Family Law - Children Dealing with Divorce

My parents and I have always been at odds over one thing or another for as long as I can remember, but not in a bad way, in a way that I now appreciate and understand. As I look back, some of the best times I had with my parents were when we were arguing over something that mattered to me, at least at the time. I'm sure I inherited this spirit from my parents because they seem to have the same relationship with each other as I do with each of them. None of us are willing to give up or to give an inch. Fighting to them is like the English language to most people in the United States, common. The fire that burns in us to fight never seems to go out, no matter the circumstances. My mother competes with my father for me and vice versa, taking no prisoners and showing no mercy. It's a hard way to grow up but I learned from them and adapted my life to the demands of both parents. Each one doing what they thought was best for me while tearing down what the other party was struggling so hard to put in place. Each side has an agenda each side has a strategy with goals that they want to meet, this is how I learned to fight. I was in a unique position to see both sides of both arguments and to see how each party planned to attack and tear down the others defenses. When I began to understand how serious each of my parents was about this war I developed a strategy of my own. My strategy was to control my own future through the same methods my parents used, fighting with a fire as fierce as their's. This fire keeps me going and makes me who I am today, while fueling my drive towards the future. The example of pure determination and fiery resolve has been so burned into my brain that forever the divorce of my parents will represent a coming of age to me where my thoughts and actions would take on a more serious and less child like form.

My parents divorced when I was very young so I don't recall much about the short time I spent with both of them. The memories are fuzzy like the old pictures you see in history books taken about a hundred years ago, all shaded and faded with tattered edges where an image used to be but now indistinguishable blurs replace them. What does become clear as life moves on is the amount of time I spent in courtrooms as a youth. Large rectangular courtrooms decked in wood and rather old fashioned looking to a small boy. They always smelled so formal and musty like church after a week of no service. I remember judges in robes black as the night sky with ripples and layers that disguise true form. I saw Lawyers in expensive suits and leather briefcases that shined in the fluorescent light like oil and water were mixing on its surface. I remember most of all the judge's chambers, with the sober formality and almost inhuman, meticulous organization. The private area was usually a small antechamber not one quarter the size of the courtroom but much more imposing and personal, up close. I think I should have been scared at the time, but having seen the determination both my parents so clearly exhibited I resolved to be strong and stand tall. These chambers were where the judge and I would sit and discuss the present dilemma that was plaguing both my parents. A low echo would always trail after our words making it seem as though we were not alone. Most of the judges were older with soft voices that always seemed to cut right to the heart of the matter. Sometimes the questions were difficult and sometimes they hurt to answer, but I always had a direct and unhesitating reply. I thought that if I didn't seem sure or that if I didn't have the answer right away the judge might not take me seriously or might think that I was dim witted and couldn't appreciate the gravity of the questions being asked or the seriousness of the situation I was in. This always made me angry. The anger led to the feeling that I had come alive and had a purpose other than the childlike wishes of youth. I began to feel the fire burning inside me, the fire to make myself heard and to take control of my life instead of being a pawn in a war not of my choosing.

A never ending battle for custody encompassed my childhood. I was a little soldier in my parent's war and anyone who knows about soldiering knows you have to be tough, so I was. I never once cried at the courthouse nor did I let my emotions get control of me while I was being questioned by the judge's. If I lost control then the judge might think I'm fragile or that I may not be able to cope with having a say in my own future, so I steeled myself against the unknown and tried to prepare for the unexpected. There was a constant battle between the two sides with me either in the middle or eventually forming my own side. All my life there have been close calls and near misses, but always the fight remains, defiant and reckless, with my blood boiling. When you are forced into the world of adults you grow up fast. No matter how sweet and sugar coated the questions or motives are they are still adult questions being bounced off a child's brain. The more time I spent in court the more I realized that my life revolved not around what my parents wanted for me but what the courts deemed fair and appropriate for my welfare as a dependent.

One of the first things I realized was that the court made the decision not my parents. This was disillusioning for a youngster who thought that his parents were infallible until the first time I sat down in the courthouse. The ineffectual nature of mediation in private matters of family creates resentment at the inability of the affected party to influence the outcome in a way that may be to the benefit of everyone involved.