Just Sippin' Coffee and Chatting

G' day, Ms Journal. I haven't much news to tell you, really. I'm just sitting here enjoying a cup of fair trade coffee and feeling grateful not to have to work today. I'm no longer on the spareboard, remember, and not subject to call on a two hour notice. Of course, that didn't stop the morons at the crew office from phoning this morning at 5:30.

"Yeah, hi Dale. It's the crew office calling. I know it's your day off, but are you interested in working 339 today?"

Umm, no. I don't want to take a big, nasty freight train to Buffalo, New York, thank you. And thanks for waking me up. Fuckwit.

Meagan visited the dentist this week. She went to have her teeth cleaned by her cousin, Sherri. Sherri did a great job and later took a plaster impression of my teeth. I hope to have my teeth whitened and a custom fitted tray is required to contain the whitening gel.

“Does it cost to have this done, Sherri?” I asked. “Or will my dental plan cover it?”

“No way, Daley,” she grinned. “It costs about $250.”

I held my hand up.

“Honey, I don’t have $250. I can’t afford this. I thought ---“

Sherri took my hand in hers and smiled again showing perfect, white teeth.

“Don’t worry,” she said softly. “It won’t cost you a dime.”

The impressions were made in five minutes. Soon, Sherri will get the trays and a jar of whitening gel. I hope my teeth turn out as white as hers, Ms J. Or Meagan’s. Or Colleen’s.

But I doubt they’ll ever be that white again.

---

It's Friday again, Ms J. Meagan's off to G-town this aft' and Colleen and I plan to attend a posh gala tonight at The Palais Royale, a grand old ballroom not far from here. It's a fundraiser for the local arts community, a 'Glitz and Glamour" formal affair with dinner and dancing. The Whitney Smith Big Steam Band will feature the classic swing and jazz music of the 1930's and 40's.

Maybe I'll take a camera and treat you to a shot of Colleen and me cutting a rug in our glad rags.

***

The Hard Way

Things were going well. I'd contacted Kelly and explained my situation, and after some initial reluctance, she'd agreed to send notice to stop receipt of child support. Then - and I don't really know how or why, exactly - things went sideways. In an angry exchange of email between Meagan and her mum, Kelly stated that she would not agree to stop support. And she called me a "prick" and "THE MOST EVIL ABUSIVE PERSON I HAVE MET TO DATE."

She's entitled to her opinion, Ms J. And it's a woman's prerogative to change her mind, I reckon. So we'll do things the hard way.

I have obtained and completed a government form: Application To Discontinue Enforcement of Ongoing Support (Section 8.1 & 8.2)

I’ll include all pertinent information and state why support should be discontinued effective January 15, 2008. I’ll let the FRO handle it from their end. I'll mail it off today. Now, maybe Kelly will owe me some money.

Too bad, really. Things were going well, I thought.

***

Seven Days!

I can't believe it's been a week since I last posted here. My word, how time flies! "Time flies like an arrow," said Groucho Marx. "And fruit flies like a banana."

So I guess you're wondering what's been going on here in Mimico this past week, eh Ms J. Well, it's been fairly quiet to tell you the Truth.

Meagan is really a good girl. Really. She does whatever I ask of her. You know, like keeping the kitchen tidy and taking out the trash. She goes to school every day, rising at 7:00 and walking to the street car stop at the bottom of our street. She sits every evening at the dining room table and does her homework. She's a good girl.

However ...

You knew there'd be a however, didn't you?

However, ... she is still hopelessly in Love with young Master RJ and lives for Friday afternoon when she goes off to G-town to see him. I asked about him recently.

"So how's RJ doing, Scout? Is he working?"

"He's working on getting on welfare, Dad."

She spoke it with a sense of pride, as though welfare was a good thing. I nodded my head and tried not to react. Her brother's on welfare. And I suppose her mum's availed herself of various social assistance programmes over the years. Kids learn what they see, don't they, Ms J? I mean why work when someone else will pay your bills?

"Has he thought about going back to school?" I asked.

"School is the last thing he needs right now," she said.

I couldn't have disagreed more strongly, but I bit my lip instead and said nothing.

Last night, Meagan mentioned that RJ had found a house to rent with some friends.

"A house, Dad! For $275 a month. Isn't that great?"

Hmmm. $275 a month. Must be quite a palace.

"And he's going back to school, too. Did I tell you that? Tomorrow's his first day."

The words cautiously optimistic spring to mind.

---

I sent Kelly an email last Friday declaring my desire to halt support payments.

Hi Kelly.

I spoke with a lady at the Family Responsibility Office this morning. She told me I'm not required to pay support for a child who lives with me and suggested I contact you regarding this matter. The lady informed me that stopping support requires only a letter from you stating Meagan no longer lives with you. It must also indicate the date when it becomes effective. This request must be done via Canada Post and cannot be e-mailed.

Could you please send me your current address and I'll mail you a copy of the letter I've written. I'll include an envelope, stamped and addressed. You have only to sign it and mail it.

Thanks, Kelly. The letter I've drafted makes the order effective March 15th. I thought maybe you could use a couple of extra payments.

Dale

At first, she was angry and told Meagan to tell me she wouldn't sign it. A few days later, she relented and sent me her address. She understands she has no choice in the matter. A letter from her agreeing to stop receipt of payments is the simplest way to do it. She also expressed some concerns about Meagan.

"This plan for Meg to move in with RJ at age 16 is ridiculous....RJ himself told me he wouldn't do this!! ... I find it disturbing that Meg is willing to move out with the plan of being on welfare(if need be), when she has two loving parents. ...I'm against this completely ...
I guess you are feeling rather used at this point... I would resent being a 5 month stopping post...till she turns 16....then the hell with what Mom and Dad say...
I'm very concerned about Meg's future and pray that you can wake her up before June 2."

I agree with Kelly. I'm concerned too, Ms Journal. Meagan will turn sixteen on June 2nd.

I understand your concern, Kelly. I'm not thrilled about her plan either, but we really have no choice in the matter. At 16, she is legally able to decide where she wants to live, and with whom. I hope she'll change her mind before June arrives, but at the moment, it looks unlikely. Sometimes, all you can do is let go and hope for the best. She's a clever girl. She'll figure things out eventually.

Thank you for agreeing to sign my letter. I've mailed it off today. Please put it in the envelope provided and mail it promptly.

D.

As usual, I'm confused and uncertain about the correct way to proceed. As I see it, there are two choices:

I can order a halt to her relationship with this boy and make it difficult (or impossible) for her to see him. Or, I can stay the course, love her, and hope she'll discover a greater sense of self worth on her own. I'm trying to put my faith in God and in my daughter, and leaning toward option number 2.

I have not discussed my feelings with her. Yet.

***

Update

Hey, Ms J. How's it going? Thought I'd better pop round and let you know I'm still alive.

Work still sucks. Yup. Still hating it. The micro-management and the constant threat of discipline, the negativity, the doom and gloom, the uncertainty of what's to come when we lose the GO train contract - it all takes its toll. Everyone is on edge. We're all concerned and our employer offers no information whatsoever. And don't even ask about the union, OK? Don't get me started. It's become clear to us by now that the union is deep in the company's pocket. Sons-'o-bitches. $130/month in union dues. For WHAT?? Like I said, don't get me started.

Colleen just phoned. Yeah, Ms J. Just now. The woman seems to possess some supernatural ability to phone every time I sit down to write. It's uncanny. To be honest, I used to find it intrusive. But when we discussed it today, she raised a good point.

"Yes, I do call when you're writing, Dale," she said. "I know when you're falling into the depths of negativity and so I call to rescue you."

I could hear her smiling on the phone. I pictured her beautiful face and radiant smile that always melts my heart and well, I feel better. I don't feel so angry, so desperate. She has that effect on me, Ms J. The mere thought of her is like a soothing balm for my turbulent moods. I'm not ashamed to admit it. Colleen is good for me. I like this girl. I REALLY like this girl.

Ivy will be spending this weekend with her father and Meagan is up in G-town with RJ. Colleen and I will be alone to pursue adult interests tonight. Mmmmmm ...

Right, then. 'Nuff said.

I called the FRO this morning. The Family Responsibility Office. That's Ontario's name for the government office that oversees child support payments. The FRO has wide-ranging powers under the law to enforce payment. They can garnish wages, seize bank accounts and other assets, suspend federal and provincial licences, even proceed legally with court action. The FRO are not known to be a helpful bunch where it comes to fathers. But I was lucky. The lady with whom I spoke was quite nice.

I explained my situation and she told me I had only to obtain a letter signed by my ex attesting to the fact that my daughter no longer lives with her mother.

"Are you on speaking terms with your ex-wife?" she asked.

I told her yes, although that's not entirely true. If I were to live out the remainder of my days without ever speaking with Kelly again, Ms J, I would not feel any great sense of loss. I've overlooked or forgiven a lot of her foolish and harmful decisions over the years, but when she moved my daughter a hundred miles away into an old farm house in the middle of a snowy pasture, and didn't even tell me where she'd gone until I threatened to report Meagan missing ... Well, that was the last straw.

But I digress.

"All she has to do, then, is simply send us a letter telling us to discontinue enforcement of the support. Make sure she includes the case number and the date it's to become effective."

I suppose Kelly will be expecting this. She won't be happy about it. But according to information I've been given, she'll have no choice in the matter. And it's reversible if Meagan should decide to return to her mother.

I don't want to call her, Ms J. I think I'll compose an email. A gently-worded email.

***

Not Much To Tell You

I haven't much to tell you, Ms J. It's been peaceful here lately.

Meagan continues to behave like a good daughter and I'm proud of her. She's still madly in Love with young Master RJ and looking forward to a long weekend with him starting late Thursday afternoon. I can't help but think that she may be keeping him from doing the things he needs to do - finding employment, enrolling in an education programme, or replacing his lost identification papers - but oh well. It's his Life, isn't it? He's not worried, so neither shall I.

I'm feeling the financial strain of keeping another person. I love my daughter, Ms J, but it costs money to feed and clothe her. I hadn't considered it until recently. And I've been ill for about five days and off work, so that'll cost as well. Yes, we have weekly indemnity benefits (sick pay) but we have to visit the doctor and get him to fill out forms and submit copies here and there and then wait two weeks and ... Well, you get the picture.

Anyway, my point is this: I cannot go on living on credit when my bank account won't support me. I think I'll suggest (in a gentle kind of way, of course) that Meagan get a job. It would probably conflict eventually with her visits with RJ, but I'd let her discover that on her own. Another option is to contact the child support people and arrange to stop paying support to you-know-who. Six hundred dollars a month would help a lot here.

I'll let you know how things turn out.

***

The Darkness Lifts

The front door opened just past 4:00 this afternoon and in walked Meagan. I turned from the kitchen sink.

"Hi Scout!" I called. "How was school today? Any better?"

"Dad," she said, "It was fine. Good actually. It was totally fine."

She seemed relaxed and happy as she removed her boots and coat and stored them away in the closet.

"I went in and said hello and, like, sat down at a desk. There was no chair there so I pretended to, like, sit in mid air and everybody laughed. That's about it. After class, everybody was, like, talking to me, asking me where I was from and stuff and I met some really cool kids. Yeah. It was pretty good."

I'm, like, pleased, Ms J. I'm, like, really freakin' pleased.

***

The Courage to Talk

Meagan did go to school this morning. I wondered if she would. I came home from work around 8:30 and she’d showered and gone already. I was upstairs writing an hour later when there came a thump on the front door. I opened it to find my girl in tears on the front porch.

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” she sobbed, lip quivering. “I can’t do it. I just can’t do it. I can’t go on like this. Sorry, Dad. Please don’t be mad.”

She looked so completely dejected, Ms J. How could I be angry? I invited her in and she removed her coat and boots. She talked about her struggle this morning with a crowded streetcar and with the mob at school who ignored her. She felt the sudden weight of all her cares and all her fears. And she was completely crushed by it. There was more to her story, I suspected. Much more.

“Come on, Sweetie,” I said softly. “Let’s sit down. Talk to me. I promise to listen.”

And so we did. She sat on the chesterfield in the living room, her hands folded in her lap, her head bowed. From time to time, tears dripped from her nose and she wiped them with the back of her hand.

“I don’t know anyone here. I miss my friends. I miss my family. I’m scared here, Dad. I don’t feel like this is my home. I can’t live with RJ and I can’t live with Mum. And now you’re telling me I have to grow up and get used to it here, but I can’t. I can’t just do it like that. I have no home. That’s how it feels. It feels like I have no home and no friends. I’m lost, Dad. I'm totally lost.”

She began again to sob and I cried too, dammit. My heart was breaking to see her this way.

“Meagan,” I said, “I’m like a new dad. I don’t know how to be a dad to a girl I barely know. I only know that I love you and I want to get to know you. I’m sorry for the way I behaved on Saturday. If you’ll try to meet me halfway ... If we can find a way to work together, maybe we can survive this. I only want you to be happy, Honey. I want you to grow and be happy.”

There was no sound then for a long while, just the intermittent sniffles of a girl whose Hope had nearly gone.

“Would you be open to talking to someone about what you’re feeling?” I said at last. “A councillor or somebody? Maybe we could both go. Would you like to try that?”

She nodded her head.

“Yeah, maybe. But not with you. That’s just too weird.”

---

The door is open, Ms J. The way is made clear for us. Both of us.

Please Lord, don’t let me fuck it up.

***

Surly Girl

Surly. That's the word I keep using in reference to her. She's been angry and miserable and uncommunicative since Thursday. That's when I forbade her from seeing her precious RJ this weekend. She's changed. My daughter has lost her mind.

I've tried reasoning with her.

"It's only one weekend, Meagan. One weekend out of your Life. He'll still be there next weekend."

I've tried explaining my decision.

"It's not healthy to be so attached to someone. Besides, school starts on Monday. You need to be rested."

But she doesn't care, Ms J. She wants what she wants. She wants her RJ. And so she mopes and cries and now has completely withdrawn from the world by sequestering herself in her bedroom upstairs.

Yesterday, I invited Colleen and Ivy for dinner. I bought food for a lovely meal, and rented some videos for after. I (we) had hoped to entice Meagan out of her room to join the land of the living, but she remained obstinate and truculent. We discussed it in the kitchen as we prepared dinner together. I was really nearing my wit's end and Colleen did her best to calm me. Finally, I lost my temper entirely.

"MEAGAN!" I shouted up the stairs. "COME DOWN HERE PLEASE. NOW!"

She was a sight. Her hair was a mess. Her eyes were puffy and red from crying. She stood defiantly in the kitchen door with her arms folded across her chest.

"What," she said, her voice flat and emotionless.

"We have company. People have come to see you - to see us. Friends. You say you have no friends here, but you hide upstairs and don't even try to make friends."

She didn't move. She just stood there glowering. I could feel my patience waning.

"I don't understand why you're behaving this way," I said. "I'm getting tired of it."

I waited for a response, any kind of response at all, Ms J, but there was none. Just more defiance, more self-pity.

"You want me to like RJ and I do. But when you act like this, I'm starting to resent him. I'd resent anyone who has that much control over you. I'm asking you to stay home one weekend, Meagan. One lousy weekend! I don't see what the big deal is. You'll see him next weekend. You can ..."

She turned on her heal and marched toward the stairs.

"Meagan, don't walk away," I pleaded. "Talk to me!"

She went straight up the stairs to her room. She didn't look back.

I don't remember feeling so frustratated, so angry, and so disrespected since ... well, since my son lived with me. I put both hands on my head and paced down the hall toward the door. Should I go for a walk? Go and cool off somwhere? What about my guests? Ivy was off watching TV and Colleen was watching me from the kitchen. My heart was racing. My mind was racing. I felt ready to explode any minute. I needed to calm down.

"Just breathe," Colleen urged. "Just take a few deep breaths."

She was trying to help, God bless her, but I didn't feel like breathing. I felt like choking the breath OUT of something. I recognised the monster inside. He's visited before, Ms J, many times. Ask Kelly. Ask Donna. They'll tell you. They've seen him. I needed to calm down. I needed to find something to do. I bent to remove the bag from the kitchen garbage can when suddenly, the monster appeared. The plastic pail went crashing down onto the hardwood and rubbish flew everywhere. Colleen fled.

"I'll try talking to her," she said and hurried upstairs.

---

In the end, Colleen did talk with Meagan. She said the things I should have said if I hadn't been so full of my fear and my anger. Maybe some of it got through to her. I don't know. I'm not very optimistic. I feel like telling RJ never to contact my daughter again, but Colleen has warned me against it. Repeatedly.

"You'll lose her," she says. And I know she's right.

We ate alone, Colleen and I. Apricot/mustard chicken with mashed potatoes. A glass of wine. The meal was delicious. Ivy had come down with a fever and was sound asleep on the chesterfield. Little Miss Surly Girl remained in her bunker upstairs.

After the dishes were done, we helped Ivy into her coat and boots and went off to spend the night together at Colleen's place.

"Good night, Meagan," called Colleen from the foot of the stairs.

"Bye," was the one word response.

"I love you, ya know," I called to her.

But I heard nothing back.

***