no_hypocrisy
no_hypocrisy's JournalI knew a "Trad Wife".
She was my law client, and this was about 15 years ago.
She was married (obviously) and had five children in quick succession, ages 3 to 9, three girls and two boys.
Child Protection removed her children and put them in foster care. And the agency was desperately trying to terminate parental rights in order to allow adoption by the foster family.
My job was to get the kids back. As if that were the easiest part.
I discovered that she was a victim of domestic violence, and her husband controlled her physically, mentally, psychologically, and emotionally. And Child Protection first ignored that fact and denied her services for assistance. Later CP used the DV as justification to terminate her rights because she let it happen.
Her husband was a throwback Catholic, meaning Scalia and Opus Dei would be too liberal for him. He kept my client confined to the home they were renting. She and the kids only left when they had to see a doctor. He refused to let them to school, even parochial school. He was the head of the house in every way. And she gladly went along with him with no complaints.
And there's more. Not only did the husband keep my client pregnant and lactating for a decade, but he also forced himself on her sexually, including anal sex (which is used by some men for the illusion of total submission). And he hit her.
The reason they came within the radar of Child Protection was one night he strangled her. She called the police, and they arrested him. And he convinced her to drop the charges. And then he convinced her to leave the state when the investigation of the kids and the family commenced. Child Protection caught up with them and arrested him until he told them where he hid the kids.
So, I was delivered a client who was near catatonic. She could barely talk to me and to the therapist. I knew we couldn't move forward without deprogramming her. We moved her to her mother's home in another state. When she and her husband went to court, it wasn't together. I kept them separated, even preventing him from following her to the restrooms.
We had a DV hearing, and she didn't want to go to testify because she was afraid of him. We coached her enough to be in the same room with him.
I became a social worker as well as legal counsel. I got her one of the best therapists on domestic violence. My client was receptive. She filed for divorce. She got a vocational certification. She did everything the caseworker for Child Protection demanded.
And the Court returned her kids. And she and the kids have nothing to do with him since that time.
BTW, my client "won" partially because all representation was free/pro bono and I was "between jobs" at the time and could afford to dedicate all the time needed.
My father dedicated much of his life to control me. If he couldn't control me,
then he was dedicated to destroying me.
Yet, there he was at age 91. My mother/his wife had died 11 years prior. My sister and brother were living far away from him. I was maybe 20 minutes away, happily in my own apartment with my own life.
And he was failing physically and mentally. And just as mean.
I considered letting him reap his karma, dying alone in his home.
But I then considered trying to assist him. Not because he was my father, but because he was my mother's widower. She wasn't there and somebody had to do it.
I moved into my old bedroom. I went to work and returned to his home. This went on for a number of months.
He died because he caused a rear-end collision, didn't tell me or my siblings. And he had a partially dissected aorta, which caused his heart attack.
I didn't cry at the hospital. I didn't cry at his memorial. I didn't cry returning to my childhood home.
All I know is that I did the right thing for the right reason.
In 1975, my sister just turned 16 and discovered she was pregnant
with her 20 yo boyfriend. Never thought to use birth control.
I was leaving for college and she confided in me.
And I helped her get a LEGAL abortion.
Forget the boyfriend. Minimum wage/HS degree/no money/no brains. It was all on me.
There were several considerations in my decision. First, she was too young to be a mother emotionally and psychologically. She wasn't even mature enough to engage in sex. Next, our father would have been off-the-leash with irrational anger if he knew about the pregnancy. Dad was more than a strict parent. He was the guard to the jail. I had been the Family Scapegoat who allegedly and regularly brought woe to the Family and my sister was The Golden Child. This crisis would have switched our statuses in the family. And part of me would have welcomed it. But I bailed my sister out. Finally, I thought of the proposition if the baby had been carried to term. As previously mentioned, my sister would have failed as a mother. Our mother was more than ambivalent about raising us and I'm certain she wouldn't have assumed responsibility for my sister's baby. Or the baby would have been quietly born and adopted. No good options. So, I gave more than $200 I had saved up over years to my sister. And she had a safe abortion.
Epilogue: My sister continued to go through a multitude of boyfriends, this time with BC. She married and discovered she couldn't conceive. My niece/nephew would be 49 next year. And having time to ruminate, yes, I'd do it again.
OWWWWWWWW!!!
Today I was a substitute teacher for a special needs kindergarten (five year olds). Their third day of school. Five boys. One teacher and an aide. I was an aide.
Two boys started fighting and it got violent. I broke it up by literally getting between them and pulling the smaller guy away.
And the smaller guy was still in combat mode. He repeatedly kicked me in the right shin. At least 20 times. Punched me. Scratched me. Hit me on the head and in the face.
I had to get him down the hall to the remedial crisis teacher. Still kicking me even when I was behind him.
I filed an Incident Report with the school Nurse.
I'm limping. Four big black-and-blue marks on my shin. It's really sore.
Other than that, with the exception of one of the five boys, all the children leaned towards throwing miniature cars at each other, constantly overturning chairs at desks, throwing things on the floor, turning off the lights, shouting, running in the classroom, and more.
My head is still spinning and I just took X-tra Strength Advil.
I've discovered that I'm a Sigma Female.
And damned happy that there's a niche where I fit.
In 1963, I was in Kindergarten.
The usual curriculum of playing, nap time, snack, puzzles.
And my Kindergarten teacher wanted to hold me back from going into the First Grade.
Now imagine: How underdeveloped do you have to be to be recommended to be held back and to repeat another year of Kindergarten? It wasn't because I was born past the cut-off date of September.
My mother confronted my teacher who discussed my situation with a Psychology 101 textbook on her lap. (It was her first year of teaching.) What made my teacher believe I was ill-suited for First Grade?
Well, for one thing, I couldn't skip. That's right, skip. I could walk, run, gallop, but I couldn't skip.
For another thing, I couldn't cut on the lines with scissors.
Mom (with her Masters in Child Development) pointed out that nobody taught me how to skip and it wasn't an innate skill you're born with. And as for the scissors, she didn't have them lying around the house as she had apprehensions that her curtains would be cut up. So, no experience, no problem.
My teacher dug in her heels and refused to let me go forward.
My mother appealed to the Principal, who was sympathetic but declared that he couldn't overrule his teachers. BUT, if my parents wanted to have my IQ tested and the score was adequate, he'd let that criteria determine my academic future.
So, I was hauled away to Mount Sinai Hospital on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. And tested by a renowned psychiatrist. And I scored highly. Not genius, but highly.
My mother immediately gave the results to the Principal, who passed me.
I didn't learn this story until well into adulthood.
My mother was my best advocate.
It's occurred me to the "real reason" why Republicans are freaking over
Tim Walz & Minnesota's providing free tampons to girls in public schools.
For the same reason my father freaked out about me using tampons 55 years ago: rupturing the hymen.
That's right. Parents more concerned about their daughters losing their virginity to a cotton wad than their hygiene.
And fathers (yes, fathers) could never be certain if their daughters are having sex before marriage or whether they're using tampons.
Girls would prefer tampons if offered that option over bulky pads.
Again, it's about control over girls' and women's bodies down to the minutia.
I learned from observing my father:
Money does NOT buy happiness.
You may be able to pay your bills without the stress.
You may have enhanced social status.
You may be delusional that you're more likeable and smarter than when you weren't rich.
But you're the same asshole you were before the money showed up.
Pay heed Jr. and Eric.
In 2014, my siblings and I had a similar experience. Dad had undiagnosed dementia at age 91. It was obvious. He stopped paying his bills and refused our help when we offered to cut the checks and he refused again. He was a recording loop of whatever he heard of FOX News. He let his dog shit all over the place, including our mother's $40,000 Persian rugs. And he yelled at me when I tried to pick up the dried shit.
He shouldn't have been driving. He had a number of fender-benders. (He paid them off ironically, to avoid tickets and to be reported to the DMV.) I saw him pull out of the driveway and start driving in the wrong lane. The discussion of taking away his keys came up but we all agreed that he'd go out and buy another car.
One day, he stopped for gas. And stepped on the accelerator instead of the brake. He rear-ended a van in front of him. Maybe 5+ mph. But his car had no airbag and he wasn't wearing a seatbelt. His chest hit the steering column. And he refused the ambulance. He took a taxi home as his car was totaled.
Dad tried to sell his wrecked car ASAP to get rid of "the evidence". But he died a week later. Because he refused medical attention and didn't see any of his doctors, he was undiagnosed with a partial aortic tear, meaning the aorta had somewhat separated from his heart and he was having a slow bleed into his chest.
One week after the accident, he had a terrible backache (which he didn't tell any of us about). He made an appointment with his massage therapist. And you guessed it -- the massage hastened his demise. He got home, had trouble breathing, called 911, but it was too late.
Jr. and Eric may be worried about intervention as their father might erase them from his Will. Got news for you Chumpies. Our father disinherited ALL of us. We should have tried to do more. We had the clues. But we were worried about "retribution". Little did we know, Dad already had his retribution.
I take great offense at the term "childless unmarried cat ladies".
My BFF from college was literally a childless unmarried cat lady. A once brilliant mind who was a stockbroker, successful at almost everything she did. A wit.
She lived alone and loved it. She collected cool things to put around her house. An impressive library. Never missed an issue of The New Yorker.
And unfortunately, about two years ago, her sisters and I noticed little changes in her personality. She wasn't herself but we couldn't put our fingers on what was wrong. She was unemployed and wasn't in a hurry to get a new job. She was distracted. She repeated anecdotes several times, often about her four cats.
And she drank, which didn't help things. Her bills went unpaid including municipal property taxes. Her entire apartment was awash with papers. (Think Collyer Brothers.) She accused her sisters of breaking into her house and stealing things either she couldn't find or hid and forget where she put them.
The last straw came when she made an illegal left turn at a red light across four lanes of highway traffic. The police officer asked her for a reason for her choice. She answered that she had hungry cats waiting for her at home. And she was serious.
Her sisters coalesced and brought her to live with one of them. The cats went to another sister. My friend now has a 24/7 aide living with her as she tends to wander off if not watched. I can't talk to her as her memory is shot. She watches television but doesn't watch it. Her sisters are looking into an assisted living facility for her.
My friend is fortunate to have compassionate sisters. But every time I hear about childless unmarried cat ladies, I am tinged with anger. My friend didn't ask for this phase of her life. I'm certain that in the beginning, she did have moments where she realized what was happening and it scared the shit out of her.
Her grandmother had Alzheimer's and maybe this is hereditary. I have been restrained in asking her sisters if there has been a diagnosis yet.
And while I "miss" her, I know she faces greater challenges in the future.
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