I reckon this Rock is toted. This has always been for my child. It is a diary, of sorts, but the impetus came from a desire to discuss something besides what I was going through in my court case with my co-workers. Over the years, I have developed several meaningful relationships with others in my chosen line… namely trade worker. I am decidedly a journeyman in five separate trades, but there were three I was good at before I knew what a journeyman was.
The sound of that title, Journeyman, was intimidating enough where I simply took the word of anyone who had that status in my mind. There was no standardized test to determine the level of competence of a skilled worker per se. Now, after five years of fighting about it, my understanding of Family Law, particularly the UCCJEA, makes me a journeyman attorney… PRO SE >OR< Pro PER. In Family Law, the practice of which is not only much more demanding than criminal, civil, or contract law but is, by it’s very nature, the domain of self representation. Traditionally and increasingly the domain of intention when it comes to a parent’s right to influence their progeny… properly stated as the pursuit of hapiness (Capital Letters Implied).
Anyway. That’s saying something. Qualified in my own mind to practice the one aspect of law that should be entirely the domain of the parent barring any interference with the basic rights of the child. This is a right that is not in the Constitution… the Root of the Freedom Tree… the Rebel Fonzie in every teenager that ever courted a Pinky Tuscadero.
Ayyyy. (Thumbs Up)
Just my opinion. Just the strongest opinion I have.
Don’t be a Potsie… meaning in Hippie don’t be a square.
Pro Se / Pro Per – Meaning in Latin that I represent myself. Something I have done in pursuit of my daughter’s rights long enough to know for certain what lengths a local government will go to to subvert the authority of a parent in an effort to divert the capital of a collective. A collective of free people who have allowed this mechanism to exist. Not by turning their heads while it happened, but by refusing to look when it hit close to home. When it happened in their lives to them… as opposed to just on the news or in Bang Ladesh. In the hills or the plains or whatever they got over there in Bang Ladesh.
“Uh, Q… Who is Bang Ladesh?”
“Why Jacq… are you not familiar with the Bang L’Desh SeVeN?”
Is it in Latin?
No, silly. It’s in the Hills of UjerkiStan. Near the Source of the Panziass River.
So. In Africa then?
No, you idiot. Nebraska.
And like that, so you know. I was crazy before you met me. I was your father before I met you. This has always been FOR you, Little One, but now it is about you. It was for you and in honor of my companions in this and many similar battles for the lives of children across the surface of the planet and woven into the fabric of time. A serious issue to be represented in the life of your offspring, forget the legality of it and for just a second consider how brutal it must be; almost by definition. I have ‘flipped the script’ so many times since we saw each other that this is our perpetual stock of Dream Tokens. The story I will now encode for your eyes only is embedded so deeply in these ripples of caring that only now, after eighteen months of Olympic Caliber Script Flipping, can I begin to remind you of the nature of our particular beast.
Our story has gone from personal horror to intellectual property. I have only half the formula. The other half was given to the infamous (and now immortal) Dr. Merde in a dimension known as Derp. Don’t ask me. Not my department. My jorb has been to process my half of teh Rock and make it into something we can all work with. Something more profound than the sum of it’s parts. Something akin to inspiration on tap. A distillation of these three stories… nothing more, nothing less.
What started as a way to keep track of a story that interrupted the flow of a very busy and hard hitting SKILLED TRADE (Stone Masonry) became a gateway to an international internet forum where it stayed in a technological limbo of sorts. It gelled until it gesticulated. Morphed until it masticated. Simply because it became a numerical expression based on the mathematical equation that ‘A picture is worth a thousand words.’ My heavy handed construction buddies were as familiar with the footnotes to the story as they were with the 45 minutes break time in an 8 hour work day. Who has time to talk about this type of shit AND run to the Roach Coach PLUS Suck down a Mountain Dew? See what I’m saying?
For my devoted companions, their interest in ‘the story so far’ simply couldn’t be overshadowed by ‘what are we going to DO after lunch? Who’s getting overtime today? How about this weekend? Did we get enough done (SEE: Humanly Possible) to keep our job AND how long will THAT be true?’ See what I mean? Easier to say – ‘If you are into it, go to ReeferBabies and you can see a factual account of the five provincial questions.’
If you have questions, ask… but there are no easy answers in this NON FICTION story when it comes to documentation. There is no Legal Fiction, but this is the Quarry I have had to mine for the building blocks of a spectacular fiction approximately six months AFTER starting the BLOG to tell a TRUE Tale… A SIMPLE, factual account that could at once benefit my co-workers and help myself get past the years of neglect imposed on my child that is indeed nauseating the more you know about it and the more you know about the child this whole concoction spins around… My Little Angel.
Always for her, but always talking around the issue. Encoding the truth, not concealing it. Making it an entertaining fiction for a teenager that is by definition troubled… Geographically challenged… Spiritually Isolated. And Yadda Yadda. Who gives a shit if Captain Jacques (excuse me COLONEL PuckRainer – RET.) enjoys the story(?) It is intended to supplant a story NO friend of mine would condone if they knew the depth of disparity it contains. Thus the attempt to introduce the Horse as the significant character it deserves to be with the creation of the Man O War Thread before the October Ban… The Critters Forum being remarkably unused at the time (as was the Writer’s Room in September) was the object of the first FLAME WAR… where the Pinhead Commander gets his stripes… where our story learns to crawl, Baby Girl. Where I want you to begin to feel comfortable not being bored or scared by a story based on the times in between.
You know what I mean and that is enough.
It always has been and now it must be.
Sleep Well Princess and Thank.You.For.Playing.
Come again and often.
The first one is ALWAYS free.