I am very grateful to the group Fathers4Justice for raising the profile of fathers who want to spend more time with their kids. The counter-argument raised by some of the women these men have become estranged from is interesting. They remark that if the fathers spent less time campaigning and more time actually trying to make contact with their children, they might get what they want. Now I don’t know what the personal situation is of each of those broken families, but they make me laugh when I think about my own situation and the devious arguments used by my ex.
Many women go on about what a strain it is to bring up kids single-handedly. Well, give me that strain anyday! I can’t think of a greater privilege than to be in the lives of my children, and to raise them and give them values and feed them and clothe them and educate them and love them and nurture them and guide them. I love every minute with my children and would gladly be with them 24/7. Do I know how hard that is? Yes. I would rather be with my kids than without. Nobody has children to have an easy life. Life isn’t meant to be easy. If it is, then you’re not doing things right. So don’t complain about having to bring children up. Bringing them up is a privilege. An honour. A delight.
There are so many emotional issues here, that it’s all too easy to lose track of what’s really important here. The kids. Now I’m moving away from the whole Western ideal of kid worship. This is often raised by those without kids or those with so much money that they are immune from any side effect of inefficient and damaging child-rearing. Yes, children should be loved. Yes, children should be educated. Yes, children should be protected from abuse. But they should not be protected from discipline or from the consequeneces of their own behaviour. Otherwise you end up with a society as shit as the one we have today, where people walking down my perfectly respectable street think it’s fine to urinate in my neighbour’s bushes, their genitalia on full, public, drunken display. Where people on a perfectly respectable street think it’s ok to play music, loud enough to rattle your furniture, at 3, 4 and 5 of the a.m. Where kids think it’s ok to carry knives and kill their fellow pupils over an imaginary girlfriend dispute. It could be worse. But let’s not go there just now.
I don’t believe in physically chastising children, and I don’t believe in oppressing or belittling children. God knows they’re little enough already. But if my kid does something wrong, I will tell them. I won’t protect them from the consequences of their bad behaviour, but I will protect them from any over-the-top retribution. It’s a fine balance.
Of course, my ex might agree with all of the above. I know she agreed when we talked about it before we were married. She might even scream it from the rooftops. And many would even believe her. But I know better. To proclaim something loudly and hold it as your belief, and to practice the opposite, even when boldly confronted with the evidence of the errant behaviour, is called hypocrisy.
I didn’t lightly entertain the notion of walking out on my kids. In fact, I thought about it for years. I had even made the decision in 1999 that I would go when B2, my younger one, was 6 and no sooner. Why? Because studies show that although the effects of any marital breakdown presents trauma to children, it is far more damaging when done before the age of 6 when the psychological profile of a child is still in development. I can testify to this from my own experience. I was affected by the break-up of my parents, as was my sister. But we knew how and why, to differing extents. My brother was affected too, but he was too young to know how or why. To his infinite credit, my brother has recovered magnificently from the depths of Hell to emerge a wonderful (if slightly profane) adult with a great family.
So I didn’t leave lightly. Yesterday, I talked to my ex about keeping the girls for a week over Christmas. This was something she had agreed to before the holidays. Yesterday however, all that went out of the window when she point blank refused, before taking them away on holiday for a week. And here’s the thing that I will always face: her defence of walking roughshod over the children’s wishes (they have pleaded with me many times to stay longer than a few days, that they wish they could spend more time with me) was simple. “You chose to leave.” The inference was clear, and she attempted to shed light on it through her continuing rant - I chose to leave, therefore I have no rights. She said I wasn’t a good role model. To which I countered very well, but to no avail. She is like the thief who when the theft becomes apparent, shouts “Thief! Thief!” and runs off in the confusion.
I told her that the kids wanted to spend more time with me, and that since she had them all the time, and since she was happy with the Statement of Arrangements for Children that stipulated shared holiday time, there should be no issue. She gave another feeble excuse - that she wanted to take them for Juma prayer. (Juma is the Friday congregational prayer for Muslims). I countered that since neither she nor the children observe the obilgatory salaat (the 5 daily prayers of Muslims that form a pillar of Islam), that once again, her priorities were wrong. Never mind the fact that she wouldn’t be taking them for Juma this Friday since she’d be away for a Christmas holiday without having consulted me about it. Never mind the fact that Juma is not compulsory for women, it is preferably, but salaat comes first. She likes to show her face at Juma because she is a socialite and wants people to believe that she is a believer. I am determined that this hypocrisy doesn’t infect my children, that they see that charity and virtuous acts are things you don’t brag about, but it’s not easy.
If it were me on Buckingham Palace in a Batman costume, she would gladly tell reporters that I didn’t even want to see my children on my birthday, so what kind of a father am I? She would conveniently ignore numerous important points. Like the fact that she has hijacked my birthday and fathers days for years, by deliberately throwing a strop and upsetting the children and me on these days. She would counter with the three birthdays in which she has arranged surprises for me. I would counter with the jealous fits she threw after each of them. Rendering them pretty meaningless. She would forget that on this birthday, despite our agreement that the day would be kept free so that I could see the children, she had arranged something weeks before for the day which meant I wouldn’t be able to see them, but she would continue to say that she had kept the day free. I didn’t hear from my kids until I gave in and called at just before 3 in the afternoon. I had to unfortunately hear her voice and her bickering, which was upsetting the children. They know what she does, and it upsets them, but they are her kids and they won’t take sides against either of us. Why should they? So eventually, I gave in, because fathers always do and went to see them for all of 45 minutes.
My ex’s parents always said that my life was in the hearts of my children, and that their lives were in my heart. This is confirmed from repeated observation, from all my interactions with my children and every action I have ever taken in regards to their upbringing. I am not good at propoganda and lies, it takes energy and wit that I simply do not have. It is far easier to tell the truth. Over the last year and a half, I’ve learned a little more of politics, but it’s not enough.
I am not bad for my children. On the one hand, in family therapy sessions, their mother says that I could spend more time with them, but don’t, I’m obviously spending it with another woman, and on the other hand, I make myself available at a moment’s notice, every day, and I’m pulled and pushed like Dirty Harry running from phone booth to phone booth at the behest of Scorpio. (Mehnaz is a Scorpio too, come to think of it!). My access is messed up and hijacked all the time. My times of access are altered from day to day. When the girls are with me, all too briefly, their mother calls them many times a day and is overly fawning, telling them after an hour of them being with me that she misses them terribly, messing up their minds, not allowing them to feel anything other than guilt for betraying their mother by seeing their father. Of course, she saves the swearing, belittling, shouting and beating for when they get home.
I have made every effort to be flexible, accommodating and forgiving. I knew I’d get fucked, which is why I’ve kept a private diary of dates, times, promises and incidents. None of that matters while the minds of my children are messed up and their mother gets to propogate lies and filth for 18 months while I’m told to keep my mouth shut and my dignity intact. While I do all that, my children are up shit creek. I’m told to play the long game. That’s what I’ve done. It’s beginning to bear fruit. But not nearly enough. There’s nothing I can do to take away the pain I caused my children, but I made the decision that a father who is alive would be more use to them than a dead one. And staying in that marriage would have killed me. I could start talking about what she had done, to get my side across, but it wouldn’t help my kids. It would just make me feel better. And when people began to find out what she’d done and how she’d been that drove me to leave, it would make her life hell. And in turn, that would make things worse for my kids. So I really can’t win. I have to make the best of a bad situation and hope that my children aren’t too damaged in the interim.
Now: My only question is, which superhero am I?
