17 Years

 To those that celebrate, happy thanksgiving.

In Minnesota, @analienatedfather posted in his blog about the alienation of his children. Michael is going on eleven years without seeing his children. 💔

Today, is 17 years since I last saw my youngest daughter. 💔

I have no idea where she is now, I have no idea where she is now.

I hope the life she has is as she wanted.

I stil live at the same address and phone number I have for the last twenty years, in the hope that one day both my daughters will reach out. As was done to their mother, has now been done to them.

Michael and I have nothing to give thanks for over our children, as we wait, for one day that they open that door.

Why Am I Not Writing?

 

 

Recently, a fan of my work asked "why are you not writing?'

 I am writing - but you can't see it.

What the fan really meant by their question is "why has it been so long since your last publication?" That's a much better question.

Currently, the professional work is swallowing the complete "writing". Somewhere between ten and twelve hours a day, I spend my time writing, rewriting, researching, interviewing, for a major project. Much like a James Patterson, there's a downtime between publications that the reader does not see.

My readers also understand that unlike James Patterson, I'm not there yet as a full time writer.

In the profesisonal world, our group just celebrated one (1) year since compsition, though my section has only existed since nine (9) months.I've probably got another nine (9) months to produce three (3) times the amount of work.

Moonshot type work.

Signposts

    Earlier this year, I moved into a new role in my professional life.

    The change has been, night and day.

    The learing curve has been, steep.

    The rewards look impressive and....closer.

    Come March 2025 my scholarly work should be published.

    ...and yet, there is still a gap missing in the composite.

    Signposts. Can't forget them.

May 17 2024 4pm

    By the grace of God, had someone else not been aware, my life would have ended.

   ...and my children would never know.

Happy Birthday Chickybabe.

 

 

 

 

 

    Happy birthday Chickybabe.

    Your grandfather is ageing. I could tell you that the only thing he truely wants is to see you and your sister before he passes.

    Your father is ageing, I coud tell you that the only thing he truely wants is to see you and your sister before he passes.

    You already know this from other grandparents.

    I am sorry.

    Happy birthday, my child. 

   

The Memory of Roller Coaster Tycoon - 25 years on.

 

 

 

 

    After the divorce, I was financially strangled, predominately caused by Child Support on top of the maritial debts, so when the daughters and I were together, we did not venture out much. I bought a computer game, Roller Coaster Tycoon, and late at night both the girls and I played that game into the wee hours.

   Some of my fondest memories after the divorce was of my youngest daughter sitting on my lap as she "moused" her way around an amusement park.

    Last week I spent a couple of days at Disneyland and my mind wandered back to those nights with the girls. I came back from the trip and pulled out my copy of the game.

    Roller Coast Tycoon turned 25 years of age last month.

    I reinstalled the game, adjusted some of my settings and set about playing through the game again, recalling the nights of trying to explain to my children "how to" plan an amusement park. 

    The game lives with the memory of Bumbly Beach and my daughters.

 

The Door Is Open To My Children

 

 

 

    A first fan recently asked "how will your children know they can contact you?"

    A valid question. Estrained from me for years, they have been told information without opportunity for rebuttal, or correction. My hope is that they have better judgement than their mother.

    Before we were married their mother and I were walking on a beach and a couple passed us in the other direction. It was her Father whom she had not seen for years. After preliminary conversation She was compelled to find out more, to discover if the stories that She was told by her Mother were true. When She reached out to her Father, then validated the versions, it was apparent that Her Mother had lied to her about her Father, for Her entire life.

    Unable to live with the truth that She had been lied to all her life - by her Mother - she cut off all future contact with her Father.

    History is not here for us to like but exists to teach us. To not recognise or consider that there might have been an alternative explanation, is to doom yourself to replicate history.

    I should have recognized that moment.

    I did not.

    Today, I have no idea where my children are, who they are, or if they are alive.

    Should they find their way here, the answer is yes, your Father will have conversations with you if you reach out, for of the two of us, I am the only one who has left the door open for you to find me.

February 29

 

 

Every four years, this date rolls around. A leaping year of activity.

I am some what fond of this date. A buddy of mine has a birthday, a couple I like have their anniversay, and a lady whom I once thought a lot of has a birthday - I think she would be 68 this year. We're finally clear of Christmas holidays and well into the working  year.

A month ago I was in Australia and bar one day, even with Covid, it was pleasant. That one day - my last day, unpleasant for me not for what happened, but for what did not happened. One again, I probably let at least one person down.

That residue has carried over for the last 30 days and I am unable to shake the feeling that I have lost some footing. Again. Opportunity lost and who knows when they will want me to return to Australia again. 

The Voices of Australia

 

         After a five year absence I have returned to Australia, via the most oblique route I could orchestrate. I had other reasons for part of the journey which on the first night was not a success, from my chair. I should have been...better.

    The birds this morning were the cockatoos and the rainbow lorikeets. In California, all the birds are motley brown and have no voice. Here, each have their own unique voice, much like the people of Australia. Not surprising, I am having trouble with the Australian accent this trip that I've not had before.

    I hear the words but do not comprehend the message.

    I'm having to ask for the verbiage to be repeated second and third times.

    I no longer speak the language of my home.

    I am not even sure that there is a fit for me, here, anymore.

    

5500 Days

 

 

    A counterpart - another father, wrote yesterday that it is 2499 days since he last saw his children. I feel sorry for the man, he has endured more than I ever did.

    ...and then I did the math.

    This morning, Christmas day, it will be 5500 days since I last saw my children together. It was the last time I saw my youngest child, I saw my eldest child a couple of years later in circumstances where I thought that She would understand that there can be functionality after a divorce where both parents still work together for the benefit of their children.

    I gave my eldest too much credit, I didn't comprehend the curse that had been placed upon her, how her grandmother had done to her mother, so her mother was now doing to her.

    I looked at my own family also, how my grandparents, uncle and aunts, had done to my parents, and how my parents did with me. Turns out, the only one who was forthright with me about it, was the man at the center of it - my Father. I hadn't given my Father enough credit, and yet, I could fault him just as well.  He did not tell me until I was in his position, of what would come.

    2499 days have passed since Michael Brown last saw his children. 

    5500 days have passed since I last saw my youngest. Merry Christmas chickybabes. My Christmas wish for both of you is that I hope you are better than both your parents. 

Going Home

 

    Going home.

    I was once told you can never go home. You can never go back from whence you began. Early next year I will be returning to that which has haunted me since the day I left. But it is not home.

    It's just the place that I report to others as home, when in fact, it's just the general area where I grew up. It has nothing of that which a home has. Any more.

    Children. Parents. Christmas mornings waking with the family.

    Stolen from me early in my life, I attempted to regather the pieces, but I didn't know how, I couldn't put it back together again. (A phrase borrowed from a First Fan.) I lost it a second time, and after that, I did the best I could.

    I have found myself recently less at peace with what has happened and more at peace that it happened. I'm accountable for the wear and tear, and some of the breakages. But not the theft of the pieces.

From the First Fan: Darkness, Signposts and an Eclipse

 

 

    In a recent conversation with a "first fan" (might even have been the first, first fan) they were talking about the darkness that has engulfed their life. Not the events, but the feeling that the events have left upon them.

    The same day, I received word from an "ally" who had received photographs of the children he has not seen in six years. The photographs were taken just prior to the last time that he saw his children, but not previously seen by him before. The were supplied by a "first fan" of his, an unknown person who had heard their story, and by chance, made an inquiry and found the photos. Found that which was not known to my "ally".

    With my "first fan" we were talking about darkness not being a degree of light, and they indicated that it was a feeling of insomnia and oppression. For me, it's a feeling of weight, a burden that is carried forward every single day.

    The first fan and I were talking and I began to think about signposts in my life, moments, where if I had gone one way instead of the other, I might now be where I am today. Signposts that you could backtrack to. I had originally thought there were but three (at most) of these moments in my life, and it turns out, that I was a moment for the first fan. That make the count four.

    The ally who received the photographs of this children, from an unknown ally, counts those photographs as signpost for him, he thinks about six or seven in total in his life.

    Seven moments spread over the course of 50 or more years that have led me to exactly where I am today. I could not have arrived here without all that alignment occurring at the exact moments that they did.

    In the United State today was a solar eclipse, an astronomical event that was calculated by the ancient Greeks thousands of years ago. Thousands of years of calculations down to a three minute event.

    A three minute event of darkness in the making...since the beginning of time.

    A signpost of darkness.

    Treat your signposts with respect. I have not.  

You Just Never Know

 

  I had a friend pass away late last year. He was someone who worked tirelessly in the community, and he certainly helped me. I joined his major project when I was but 20 years old and stayed with him for 20 years. He was a good man. He was my friend.

  The last time I saw him we had lunch while I was in Australia. We talked and he mentioned someone who was in his major project. I had looked for that person many times previously without success, and since his passing, had looked at least three times. Without success. 

  Three weeks ago I looked again and found them. I was duty bound to deliver the news once I confirmed that it was the person whom I knew. I'd hate to be delivering a death notice to the wrong person. We've talked and they have commented on my writing. 

  You just never know where the first fans are hiding. 

  

It Is Not That I Haven't Written...

 

     It is not that I haven't written, it is that I haven't written what I have written about. 

     In the professional world, I recently had a move from a local position to a state position. I am still working through the nuances of working from home for the state position, whilst maintaining contact with my local position, which I am scheduled to return to after this secondment. 

    The battle of working for two "masters" at this time is a balance of diplomacy for both. 

    It has also meant that my coworkers at home are now fury four legged companions who casually report for work at the same time I do, drape themselves wherever they feel appropriate, and take a nap. 

    Australian Fathers Day is today, or rather was yesterday in Australia. I have not heard from my own daughters and probably never will.

    And that...is something not worth blogging about. 

My Wifes Ex Husband...In A Podcast

    

 

 

 

 

    On November 1, 2022,  Chicken Soup for the Soul  released their book in their series, My Wonderful Wacky Family. Contained within the story is my story of Joes, My Wifes Ex Husband. Joes story would later be turned into the Chicken Soup for the Soul Podcast.

    I present to you, a rerun of the podcast, of My Wifes Ex Husband, this Fathers Day weekend. 

   My Wifes Ex Husband In a Podcast.

 

 

 

 

Happy Birthday Chickybabe

 

 

 

    Happy birthday Chickybabe.

    When the darkness settles on the edge of town, and the invisible lamplighters go to work, I think of you.

    I think of you in the dark and in the light.

    My hope is that one day, you will step out of your own darkness into the light of illumination.

    Happy birthday, Chickybabe. 

 

I Do Not Like Cats - In A Podcast

 

Chicken Soup for the Soul have released, Lessons Learned From My Cat. It includes my story of how a cat-detesting  guy from Australia ended up with two feline companions while living in the United States of America.

And now it's on a podcast. 

Chicken Soup for the Soul with Amy Newmark: When the Cat Is Meant to Be on Apple Podcasts

I Do Not Like Cats

 

On February 14, 2023,  Chicken Soup for the Soul will release the next book in their series, Lessons Learned From My Cat. It includes my story of how a cat-detesting  guy from Australia ended up with two feline companions while living in the United States of America. 

    I Do Not Like Cats  was written during the pandemic while I was the carer for my wife's mother. On the day that I put the final touches on it, Jasper (kitty cat) sat in my lap one last time. Days later, his job caring for my mother in law was done, and shortly thereafter, he succumbed to a known medical condition.

    As for #Jacob...well, he still lives with me, still has the same routine, but now has the run of the entire house. 

    Which is just as well, cause I Do Not Like Cats. 

18 Years Past

 

   Eighteen years ago, at about this time, I sat in the departure lounge of Qantas Airlines Brisbane, Australia, holding my youngest daughters hand, before I departed on a plane. It wasn't any plane, it was a plane that would take me to the USA. When my flight was called for boarding, I held back, holding my daughters hand, until last call. I crouched down, hugged her and kissed her.

    "Daddy loves you chickybabe." 

    I stood, turned, and headed down the gantry tears streaming down my face. 

    I had no expectation at that time of the events that would follow, that would result in that being the second last occasion I saw that child.

    That child is now a grown woman, living her own life, making her own decision. One of those decision is not to have any relationship with me.

    I still have her email of four words "Don't contact me again."

    My Father, divorced himself, was the scourge of parental alienation with untruthfulness perpetrated by my mother as to why my He wasn't in my life. Later as a teenager, I came to discovered the truth, and even later, as a divorced father myself, learnt that what goes unchallenged, becomes accepted as "the new normal".

    But for some, that "new normal" is all they know. As was done to me, was done to the mother our children by her own mother. Years ago - maybe before we were married, the girls mother ran into her Father and when she later sought out to verify the stories she had been told by her mother - his ex wife, she was faced with the reality that what she heard was not accurate. Faced with the consequences, she choose to exclude her Father, unable to accept, that her mother had lied to her about why her Dad was not in her life.

    In my forthcoming book, I included this, and other examples of the parental alienation I endured, for two reasons. 

    It's been 18 years past since I departed Australia, but I never departed my role as a Father. Someday, someone will run into my daughters and say "I read what your Dad went through."

    The second reason is its been 18 years past since I left Australia. I write for the next guy. The next guy could be my ex wifes only son - the half brother to my daughters. I thought I was good enough to stop the promulgation of alienation. Here's hoping that my daughters brother does better than those in the family before him. 

    

Christmas in Chesterfield Inlet, Again.

 

 

On the last Friday before Christmas, I shut down my computer, left the pager on the desk, turned the "out of office" on and headed through the door, making my way to the airport headed for Chesterfield Inlet.

 It appears upon arrival I may be somewhat warmer than other parts of the United States.

  Merry Christmas Chickybabes.