I guess I didn't commit to this blog like I wanted to. It'll come around.
Here's what I've been thinking about:
--Work is crazy as hell. Four and a half weeks until our first race. I'm quietly excited, but still pretty reserved. Can't celebrate anything until we deserve to. A lot on the line here, but I really believe we're going to pull it off. I suppose I wouldn't have signed on if I didn't.
--Rose and I are planning our first move-in together for May 1. She found us a nice place in West Addison, and the back yard is quite literally Lake Champlain. We can walk up the driveway to one general store, or paddle a canoe over to Port Henry, NY to another. Cows everywhere. Small but pretty perfect for what we need.
--I love technology more and more by the day.
--I can't believe that poor woman Melissa Jenkins was killed up in St. Johnsbury in front of her kid on the side of the road. I mean, I read about a dozen murders a day in big cities, but it's so rare in Vermont that it just hits so much harder. I'm sure I know 20 people that knew her. Absolutely tragic.
--The trip to Stony Brook with Ed, Pich', and Al a few weeks ago was just awesome. We were gone for a total of about 26 hours but have enough stories from that day to tell for the next 26 years. I am so proud to be a UVM Superfan, and we danced on the host floor in the host gym right in front of the host fans on national television. When UVM wins big, all of Vermont wins big and the country takes notice because (not unlike the murders up here) it's so rare. Love. This Team.
--I miss the ever-living hell out of Landon, and I can't afford to do a damn thing about it. My son is almost six years old and I've seen him a total of one hour and 40 minutes since July 24, 2009, but for Christ's sakes, I'm worse off financially now than I was even back then. "Be patient," I keep telling myself. It sure to hell doesn't get any easier. At least with my father, he's passed on and I know he's not coming back. That doesn't make that easy, either, but at least that's a definite, final thing. I got closure out of that. I was there for his last breath. The difference with Landon is that I was there for his first breath, and I want to be a part of his life every day until my last breath. I guess I just deal with it for now by staying busy and paying some of my bills. (By the way, I'm proud to say I've made full child support payments to the tune of $117.70 every week since the middle of November. Then again, it's ridiculous that I should even be proud of that.)
--Speaking of patience, John Adams has got to be one of the most patient people I've ever met. I owe the guy $200 and not once has he ever asked for it. He knows I'll make good on it, and I will, but he'll never know how much I appreciate his friendship and understanding. Times are tough. He gets it.
--Back to Rose, she makes me feel like a man should feel. Never really had that before in my adult life. She doesn't have to have me around 24/7, she lets me do my thing and doesn't even really ask any questions, but she needs me when it's important. And I feel exactly the same about her. She's my rock, even if I'm away for ten days in a row. She's truly my best friend. I love her very much, and I really feel like I struck a gold mine by being at JP's to sing a couple of stupid karaoke songs in the middle of February a year ago. She wasn't impressed, so I cranked it up a notch with "Oh, Darlin'" by The Beatles, I kissed her on the cheek, and that was about it. More than a year later, it still feels like it's only two weeks old. I'm a lucky guy.
--Can't stop humming Weezer's "El Scorcho" today. Also, can't stop listening to Gov't Mule on the tape deck in the car whenever I drive these last two weeks.
--Yep, tape deck. I'm friggin' exhausted. Night.
Showing posts with label Landon. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Landon. Show all posts
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
I'm not a deadbeat dad. I'm a desperate dad.
I'm way behind in child support. Let's just throw that out there right now. Thousands. I've got nothing to hide.
Why am I so far behind? Because I have to survive. There are people who don't want to hear it, and that's absolutely fine. Hell, I don't even want to hear it, let alone say it, because it sounds as much like a pathetic excuse to me as I'm sure it does to you. But it's the truth.
Here's the story.
In 2005, my friend and I went to a club to meet up with his girlfriend. She was there with a girl who I happened to have gone to high school with. We danced together, exchanged numbers, and began hanging out. We spent a lot of time together, and eventually, for whatever reason we were thinking at the time, got pregnant. It wasn't a mistake, put it that way.
We moved in together, tried to do the right thing, and pretended to be a family. Our son, Landon, was born in July 2006 and we stayed together for just over a year after that.
His mother, before we were together, was a partier. She drank whatever, smoked whatever, snorted whatever. I know because I saw it. She cleaned up when she was pregnant, but within a month of Landon's birth she was smoking pot again. Two months later I walked up to her car (without her knowing) and saw her and a friend snorting percocets off the dashboard. Within six months, she was out partying until 3:00 in the morning at least two nights a week during the middle of the week and at least one more night on the weekends.
Since I was the only one working, it was all money that I earned going up her nose and paying off her credit card. (Our meals, of course, were taken care of because we "forgot" to tell the state that I was living there and she and Landon received lots of assistance including WIC, EBT, and health insurance.) Meanwhile, I had to come up with an excuse every month for her father about why rent was late (we rented her parents' house) and eventually I had my car repossessed because I couldn't pay for it.
She began spending lots of time with guys, some of which were my close friends, but told me in no uncertain terms that I was not welcome. I was obviously pretty skeptical, but already so emotionally unattached that it didn't matter much to me. Right around the end of August, though, when she and my debit card went to New Jersey for a weekend with a guy and another couple, I threw in the towel. I called her parents, informed them that I'd had enough, and that Landon and I were moving to my parents' house.
Upon arrival home, she had a meltdown, threatened suicide, and we got a police escort to the hospital where she checked into rehab. Three months later she and a counselor decided it was time for her to be a mom again, so Landon was, whether I liked it or not, sent to live with her. Things between us stayed cordial, even friendly at times. I managed a 60-80 hour work schedule and still made as much time for Landon as possible, and I paid what we agreed was a fair amount of child support every month (read: not by court order).
Then in August of 2008 it all came to a grinding halt. I had Landon over night on a Wednesday, and Thursday morning -- like we did every week -- I was on my way back to her house to drop him off before work. With no answer at her phone, I called her mother, who lives four hours away to help track her down. Finally, at 12:30 in the afternoon, she wakes up at her boyfriend's house. Justifiably mad, I lit into her a little, though I had to watch my tongue in front of our two year-old. That day was the end of our niceties (and my freebie child support donations).
Papers were filed with courts from both of us, and a string of seven dates with a judge over the next five months followed. Lo and behold, I lost almost all of my parental rights, save for visitation, was ordered to pay a hefty amount of child support each month, and was slapped with a huge balance of owed child support from the time I stopped paying to the time of the judgement.
After a rough year working at a job that I liked but one that I was not able to provide what was demanded of me, I decided that the best thing for my son and I would be for me to find something else to do. I gave my notice and was relieved of my duties at Thanksgiving.
Seven weeks and one burned professional bridge later, I was informed that my son and his mother would be moving to South Carolina in July with her new boyfriend, a guy that she had been seeing -- at the time the news was delivered to me -- for less than six months.
I was absolutely crushed. I wept openly for two days, and I still remember that moment as one of the two worst things that have ever happened to me -- the other being the passing of my father.
I decided that, while working full-time waiting tables, I would start my own business writing about my passion -- stock car racing and try to make a living at it. I spent as much time as possible with Landon, including bringing him to a few races (which he thoroughly enjoyed) and soaking it all up while I had the chance. He moved in late July and I became a workaholic.
I struggled financially, both at the restaurant and with my writing, and bills began piling up. I was usually unable to meet the full weekly child support payments, although I always paid something every week, no matter if it was the full amount or fifteen lousy bucks. Needless to say, it wasn't ideal, and my already-strained relationship with my ex only worsened. I was informed on once occasion that I was "no longer Landon's parent" and another time, while in a hospital waiting room on the night that my father died, that I would never speak to Landon on the phone again.
Things started turning around within a year financially, and the support payments (and everything else) got better. There was a good stretch, but then the restaurant cut me back to one day a week, the bills took back over, and I desperately began looking for a way out of my situation. As the racing season wound down, I was for all intents and purposes unemployed. There was a period, even as recently as November, where the only bills I paid were rent, electricity, gas for my car, and food. No cable, no phone, no insurance, and yes, no child support.
In the mean time, as punishment I suppose, I was cut off from contact with Landon completely and humiliated online by a few folks after being exposed as a deadbeat dad. I lived off of odd side jobs and by hounding bosses from freelance jobs who owed me back checks. I never complained or defended myself publicly, knowing that I deserved every lump I took. It wasn't an easy thing to do.
I was presented an opportunity to take a full-time job at a race track in October and I jumped at the chance. Not only was it the type of job I had worked hard my whole life to have a chance at landing, it was also a strong and permanent solution to my child support problem. I now pay every dime I owe every week, and I'm constantly looking for ways to begin chipping away at the 800-pound gorilla that is my unpaid support balance. At the same time, I borrow money constantly to pay all of my other bills including rent, which will likely be late this month.
I'm not in any way proud of the fact that I wasn't there for my son financially for so long. Seeing him is out of the question, since I can't afford to take the time off work or pay for the travel, but at least I'm doing more of my part now. (Though I did find a way to pay $300 for him to fly to Vermont in May. I saw him for a total of one hour and 40 minutes.) I stand by the fact that while I was struggling to simply put food in my stomach that I made the right decisions with the money I did have, as hard as they may have been.
This is a burden I bear every single day. There is an 8" x 10" photo on my bedroom wall of Landon that I see every day, and another photo of him and I and my father hanging above my bed that I see every day. There are photos on Facebook and in other places that I look through all the time. It's not easy, and it never has been. I talked to him on Christmas -- with his mother coaching him in the background, of course -- and I got choked up a few times. The worst part was when he asked where his Christmas present from last year was, and I couldn't find a way to tell him that I didn't have the money to send him one. I borrowed $12 from my girlfriend to ship a cheap -- but sentimental -- gift to him this year.
I want to fight in the courts. I want my son back. I want to see him every day. I want to be with him just like I was for the first three years of his life. I want him to know that I WAS, AM, AND ALWAYS WILL BE HIS DADDY. I also realize that I can't do any of that right now. Any judge in the country would laugh me out of the courtroom if I tried to fight right now. I need to prove that this is for real. It is for real. I'm a firm believer in judging someone not by what they used to do, but by what they are doing. Right now I'm doing the right thing for my son, but I have to keep it up for a while. I'm in no position financially or otherwise to have my son live with me full-time right now. That might be years down the road, even, and I'm willing to tough that out. But this is a start.
I know that I was there for my son when his mother chose not to be early in his life. She is there for him now and, as far as I can tell, she and her fiancee -- Landon's stepdad -- are doing a good job. I didn't choose to not be there for him when they moved away, and I tried every way that I knew how to meet my responsibilities as a father -- as a man -- for a couple of years. I gave it every effort I had, even if that meant scraping together a payment of $33.12 for the entire month, and I'm proud that I gave owning my own business a shot. There came a point where I couldn't live with myself any longer, though, and I took care of it.
Now it's my job to keep taking care of it. To keep taking care of Landon. I love my son.
Why am I so far behind? Because I have to survive. There are people who don't want to hear it, and that's absolutely fine. Hell, I don't even want to hear it, let alone say it, because it sounds as much like a pathetic excuse to me as I'm sure it does to you. But it's the truth.
Here's the story.
In 2005, my friend and I went to a club to meet up with his girlfriend. She was there with a girl who I happened to have gone to high school with. We danced together, exchanged numbers, and began hanging out. We spent a lot of time together, and eventually, for whatever reason we were thinking at the time, got pregnant. It wasn't a mistake, put it that way.
We moved in together, tried to do the right thing, and pretended to be a family. Our son, Landon, was born in July 2006 and we stayed together for just over a year after that.
His mother, before we were together, was a partier. She drank whatever, smoked whatever, snorted whatever. I know because I saw it. She cleaned up when she was pregnant, but within a month of Landon's birth she was smoking pot again. Two months later I walked up to her car (without her knowing) and saw her and a friend snorting percocets off the dashboard. Within six months, she was out partying until 3:00 in the morning at least two nights a week during the middle of the week and at least one more night on the weekends.
Since I was the only one working, it was all money that I earned going up her nose and paying off her credit card. (Our meals, of course, were taken care of because we "forgot" to tell the state that I was living there and she and Landon received lots of assistance including WIC, EBT, and health insurance.) Meanwhile, I had to come up with an excuse every month for her father about why rent was late (we rented her parents' house) and eventually I had my car repossessed because I couldn't pay for it.
She began spending lots of time with guys, some of which were my close friends, but told me in no uncertain terms that I was not welcome. I was obviously pretty skeptical, but already so emotionally unattached that it didn't matter much to me. Right around the end of August, though, when she and my debit card went to New Jersey for a weekend with a guy and another couple, I threw in the towel. I called her parents, informed them that I'd had enough, and that Landon and I were moving to my parents' house.
Upon arrival home, she had a meltdown, threatened suicide, and we got a police escort to the hospital where she checked into rehab. Three months later she and a counselor decided it was time for her to be a mom again, so Landon was, whether I liked it or not, sent to live with her. Things between us stayed cordial, even friendly at times. I managed a 60-80 hour work schedule and still made as much time for Landon as possible, and I paid what we agreed was a fair amount of child support every month (read: not by court order).
Then in August of 2008 it all came to a grinding halt. I had Landon over night on a Wednesday, and Thursday morning -- like we did every week -- I was on my way back to her house to drop him off before work. With no answer at her phone, I called her mother, who lives four hours away to help track her down. Finally, at 12:30 in the afternoon, she wakes up at her boyfriend's house. Justifiably mad, I lit into her a little, though I had to watch my tongue in front of our two year-old. That day was the end of our niceties (and my freebie child support donations).
Papers were filed with courts from both of us, and a string of seven dates with a judge over the next five months followed. Lo and behold, I lost almost all of my parental rights, save for visitation, was ordered to pay a hefty amount of child support each month, and was slapped with a huge balance of owed child support from the time I stopped paying to the time of the judgement.
After a rough year working at a job that I liked but one that I was not able to provide what was demanded of me, I decided that the best thing for my son and I would be for me to find something else to do. I gave my notice and was relieved of my duties at Thanksgiving.
Seven weeks and one burned professional bridge later, I was informed that my son and his mother would be moving to South Carolina in July with her new boyfriend, a guy that she had been seeing -- at the time the news was delivered to me -- for less than six months.
I was absolutely crushed. I wept openly for two days, and I still remember that moment as one of the two worst things that have ever happened to me -- the other being the passing of my father.
I decided that, while working full-time waiting tables, I would start my own business writing about my passion -- stock car racing and try to make a living at it. I spent as much time as possible with Landon, including bringing him to a few races (which he thoroughly enjoyed) and soaking it all up while I had the chance. He moved in late July and I became a workaholic.
I struggled financially, both at the restaurant and with my writing, and bills began piling up. I was usually unable to meet the full weekly child support payments, although I always paid something every week, no matter if it was the full amount or fifteen lousy bucks. Needless to say, it wasn't ideal, and my already-strained relationship with my ex only worsened. I was informed on once occasion that I was "no longer Landon's parent" and another time, while in a hospital waiting room on the night that my father died, that I would never speak to Landon on the phone again.
Things started turning around within a year financially, and the support payments (and everything else) got better. There was a good stretch, but then the restaurant cut me back to one day a week, the bills took back over, and I desperately began looking for a way out of my situation. As the racing season wound down, I was for all intents and purposes unemployed. There was a period, even as recently as November, where the only bills I paid were rent, electricity, gas for my car, and food. No cable, no phone, no insurance, and yes, no child support.
In the mean time, as punishment I suppose, I was cut off from contact with Landon completely and humiliated online by a few folks after being exposed as a deadbeat dad. I lived off of odd side jobs and by hounding bosses from freelance jobs who owed me back checks. I never complained or defended myself publicly, knowing that I deserved every lump I took. It wasn't an easy thing to do.
I was presented an opportunity to take a full-time job at a race track in October and I jumped at the chance. Not only was it the type of job I had worked hard my whole life to have a chance at landing, it was also a strong and permanent solution to my child support problem. I now pay every dime I owe every week, and I'm constantly looking for ways to begin chipping away at the 800-pound gorilla that is my unpaid support balance. At the same time, I borrow money constantly to pay all of my other bills including rent, which will likely be late this month.
I'm not in any way proud of the fact that I wasn't there for my son financially for so long. Seeing him is out of the question, since I can't afford to take the time off work or pay for the travel, but at least I'm doing more of my part now. (Though I did find a way to pay $300 for him to fly to Vermont in May. I saw him for a total of one hour and 40 minutes.) I stand by the fact that while I was struggling to simply put food in my stomach that I made the right decisions with the money I did have, as hard as they may have been.
This is a burden I bear every single day. There is an 8" x 10" photo on my bedroom wall of Landon that I see every day, and another photo of him and I and my father hanging above my bed that I see every day. There are photos on Facebook and in other places that I look through all the time. It's not easy, and it never has been. I talked to him on Christmas -- with his mother coaching him in the background, of course -- and I got choked up a few times. The worst part was when he asked where his Christmas present from last year was, and I couldn't find a way to tell him that I didn't have the money to send him one. I borrowed $12 from my girlfriend to ship a cheap -- but sentimental -- gift to him this year.
I want to fight in the courts. I want my son back. I want to see him every day. I want to be with him just like I was for the first three years of his life. I want him to know that I WAS, AM, AND ALWAYS WILL BE HIS DADDY. I also realize that I can't do any of that right now. Any judge in the country would laugh me out of the courtroom if I tried to fight right now. I need to prove that this is for real. It is for real. I'm a firm believer in judging someone not by what they used to do, but by what they are doing. Right now I'm doing the right thing for my son, but I have to keep it up for a while. I'm in no position financially or otherwise to have my son live with me full-time right now. That might be years down the road, even, and I'm willing to tough that out. But this is a start.
I know that I was there for my son when his mother chose not to be early in his life. She is there for him now and, as far as I can tell, she and her fiancee -- Landon's stepdad -- are doing a good job. I didn't choose to not be there for him when they moved away, and I tried every way that I knew how to meet my responsibilities as a father -- as a man -- for a couple of years. I gave it every effort I had, even if that meant scraping together a payment of $33.12 for the entire month, and I'm proud that I gave owning my own business a shot. There came a point where I couldn't live with myself any longer, though, and I took care of it.
Now it's my job to keep taking care of it. To keep taking care of Landon. I love my son.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
This One's For Me... And You, I Suppose
Hey there, I'm Justin. You may know me from the 1,500 (give or take) articles I've cobbled together covering local stock car racing in the last decade-ish, or the radio programs I've done, or whatever else it is that I do in public. I've been writing about race cars for a long time, but not really about anything else, and I'm tired of it.
Don't get me wrong here, I love telling racing stories and I don't see that changing, but I need an outlet for all my other ideas. MySpace stopped being cool before it ever started being cool, and I refuse to go back to that for my blogging needs. Facebook, meh, I could take it or leave it. I do like the Blogger software that Google offers, though, and having been pretty familiar with it, I figured it was my best option. (Wordpress is nice but it just takes too damned long to figure out what all the gadgets are.)
Anywho, this little blog'll be about whatever the hell I'm thinking at any given moment. It may be about racing. It may be about how much I love my girlfriend. It may be about how much I miss my father or how awful the parental battle over my son has been for four years. It may be about my undying love for this messed up little state that I live in (and I do mean Vermont, not anything else, sickos). It may be reminiscing over good times, or looking forward to the future. I may write poetry. I may steal poetry and re-post it. Posts might be funny, sad, or laced with swear-words and foul language. In fact, I can almost guarantee the foul language, regardless of topic.
Balls and farts. See? It's started already.
The name "(802)zoom" is something I've been trying to find a use for for about three years now, and I might still use it for some other project down the line. I mean, first of all, it sounds cool when you say it out loud. "Eight-oh-two-zoom." Bad-ass. Second of all, it obviously means something to me because I'm an unabashed fan of Vermont, my home state (our area code is 802), and zoom infers speed or racing or whatever. Third, when you use the parentheses as I've done, it becomes a title with a trendy, big-city, designer storefront douche vibe to it that might help it to catch on and get some regular readers who want to pretend to feel as hip as I pretended to feel when I clicked "publish". Fourth, everything else I wanted was taken. Fifth, I actually only tried two other titles and they were taken. Seventh, I forgot how to count and I'd really like a sandwich. Other seventh, I forgot what I was talking about.
So yeah, this is a start, anyway. Thanks for stopping in. If you wanna leave a comment, please, by all means, do it.
Don't get me wrong here, I love telling racing stories and I don't see that changing, but I need an outlet for all my other ideas. MySpace stopped being cool before it ever started being cool, and I refuse to go back to that for my blogging needs. Facebook, meh, I could take it or leave it. I do like the Blogger software that Google offers, though, and having been pretty familiar with it, I figured it was my best option. (Wordpress is nice but it just takes too damned long to figure out what all the gadgets are.)
Anywho, this little blog'll be about whatever the hell I'm thinking at any given moment. It may be about racing. It may be about how much I love my girlfriend. It may be about how much I miss my father or how awful the parental battle over my son has been for four years. It may be about my undying love for this messed up little state that I live in (and I do mean Vermont, not anything else, sickos). It may be reminiscing over good times, or looking forward to the future. I may write poetry. I may steal poetry and re-post it. Posts might be funny, sad, or laced with swear-words and foul language. In fact, I can almost guarantee the foul language, regardless of topic.
Balls and farts. See? It's started already.
The name "(802)zoom" is something I've been trying to find a use for for about three years now, and I might still use it for some other project down the line. I mean, first of all, it sounds cool when you say it out loud. "Eight-oh-two-zoom." Bad-ass. Second of all, it obviously means something to me because I'm an unabashed fan of Vermont, my home state (our area code is 802), and zoom infers speed or racing or whatever. Third, when you use the parentheses as I've done, it becomes a title with a trendy, big-city, designer storefront douche vibe to it that might help it to catch on and get some regular readers who want to pretend to feel as hip as I pretended to feel when I clicked "publish". Fourth, everything else I wanted was taken. Fifth, I actually only tried two other titles and they were taken. Seventh, I forgot how to count and I'd really like a sandwich. Other seventh, I forgot what I was talking about.
So yeah, this is a start, anyway. Thanks for stopping in. If you wanna leave a comment, please, by all means, do it.
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