Relapse: A Flashback

Yesterday and not too long ago, I have to say I experienced a series of flashbacks to my childhood. RedChief was experiencing a slight cold of some sort and I had to pick him up from school. The daycare informed me that his temp had risen to the magic number of 101 degrees. Therefore, he needed to go home and rest. Ok, nothing too traumatic about that. They stated that they did, try to contact his mom, but to no avail; hence the back up parent was called. Namely, moi. Promptly, I get in the Knight Automated Tactical Transport (aka KNIGHT3K) and head off to the school. There, he did appear to be a little out of it; so, I quickly took him to the drug store to get some of the basic cure alls. Pedeialight, Ibuprofen, some Benadryl and of course fluids and fish. In this case the fluids consisted of Fruit Punch and Prune Juice. Prune juice was suggested by the pharmacist. According to his daycare staff, RedChief, hadn't had a BM all day. So as opposed to giving him a dose of fleet, prune juice would be much better. So we get back to the PentHouse, the new nickname for my current place of residence and let the medications begin. I even cut on some Scooby Doo for him because ironically, that is his favorite cartoon character of the quarter. Last quarter it was The New Adventures of Batman and Robin. Don't ask me, because I don't know why, but its like that, and that's the way it is. 6:00 PM, the phone rings. It’s his mom. Thinking this will be a friendly call: Unfortunately, I’m wrong. We commence with the interrogation, already in progress.
How is RedChief?
Did you take him to the doctor?
Can I come get him now?
Being peppered by these questions, I am flooded. The term flooded is one learned from our marriage counselor. Wait a minute, slow down, I say. He's fine, everything is cool. From there, the questions creep, bordering a hyper-extension into the category of demands.
OK, I want to pick up my son. By this time, I am consciously controlling my emotions as best as I possibly can. Though I choose not to articulate an immediate reaction, despite my best intentions, I’ve already mentally employed defensive tactical maneuvers. Quietly I'm thinking to myself, "what in the hell is that suppose to mean, your son.” …NOTE TO PARENTS: This is how separation and divorce can easily become toxic, potentially lethal. Allow me to qualify my definition of lethal. No, I am not singularly considering the term lethal in the physical sense of death, but more in the incarnation of a spiritual and psychic death. When parents begin to use the ultimate weapons of mass destruction—specifically our children, weaponized children can become everything from human shields, to landmines, IEDS, predator drones and of course smart bombs. Word choice is key. Timing is key. As parents, we know what the buzz words are. In psychology (note that I am not a psychologist, just one, like you going through this maze of human debauchery also known as a legal separation) they are called triggers. When the trigger is pulled, a projectile is launched, traveling faster than 432 feet per second, faster than sound, faster than light. From there, destructive thoughts come to the mind and guess what, children become collateral damage. In the words of military parlance, the casualty risk is too high. So not to be preachy, but to offer some unsolicited advice, put your child at the center of every breath you take, every thought you think, every word you say. Then, you and your partner/co-parent/spouse work to sustain the life you created. Now: back to our program. I attempt to maintain a sense of calm and control because 1) I can only control me. 2) How dare I allow another individual to have that type of power and level of control over me again, and finally the most important reason is this: Red Chief is in my presence. In the grand scheme of things what is more important to me is his well being. The constant mantra dictates "what is in the best interest of the child." I have a ZERO tolerance policy to exposing Red Chief to toxic situations, even when if they do involve me. So again, rather than debate from emotion, I try to evoke some since of logic.
I say to Jean Gray (member of what in my world personifies the Xmen) "Jean, he's already medicated and needs to sleep." However, Jean is persistent, "I want my son, and I want him now. Can you please have him available for me to pick up?"
By this time in the conversation, I can feel the calm trickling stream within my internal pond, slowly erupt, turning into a whirlpool of choppy waters. Why is this? Has our son become objectified, like a laptop computer, or a projector one reserves and checks out as they would a piece of equipment? Has the flesh of my flesh, now been reduced to the flesh of my flesh on lease? From my perspective, again at that moment in time, those were my feelings. Again I re-emphasize the potency of social linguistics, rhetoric and non verbal sub-cues. As you could easily detect, I was angry, again because of the triggers. I was emotionally flooded yet I still was cognizant of the control and power I had over myself, and trust me like my inner power, your inner power will be tested too. In my mind, regrettably now, I allowed Jean control over my mind and perceptions of our child. So that said, I forfeit any awards for dad of the day. Our son, according to Jean's interpretation, from my perspective (that’s labyrinthian isn’t it ?) is indicative of a rent-a-child. It’s a hard thing to say, and I know its got to be a hard thing for any parent to read. Again, I try to humanize the situation,
"Jean he hasn't eaten dinner yet; Is it an unreasonable request for him to at least have dinner? Again, the needle is stock on a broken record,
"I want my son, I want him now."
By this time I am done with the conversation. I realize that my attempts at being; not a co parent, but just a parent have again been thwarted. I simply surrender. Maybe surrender is too strong. I resign myself to the simple fact that I am a co-parent, and damnit, I am, regardless of anyone else’s opinions, I am doing the best I can, with the resources I currently have. My situation right here, right now, at this very moment is a temporary setback. And setbacks are set ups for come backs; look at Robert Downy Jr. Academy award nominee one day, state property the next, divorced the next, remarried the day after and now has one of the top grossing films of the decade. If he can loose it all, in the public eye and get it back, I can do that minus the drug abuse. So in short, I say this with all humility: To hell with anyone who has the audacity to stand in the way of my or my son’s progress. This includes family, ex family, friends, and especially enemies or as we say in the 21st century, “haters.” Be advised and be warned, your chances for success are better, standing on the third rail of a metro train. NOTE TO READERS: Sometimes you, like I have just done, have to reissue a personalized declaration of new found independence. This is where that strength you don’t know you have until you have to use it comes out. Get strong, get aggressive, get what is yours and get what belongs to your child. In essence get back to you. In my case-I’ve had to put the breaks on some things while taking risks I never thought I would take. I’ve had to stand up and advocate for myself in a court room. I’ve had to advocate for my son. I’ve had to advocate for myself in the presence of my mom and her sisters. Hell, I’ve even had to distance myself from a few of my friends because what is most important is being there for Red Chief. The following represents an example of how I took an already potentially volatile situation and instead made it a character-building situation not only for me, but for our son. I responded with the following:
"After he eats his dinner, I'll take him to the spot."
Enter the relapse, By this time, I can feel the tears welling up. Why: because, I again am forced to relive my past through the eyes of my son. –(It ain’t easy now)
I don't raise my voice, I don't argue, I just cooked his meal and made sure he ate it along with his hydration drink.

Just then another call from Jean comes in.
"Look, I'm sorry, I'm just nervous, You can keep him until 8:00PM." The one thing I hate is to be patronized and to me that's what happened.
"I want to make sure you get what you asked for and what we agreed to. No ups, no downs." Then again, the offer is made to 7:30. Again I say no.
You said 7:00, so 7:00 it will be.
Damn, is this really what co-parenting is supposed to be about? I don't want to set a bad example for our son so after he eats his dinner, I saddle him up and put him back in the truck and off we go to the spot. By this time I am dressed to go to the gym because by this time, I have a host of pent up of angst that must be worked out. We arrive at the spot and I'm cordial. "Where's mommy, where's mommy, Oh there she is." I smile and update her of his condition. Say what meds have been administered. I don't know why, she offered to buy me something, like a coffee or a cookie. I kindly refused. Then she again offered to allow for some family time for the three of us. Again, I politely refused. I wasn't angry, yet, I was annoyed. I was annoyed because I really felt like I was nothing more than an extension of our daycare employee. That really sucked. To me, and again, I might be reading too deep into this, I didn't feel like I was his father in her eyes, but again, just like last May, I felt like an appendage, a nanny. Not a husband, not a father but a nanny. I didn’t even feel like Tony Danza in the sitcom “Who’s the Boss?” I felt like an indentured slave who served at the liberty of his mistress. This probably explains why I elected to sleep on the sofa during the last months of our marriage. I can honestly say I felt under fucking appreciated. Not that I preformed the miracle on the Hudson or deserved to be invited to the Presidential Estate. I am Red Chiefs dad, and there are certain obligations and perks that go with the job. To make the situation better or more palatable for me or any parent in this position, a simple thank you and recognition has more currency than a cup of coffee or a cookie. Yes the episode made me angry but it didn’t and I have to emphasize this, it did not make me DYSFUNCTIONAL. That is the difference between a healthy parenting and destructive parenting. For me, I take from this slice of my life, which I humbly offer to you, the needs of the one outweigh the needs of few or the many. –OK its Start Trek but ride with me on this one: Our child is more important than a self serving custody battle. Our child (and yours for that matter too) is more important than winning a daily battle with a co parent. If I had it to do all over again, yes I would again fight to be apart of my child’s life. That said, as I have joint physical and legal custody, I don’t flex with it. By that I mean, I’m liberal and in some cases maybe over extend some of my visitation time with his mom. Why, because regardless of where the love is coming from (mom vs dad) our child is going to have the love of both of his parents. So that’s why I say, his development is more important to me than winning a battle (which translates into nothing more than another in a long series of fights with his mom) I wish my mom and dad could have seen that. Unfortunately, my history is my history—the good thing about that is this, there is no future in history. That simply means, my past, doesn't predict our son's future.
On a brighter note, I have confirmed my parenting classes. They start next Wednesday. I am excited because I actually get to meet others who are going through what I am going through while learning and in some cases improving on some skills.