.

    I send the mother back into the court room and call out the father. The kids are still playing in the corner. The father is at least 50, a late middle age black man. He is the picture of a hard life. He carries himself like a man without any hope left. He is beaten. I advise him that we are here to legally establish paternity and establish a child support obligation. He indicates that he has doubts as to wether he is the father. He has never seen the children. The children are 12 and 10. I tell him I will arrange for a test which will determine wether or not he is the father, and he agrees to take the test. Until now he has paid no special attention to the kids in the corner. He has not seen the mother in the same room with the kids, and gives every indication that he has no idea who they are. As I am about to go into the court room, to get the forms needed to arrange the testing, the younger child approaches the man and asks, “Are you Donny?” The child is obviously biracial. “Yes”, answers the man. “Who are you?” he asks. The boy replies, “I’m Jimmy.” The man’s expression changes, and a look of shame takes up residence in his manner of being. He knows who the boy is. The boy asks, “Are you my daddy?” My heart breaks. I am frozen. These lives seem completely foreign to me, and I am saddened for the loss that they may never realize – because they don’t know how life could be different.

    I’m not sure why this case effected me so. It’s not that these circumstances haven’t presented themselves in court before. Maybe it was all of them being present in this one case. Maybe there was something about me that day that made me especially prone. Whatever the case, it had an effect that has lingered somewhat. I wish them all well, and pray that they will make the best of what they have in the future. However, I’m not terribly optimistic.

  • This morning

    Picture if you will, a three year old child. . .
    A child standing on the arm of a futon. . .
    A child standing on the arm of a futon with her knees bent like a coiled spring.

    Now picture in your mind this child, under these circumstances, bouncing slightly and saying (with little evidence of restraint in her voice), “ready, set, . . .”

    Welcome, to my morning.

  • The rest of the story. . .

    When we last saw our hero, he had learned that his wife had been tranquilized following her shortness of breath induced panic attack. It was Tuesday evening. Also remember that Sunday night our hero endured another trip to the emergency room with his daughter. Diagnosis: UTI (yes, our hero too can use fancy medical acronyms).

    We now pick up our story where we left off. . .

    It was a cold, dark and dreary night. The wind was howling and a sense of foreboding filled the house. (Well, it was dark.)
    Very early Wednesday morning our hero awoke to sounds of agony and despair in the night. He leapt out of bed and rushed to the source of the horrible sound. It was his wife, crawling on her hands and knees, desperately seeking relief from her pain. She said she had been up all night violently ill. Pressure marks under her forearms bespoke the position she maintained throughout the night. A night long, not so silent vigil, bent over as if in prayer. (And who knows, some praying may very well have been going on.)

    She pleaded with our hero to call her doctor. After making the call, our hero was once again on his way to the hospital. His wife was pumped with fluids, to make up for the night long purge that had taken place the night before. She was shot up with drugs to make her discomfort fade, and our hero’s wife was reacquainted with an old friend – sleep.

    Upon awaking, she returned home with our hero. Long shadows running from the sea made it clear that they had not been home for quite some time. Our hero’s wife was just getting settled when the phone rang. It was the preschool, the daughter was ill and wanted to come home. She had been dropped off that morning by her grandmother, the one known simply as mem-may. It is supposedly french, but you know the french – our hero could have spelled it right, but you would have no idea how it really sounds, so we’ll just settle for “mem-may.” She was once again complaining that her belly hurt, and she felt to our hero like a Louisiana summer day – hot and damp. Our hero brought her home and she collapsed in her room. She slept for several hours. When she awoke she was hotter than ever. Another call to the doctor was made when the thermometer said 103.5. Once again, our hero was on his way to see a doctor. At this point, our hero was courageously and single handedly supporting the medical industry.

    It was with mixed feelings that our hero learned that his daughter’s fever was gone by the time he arrived at the doctor’s office.

    Thankfully, Wednesday night was uneventful for our hero, and he was once again reacquainted with an old friend – sleep.