I remember

You destroyed me. You stole my son and used the broken courts to do it. I can’t afford to hire one of the rabid thieves that the court mandates because I can’t afford to throw away thousands of dollars. I have a penis. I’m just a dad. The law hates us. I’m not a dead-beat dad. I love my son. I care about him. None of that matters. I am powerless to change it.

I remember coming home from a long shift to the news that your water broke. I remember the out-of-body “is this really happening?” kind of feeling as we drove across the city to the hospital. I remember holding him for the first time. I remember feeling that I would do anything I had to do to ensure that he had everything he could ever need. I remember the way I felt about you that night and wish I could forget.

I remember that time that you screamed at me that you never wanted any of this. You said you never wanted a kid. You wanted to run. I should have let you. I was in love with a succubus and was too dumb to see it.

I remember working my fingers raw slinging sheet metal. I remember every cut, scrape, tattered shirt, and exhausting night. I put myself through physical hell. I hated that job. I was miserable there. I did it though. I went to work and I busted my ass so that I could afford to take care of my family. It hurt. What hurt more was when I was told that you were sleeping around while I was working. I was working and you were with other dudes while our son was in the next room. I didn’t believe them. I should have.

I remember being excited. I figured out what I wanted to do with my life. I remember being elated that I found a way to get out of that metal factory. I was going to go to school. I was going for my bachelor degree. I remember telling you. I remember the unenthusiastic “mhmm” that you gave in response.

I remember enrolling. I remember how it felt to finally have direction. I remember you screaming at me for enrolling because you “were supposed to go to college first”. Everyone knows that two people can’t attend college at the same time. I remember asking what you wanted to go to school for as you were screaming at me and hearing “I don’t know yet”. I was expected to put my dream on hold for an indefinite. Seven years later: you are still not in school.

I remember Thanksgiving that year. It was one of our best days in a long time. I remember having said so. I remember your wholehearted agreement. Then the night came. I still hadn’t gotten you or our son a present. My mother asked me to go out Black Friday shopping with her. I accepted. You flipped your lid.

I remember my best friend’s phone call that night. I remember the panic I felt as he told me you were packing. I remember trying to stop you from taking my son. I took the keys to the car that you had on loan from my mother that you were trying to take. I remember the sinking feeling as I watched you pull a spare from under your seat and drive off.

I remember the sacrifice. I was finishing school, but I wasn’t going to be able to use the degree. There are no design studios around here. This is where my son was. This is where I would stay. I wouldn’t leave him behind. I took another dead end job and wasted away. I was empty inside. You told me when I could and could not see my son. I was working a job that I hated so that I could be there for him when he needed me.

I remember the divorce. You were getting married to some out-of-town bridge troll looking dude that had a family with very deep pockets. They funded your part of the divorce. My family and I scraped together what we could, but we didn’t have enough. I signed your stupid divorce papers because I couldn’t afford to fight against your comparitively infinite money stash. I remember the depression that followed.

I remember the second custody fight. You were moving him out of state and twelve hours away. I remember that sinking feeling. I remember trying to get money to keep you from taking him from me. I remember how it felt when my lawyer said that the money had run out. I knew it was over. I wasn’t able to pursue my degree because it was outdated and it had been too long since graduation with no time spent in the field. I was stuck here now. I stayed for him and you took him away.

I remember the time I was bringing him home for the summer. I remember feeling nauseated when he asked when I was going to let him change his last name to his new step father’s name. I remember countless other encounters like this.

I remember all the times you were in violation of the custody agreement. I remember not being able to change it. I remember that time that you told me you were moving him again, but you didn’t do it the way you were supposed to do. You never told the courts. You didn’t give notice. I can’t afford to fix it. I don’t have the funds.

I remember feeling defeated and hollow. I feel it every day. I want to be free of you. Part of me wants you to live as a parent the way that I have. Part of me wants you to know what it is like to be isolated from your son for all but 17% of the year. Part of me wants to show you what it’s like to live at the mercy of the other person. Mostly though, I want you to see what it means to co parent. I want to be able to help my son with his homework. I want to be there for him when he needs advice. I want to teach him to be a good person. I want to be an actual part of his life. You took that from me. I am his dad. You destroyed me.