A Worker at Age 5

Things had bad before, but they got ridiculously worse from here on out.  DP felt a power that he had not had before.  Feeling that he had some “gold-star” from the Judge he took that and ran with it. 

Our lives became an even worse mini-series that I honestly don’t know how we lived through.  Texts in the middle of the night; threats of him “coming to get her,” cancelation upon cancelation for any time with his daughter. 

You would think the cancelation was good, but it was also eerie.   Right after the cancelation would be the threat of him coming to get her at midnight that night.  I had so many sleepless nights watching for cars, up by the window, watching the comings and goings of the neighborhood. 

When he did take her, they went to his work.  He now had a job, under the table so as not to pay child support, at the CP.  This was no place for a child, and honestly, no place for an adult.  The disgust that I feel when I think of Ellie there turns my stomach every way and inside and out.  Ellie would do two things while she was there.  She would either be locked in his office alone.  Or, she would roam the floors of this place.  So much to say!

The point of spending time with your child, in my mind, is to actually spend time with your child.  And here, Ellie was locked in a room by herself.  It was gut-wrenching to hear.  If she had to use the restroom, it was too bad, unless he came to check on her at the right time.  She was left to watch movies on his computer.  If he was going to do that with his time, why not leave it for me to actually just have her and do something productive with her?

Roaming the floors.  This place is dark, seedy, dirty and no place for a 5-6 year old to be walking around by herself.  She was given game tokens to play games and could do so on her own – after all, DP was working.  Those games could be anything from appropriate for a 5 year old to completely not.  The idea of someone taking her also never crossed his mind, of course. 

One day, Ellie came home with a rash up and down her arm.  I asked what that was from.  She said it was from working.  I asked further and she explained that DP made her wash the tables at his lovely place of employment.  I asked what she washed with and it was something in a bottle.  It was one of the few times that I emailed DP – but I went straight to my email.  It turns out that #1. Yes, he does make her work.  And #2. Yes, the cleanser is highly toxic.  And #3. No, he had no idea it was on Ellie’s arm.  And #4.  He is not surprised it burned her arm. 

I told Ellie that day, no more working.  No more chemicals. 

Ellie says to me, “does that mean, I can’t flip eggs and work in the kitchen?”

Are you kidding me?

The man continued to amaze me.  I could just picture a 5 year old flipping an egg in a restaurant and him thinking that was okay.  Not on a regular stove.  But on a restaurant, huge stove that had the potential to burn the crap out of her. 

*****

Ellie had started seeing a therapist to work through all her sadness and issues with her dad.  Dr C was great with her and Ellie really loved going.  It was my hope that Dr C could get her to talk a little more than I could about her dad. 

Whenever I tried to get her to talk, she was very quiet.  Ellie and I have an amazing relationship.  We talk about a lot of things.  But about HIM, she was always very quiet. 

The therapy helped a lot.  They did play therapy, where they either colored or played with plastic people and made them into scenes about DP and me and Ellie.  After, if Ellie gave the approval to share what had been said or what had happened, I was called into the room and told what went on. 

The things that went on in that room always shocked me and shook me to my core.  Ellie, my sweet baby girl, had the strongest, angriest feelings toward DP that I have ever heard.  It made sense, or course, but I didn’t know that was all inside her and it just ate me up that she was holding that in. 

There were reasons for it.  She just wasn't willing to share it yet.  But, we were getting closer to finding out.

**** 

One week from today, April 18^th, in just about an hour, we will be heading back to court for what I pray is the last time.  I feel compelled to write this today because as we get closer, my heart is getting heavier.  So much rides on this day. 

As I have been writing this, I am awe struck by how much my little one has had to live through.  Her entire life has been in and out of the courts.  I pray and hope that it ends next week.  Selfishly, I’d love to ask you to join me in that.  Prayers, thoughts, good feelings… whatever it is that you do.  April 18^th 9:15am. 

Thank you in advance. 

Our Mini-Series Continues

It was decided to go to court.  My lawyer, LK, figured we had enough information to get him on mental abuse and contempt of court.  We were lucky enough to get a close date.  We had a week to prepare.  I knew that I would be put on the stand.  I knew that I would be emotional.  I also knew that it was worth it.  After all, anything that would protect Ellie would be worth it. 

What DP would do or how he would act was a crap-shoot.  No one could say and it wasn’t worth hazarding a guess.  Would he admit to what he was doing or not? It would come down to his word against mine. 

I put on my “lawyer suit.” (The same suit and shirt I wore every time I went to court.  Ellie called it my lawyer suit because she thought I looked like a lawyer in it.  Personally I detested putting it on.  I tried occasionally to change the shirt underneath, but Ellie never thought it was right.  I had to trust her.  Once the zipper in my pants broke, it zipped in the back, and still wore them.  My lawyer suit… I may burn it after all is said and done.) and I was ready.  I always went to the court house too early.  It seemed like it was longer away then it really was.  Court generally started at 9:30.  My lawyer and I usually met at 9.  I was always there at least an hour early.  It was the worst possible thing.  I spent a lot of time in my car, palms sweaty, heart pounding, every scenario going through my mind. 

There are two entrances to the courthouse.  It took few trips, but I figured out which HE used and learned never to use it. 

LK met me at about 9.  We went over the questions for the umpteenth time.  I was ready. 

Standing as Judge R came in made it all too real.  While I still felt ready, I knew that it was ultimately up to him.  And, well, he has proven not to like me yet.   Maybe today was the day.

DP was still representing himself. 

LK and I sat on one side of the room.  DP sat in front of the bar on the other.  Behind him the usual folks. 

I was called to the stand first.  I talked about the issues with times – the fact that he was constantly late, the fact that he constantly canceling, the fact that he was constantly not showing up.  I had back up.  I had kept track of the time. 

I talked about the fact that he had never paid for half of her medical records, which were growing by leaps and bounds, at this point.  I showed that I had sent him the receipts asking for the money.  

My lawyer then questioned me about the word “mommy”.   Of course this was risky.  If DP had a lawyer, he could easily call “hearsay.” Knowing that DP didn’t know the law, LK figured we were okay. 

This time, the objection came from the Judge. 

“Come on, Mr K.” He said, “you know that is hearsay. I am not going to allow that.”

Stunned, LK stopped for a minute and tried to think of another way to get the same evidence in.  When he couldn’t, I was released.  DP had no questions for me.  Heart a bit heavier, I walked back to my chair.  It was now DP’s turn on the stand. 

LK asked him about being late, canceling and just not showing up.  He didn’t deny it.  He explained it by saying that sometime his work just called last minute and so he had to go.  As for being late, the documents said he could show up 15 minutes past the start time and the end time and he just said he was using that.  The Judge seemed to think that was okay. 

Then LK asked about using the word “mommy” around him.  Surprisingly, DP fully admitted that it wasn’t allowed.  I was in shock.  He explained that when Ellie was around him, he wanted it to be their time.  He didn’t want to hear about me or how I did things.  He didn’t want to hear my name or any reference to me.  So, yes, he punished her. 

The Judge, up on his chair of power, thought it was cute.  I remember him saying, “I can understand that.”

It was at that moment that I knew I was in this for the longest haul of my life.  Nothing would come easy.  Though I had the worst feeling in the pit of my stomach that something wasn’t right, that Ellie was being mistreated, possibly physically abused, definitely mentally abused, I was not being listened to.  I was not being heard. 

I was defeated.

 ******

April is national Child Abuse Awareness month. 

I never thought I’d be connected to one of the victims of these hateful and despicable crimes.  During the month of April, if there are events around you, please go.  Though we should all be doing it regularly, this gives us a time to learn how to protect our children. 

Children who live with violence and abuse learn at an early age that the world is a dangerous place. The reality is that one out of every four children in Oregon lives in a home where violence occurs and almost as many will be molested some time before their 18th birthday. Last school year 12,043 children were victims of child abuse/neglect in Oregon – 50% of these children were younger than 6 years old. 17 of these children died.

§  One in four girls and one in seven boys will be molested before the age of eighteen.

§  Family members are the perpetrators in ninety-four percent of child abuse cases.

Those are staggering statistics.  Gut wrenching.  Please be aware of the happenings in your child’s life.  Also, please pay attention to those children your child spends time with.  If you suspect a problem, by all means, talk to someone about it.  Trust your gut.  Ask questions.  Make sure you are looking at your neighborhood, and not just your own backyard.  These kids need us.