Unpopular Decisions

I'm a new father and, as I said, Ms J, I don't know what I'm doing.

We had a good day yesterday. After work, I took Meagan shopping for school supplies. We bought pens and paper and pencil crayons and binders and note pads, even a lock for her new locker. She was pleased. Later, we joined Colleen and Ivy for Chinese food at a nearby restaurant. We ate til we were stuffed. It all went well. Later, at home, I spoke what had been on my mind all day.

"I've been thinking about your plan to see RJ this weekend, Meagan," I said. "I've been thinking it might be best to stay home here instead and get ready for school on Monday."

She was shocked. Gob-smacked, I think, is the expression they use across the pond. I'd caught her completely off guard.

"But Dad," she said, "I haven't seen him all week."

I listened to her protests but remained firm. She will not be seeing him this weekend. I know she cares deeply for the boy. I know he cares for her. But I don't think it's healthy to be so utterly dependant on anyone. Not at her age. Not at fifteen. Perhaps, not ever. School must be her main focus. And she needs to get herself on a proper sleep schedule.

"How can you do this?" she asked. "I wait all week to see him. I look forward to the weekend so I can go to Georgetown and see my friends. I live like a hermit here all week."

The tears began to flow then, Ms J, but not hysterical tears like her mother's. These were quiet tears, tears of real sadness and disappointment. I wanted so badly to help her, to take her pain away and restore her bright smile. But there was nothing more to say.

"I'm sorry, Meagan."

"Don't say you're sorry, 'cuz you're not."

I turned from her and went to bed and I could hear her crying softly from her bedroom.

It feels like the right thing, Ms J. It feels like I'm caring for my daughter and doing what a good daddy does.

Why then does it hurt me so?

***

Bob's Fingers

Mum called on Saturday night.

"I have some news to tell you. It's not very pleasant."

My heart sank. Dear God, I thought. Not Dad.

"It's about Helen's Bob," she said. "He's had an accident."

I have a sister, Ms J. Her name is Helen. She's the sister who battled breast cancer a couple of years ago. Remember? She lost the battle, but ultimately won the war. She's alive and well and back to working full time as a neo-natal nurse. Her boyfriend, Bob, was beside her all the way, encouraging, supporting, listening. Bob's a Christian man, Ms J. I'll wager he did a lot of praying too.

Last Saturday afternoon, Bob was using a hydraulic log splitter to split firewood. He owns and operates a Bed and Breakfast facility at his lovely Victorian home a hundred miles northwest of here. Somehow, his hand was caught by the sharpened wedge of the splitter and three fingers were severed, completely. The fourth finger was badly mangled. He was alone at the time.

Apparently, he managed to recover the digits and drove himself to a local hospital. They hadn't the specialised equipment and surgeons there, so he was taken to Toronto where he underwent thirteen hours of surgery. One finger appears to have positive blood circulation. The prognosis for the others is uncertain at this time.

Bob is a good man, Ms Journal. Helen loves him deeply. We all care very much for him. Physically, he's a big man, well over six feet tall, and powerful. Mid-fifties, I suppose. And when I hug him, I can scarcely put my arms around him. His heart is the biggest of all. Bob is both generous, and selfless. I've thought of him at least twenty times today. Colleen and I plan to visit Bob in hospital tomorrow. He faces a long and painful recovery.

It's a remarkable Truth, Ms J, that one second of inattention can lead to a Lifetime of regret.

Think of him today. Wish him well.

We love you, Bob!

***

Three Lives, Three Women, and Me

"Do you want me to wash the dishes, 'Leen?" I asked after dinner tonight.

"No," she said from the kitchen. "You said you wanted to write. Go. Write."

She's a good woman, this Colleen. She lets me do whatever I want. Work. Book rest. Be here with her and Ivy. Or stay home alone. She understands how Life has changed for me. It's changed for her too. But the adjustment has been greater for me.

A few months ago, when I came home from work, the evening was mine. Dinner. Or not. A glass of wine. Or tea. A hot bath with bubbles and candles. Phone calls, maybe. And e-mail. Blogs. Books. Early to bed. And sleep. Sweet, precious sleep.

But now I must consider Colleen. And Ivy. Ivy has a picture to show me. She's prepared a make-believe dinner of hamburgers and ice cream. And she's keen to tell me about her pretend horse. His name is Cobalt. Colleen wants to be held. She needs to be heard. She has stories to tell me about her day at school, or about the latest conflict with her ex. And let's not forget Meagan. She's important, too, isn't she? She needs attention, deserves it. Meagan's Life has changed too.

But what about me, Ms J? Where do I fit in here? Can I spend time with me without feeling selfish? I race from work to home to Colleen's and back to work and then home again. I struggle to find ten minutes to shave, or an hour to do some laundry. I miss my house. I feel sometimes as though I'm trying to serve three masters and losing my Self in the process. When I'm with Colleen, I'm neglecting Meagan. When I'm with Meagan, I'm neglecting Colleen and Ivy. And when I'm at work, I miss all of them.

Meagan is in G-town with RJ this weekend. Ivy is in bed. And Colleen is shuffling through old photos from a box behind me and sighing contentedly. All is well at the moment.

All is well, Ms Journal. It's just that sometimes ... just sometimes ... it's all quite overwhelming.

Loving three women can really wear a man thin.

***

This Girl

This post is about Meagan. I honestly haven't much more to say about her mother, Ms J, other than to tell you she's desperate to have Meagan back. She calls here sometimes to offer Meagan tears and threats. And lies. But Meagan is growing more resistant to it. She's getting stronger, I think. Good-bye, Kelly. You're dead to me.

---

We went to school the other day. I'd hoped to fill out a form and enrol Meagan in high school. Grade ten. The first semester of this year is a complete wash-out, so she'll be six months behind others her own age. It seems she was enrolled in three different schools since September, but scarcely attended any of them. I don't blame her. I mean, why bother? Why bother even trying to fit in when you're only going to move again anyway? I'm hoping (praying) that things will be different here with me. I'm hoping she'll settle in to the rhythm of home and school, and maybe find some friends. Maybe even get a part-time job.

A stern-faced secretary met us over the counter at the main office.

"Can I help you?"

I told her who I was and introduced my daughter.

"We'd like to register her to attend school here," I said hopefully.

"Do you have all her documents?" asked the woman.

"Doc ..? Well, no," I said. "She's just come to live with me. She's attended three schools since September. Her last school is a hundred miles away. I thought maybe you might be able to fax ---"

"We don't have time to do that here, sir. You'll have to fax the schools yourself and request copies of all her documents - school records, report cards, attendance, and so on."

She reached below the counter and produced two forms.

"Here," she said and pointed to a long list of items. "When you've got all this information, come back and see us. The vice-principal will review it and make his recommendations whether or not to accept her."

I looked at her and blinked without really knowing what to say. I had to ... She wouldn't ... Review? Whether or not to ACCEPT her? What the hell was she talking about? Why was she making me jump through hoops to get my daughter in school? Would it kill this woman to do her job? And would it kill her to smile?

"Thanks," I said and turned and walked out. For nothing, I thought, although I didn't say it.

Colleen has much more patience for this sort of thing and I called her later and vented. When I was done ranting, I apologised.

"I'm sorry. I'm not mad at you. I just don't understand why three schools up north admitted her with no problem while these tight-arsed morons in Toronto want every i dotted and every t crossed. She must attend school, Colleen. It's the bloody law!"

Colleen managed to soothe me eventually and promised to fax a letter to the three schools. She requested the documents and asked for them to be sent to our school here in Toronto. Colleen excels at smoothing the wrinkles of my anxiety. And she's good at writing letters and dealing with administrative red tape and general fuckery.

And what about Meagan? I said this post was about her, didn't I? Well, she's not particularly keen to start school. Not here, anyway.

"I'm a bit nervous here in the big city," she told me. "What about gangs and guns and shit? What about all the black people? I'm a little scared of black people, Dad."

Culture shock, Ms Journal. This girl will experience terrific culture shock here. She's lived all her Life in small towns. She's attended small town schools where all the faces were white and all the names, Anglo-saxon. Was it safer there than here? Maybe. But she didn't get the education she'd have gotten here. She never had the opportunities that are offered in the city. The Arts, for instance. She doesn't care right now. But maybe if she's exposed to a bigger world, she might discover something she likes, something more than RJ.

School will begin again officially on February 1. My hope is that she'll go, and grow, and know that she's amazing. My hope is that she'll discover the wonder that is Meagan. And I hope when she does, I will still recognise her, and she will still love me.



***

The Weekend

Hello Ms J. I'm back. Have you missed me? Lovely.

Well Colleen has been experiencing a touch of separation anxiety lately. I've been dividing my time between work and Meagan, and Colleen has been very busy with school. She attends teachers' college full time. It's a demanding schedule. We've both been feeling lonely and cut off from each other.

"I want to see you," she said in a telephone conversation on Thursday last. "I miss you, Dale. Please try to make some time for us this weekend."

You know, Ms J, it's really hard sometimes to be specific about our desires. It's hard to know what we want and even harder to ask for it. Colleen was quite clear about her needs and I laud her ability and willingness to state it. I called Girl Alex and asked if she'd babysit Ivy.

"Of course I will," she said and I could hear her smiling on the phone. "I'm happy to help you guys spend some time together."

I could have kissed her, but instead offered her fifty bucks. I believe she was happy with my choice.

Colleen and I went out to dinner and a movie on Saturday night. We saw "P.S. I Love You". It was enjoyable enough, I suppose, but a chick flick, fairly dripping with estrogen. Meagan was in G-town for the weekend to see her beloved RJ and so I spent the night at Colleen's house. On Sunday we went to church.

After church, we drove to Mt. Forest to visit my parents. It was dear ol' Dad's birthday on Sunday. He's 86. Ivy wasn't feeling well, so she stayed home with her Nana. The weather was inclement and the drive was a bit stressful. Strong west winds and snow flurries reduced visibility to near zero at times, but we arrived safe and sound. Mum suggested we have an early dinner.

"The weather's not getting any better," she warned as she drizzled last summer's raspberries over a slice of Angel food cake for dessert. "You guys might want to consider staying here tonight and heading out in the morning."

And so we did. Meagan was happy to spend another night with RJ (no, Ms J, I'm not comfortable with that, but that's how it was) while I spent another night curled up beside Colleen. Mum got up with us at 6:30 this morning and cooked us breakfast, bless her heart. We collected a bleary-eyed Meagan on the way through Georgetown and arrived back in Mimico around 10:00.

Colleen's off to school. Ivy's with her grandma. Meagan's sleeping. And I'm hoping to go to work sometime before midnight tonight. In a few minutes, I'm going to wake the girl and take her to register at our local high school. Exams are finished next week, and school will begin again for the second semester.

Big changes ahead, Scout.
Again.
I reckon there's no other way but to jump right in.

***

Young Love

I’m a father again. And I have no idea what the hell I’m doing. Meagan stays up half the night and sleeps til 3:00 pm. She’s good about washing up the dishes she dirties, though, and that pleases me. She does her own laundry. That’s also good. But she is absolutely, and completely in Love with this RJ fellow. She’s besotted with the boy. She can’t speak of anything else. RJ this. RJ that. She has photos of him on the walls of her bedroom. A blurry photo of him in a sudsy bath adorns the computer monitor. She lives and breathes this ... this Robert James boy. When she begins to speak of him now, my eyes glaze over. And she says things that strike fear into my heart.

“I’ll prob’ly end up living with him again, Dad, once he gets his own place in Georgetown.”

Or, “I could marry this man.”

Or, “When I’m sixteen, I’m going to Georgetown to live on my own. But don’t worry, Dad. I promise I’ll go to school.”

I know she’s young. I know how quickly things can change at that age. But still ...

Ontario students are writing exams this week and next. That gives us time to visit some local schools and get her registered for next semester.

RJ must learn to take a back seat to Meagan’s pursuit of education. She will be STRONGLY encouraged to put her studies first, Ms Journal, and RJ a distant second.

***

She's Home

"Home is where you hang your hat," says Dad. Me? I prefer "Home is where you hang your heart." Whichever it is, Meagan is home. My girl has come to live with me in Mimico. The story begins on Monday afternoon when I delivered her and RJ back to Kelly.

It was a long drive, Ms J, about two and a half hours. Meagan and I chatted in the front seat while a sleepy RJ dozed in the back.

"Did you enjoy yourself this weekend, Scout?" I asked.

"Yeah, I did. So did RJ. It was relaxing. Peaceful, you know? It always feels peaceful at your house, Dad."

"Do you think you might still like to live with me?" I asked casually, keeping my eyes on the road to avoid her stare. "Sometime?"

She was quiet for a minute while she considered her response. I waited and gripped the wheel. When she spoke, she sounded resigned, defeated.

"I can't. She won't let me."

"I'm not sure I understand, Honey," I said. "What do you mean she 'won't let you'?"

"Mum says if I leave, she'll call the cops and the Children's Aid. She says if I leave, I'll end up in a group home. Or a detention centre."

I bit my lip and shook my head. More lies. Kelly is desperate to hold on to her daughter. I believe the issue is a matter of finances. I pay $600 per month in child support. And if Meagan left, RJ would follow. I'm sure he pays something in the form of room and board. She'd lose her monthly income, Ms J, and she'd lose her babysitters. As usual, she had used fear and manipulation to impose her will.

"Meagan," I said softly, "Mummy is lying to you. She cannot force you to stay against your will. In Ontario, a child of twelve can choose which parent to live with. That's the Truth, Honey. That's the law."

Meagan's voice was cracking a little as she struggled to continue.

"She says she'll take you to court. She'll bring up everything. The drugs, the violence, everything. She says she'll bring up your criminal record from when you guys were married. And she'd get them to talk to Donna as well."

My heart was breaking. This was so unfair! I knew what she was saying was rubbish, but poor Meagan believed it all. Kelly hasn't the slightest shred of incriminating evidence against me. I have no criminal record. I once signed a Peace Bond agreeing not to come within fifty yards of Kelly or her home after a violent episode there. But that was in 1994, fourteen years ago. I have never been arrested. I have never been charged, formally, with anything. And I have not used drugs since 2000. Donna lives in Europe now. I've had no contact with her since 2001.

When I tried to explain it to Meagan, she became angry.

"You don't understand, Dad. She says I can't go and that's final. I can't go, OK? So stop asking. I JUST CAN'T GO!"

There was nothing more to say then, so I let the silence fall over us. It was too warm suddenly and I adjusted the heat. After a few minutes, I spoke and changed the subject.

"Would you like to stop in Arthur and stretch your legs. I'll bet ol' RJ is getting cramped back there. We can stop at Tim Horton's and grab a hot chocolate or something."

So we did.



RJ is a good boy. He's always grateful for anything offered. In Truth, Ms J, it's only his lack of motivation to improve his lot that concerns me. If only he went to school, or held a steady job, or had a home of his own ...

Maybe he's never had anyone who believed in him. Maybe he's not quite ready to believe in himself. He's young, still. Eighteen. He has time yet to grow. And he sure as hell won't do it living in isolation with Kelly and company in a draughty old farm house in a snowy meadow.



I hated to take them back.

"Bye Dad!" hollered Meagan from the side door. "Thanks for everything!"

"Yeah thanks, Dale," echoed RJ. "I really appreciate you letting me stay at your house. And thanks for driving us home."

I was half an hour closer to home when my cell phone rang. It was a tearful Meagan.

"Daddy, can you come and get me? I can't live here anymore. Please, Dad?"

After a brief discussion which included Kelly's two cents worth, I turned the car around and headed back. Gosh, it's desolate country up there!



Life has changed for us all. Kelly has lost her daughter now as well as her son. Meagan has left behind the only real family she's ever known. RJ is living temporarily with friends in Georgetown. He and Meagan are separated now, and heartsick over it. And me? Well, I'm contemplating Life now with a teenage girl. My time with Colleen may be seriously curtailed. Meagan will begin again in a new school, hopefully make new friends. She wasn't attending school when she lived with her mother. She's lost the first semester this year, but the second semester hasn't yet begun. RJ is faced with the task of getting a job and a permanent place to live. And Colleen and I will grow together through this. She's been exceptionally supportive.

We'll face many struggles in the months to come, Ms Journal, all of us. But struggles can be seen as challenges. And challenges can become opportunities.

Wish us luck!

***

All Is Well ... at the moment

The phone rang last night at 11:50. It was Meagan.

"Hi Daddy. Sorry to call so late. Were you sleeping?"

I hadn't been sleeping, Ms J. In Truth, I was just home from Colleen's place.

"I thought you had arranged a ride from someone," I said.

"Yeah, well they never showed up. The concert's over. Can you come and get us? I'm sorry, Dad. I was ..."

"Honey, it's OK. I'll come and get you. It's not far away. I'll see you in fifteen minutes, OK?"

"Thanks, Dad. You're the best!"

I found them outside the pub on Dundas St and they hurried to get into the car. My girl sat in the seat beside me. RJ took his place in back.

"So how was the show?" I asked.

"It was good," said RJ. "It was a lot of fun."

His choice of words seemed so ... I don't know, Ms J ... so grown up some how. "A lot of fun." RJ seems so mature. I remain curious about his decision not to attend school.

"Yeah, Dad. RJ rocked! He has blisters on his hands from drumming."

We chatted as we rode together, south on Keele St. and then west along the curvy Lakeshore Blvd. toward Mimico. I paid close attention to the kids and sniffed the warm air for the scent of alcohol or marijuana. I detected neither. I may be an old guy, but I'm familiar with drugs. I sometimes feign ignorance, but I know what drugs look like. I observed their mannerisms and looked in their eyes. These two had made me proud ... and a little ashamed. I worry so much, Ms J, and so often it's all for nothing.

"Do you think we'll pass a convenience store or McDonalds or something?" said RJ. "We're starving."

We stopped at Sobey's and bought some bagels and cream cheese. And some potato chips. We ate when we got home. It was just after 2 o'clock when I went upstairs to bed. I left RJ some blankets on the couch.

This morning, Ms J, I can tell you I'm pleased to find my Meagan fast asleep in her bed across the hall and young RJ curled up in a blanket downstairs. This is proper. This is the way it's done here at my house.

I haven't found the time yet to have a discussion with Meagan about some of the rules and expectations I have concerning the possibility of her living here permanently. I'd really like Colleen to be present then. She knows how to say things in a gentle way. I get too caught up in my fears.

Who knows? Maybe Meagan just wants a few days here away from the chaos of her mother's home. Maybe all she wants is a little vacation.

***

Thinkin'

I was awake at 5:00 this morning. I laid there thinking about Meagan and RJ and Kelly and Daniel and Sarah and Colleen and Ivy and work and clutter and cat hair and ...
At 5:30, I got up and shaved and showered. I spent an hour or so writing in my private journal, trying to get caught up. I’ve been so busy with work and Colleen lately, I’ve been neglecting my writing. And I have missed it.

I do care very much for Colleen, Ms J, but we’ve been spending a lot of time together. Every day. Nearly every night. I love her, but I feel as though I need some time away from her and Ivy. I REALLY enjoyed my time here alone last night. So peaceful. I enjoyed a glass of wine and some candle light. I listened to music and read e-mail. Then I enjoyed another glass of wine. Very nice. Very ... solitary.

I like solitude, Ms Journal. I miss that too, sometimes.

Meagan wants to come live with me. I have many questions to ask. I want my daughter to be happy and to grow in a good environment ... but I have questions. Concerns.

Yep.

Funny, ain't it, how Life can twist and turn?

***

........

Here's a first. I've nothing to tell you, Ms J. Life is good at the moment.

And so there's nothing to say. Except Life is good.

"It's all good!"

***