Christmas in Chestfield Inlet...again.

 

 

 It has been a couple of years but I am back in Chesterfield Inlet for Christmas.

 We often don't choose the place we are, sometimes the place chooses us. The antipodal point to my homeland, is not that bad. 

  Merry Christmas Chickybabes. 

Eighteen Years - Gone

 

 

 

Eighteen years.

Gone.

It has been a lifetime since I saw my children - eighteen years today since I both saw them together. I was lucky enough - if you can call it that - to see the eldest child once more after that event. 

I may not recognize either child if I saw them in the street.

A counterpart - in Michigan, has just completed 3000 days without seeing his children. The actions taken by the mother of his children are similar to those I experienced - who teaches these women these similarities?

Their mothers of course.

Shame on me though - the red flags were there before we had children, before we were married.

I thought I was strong enough to break this generational curse. I was wrong. If I had to guess I would say that my youngest has followed the same path - and we're now another generation along.

I hope that eighteen years don't vanish for either for my daughters.

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 who 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.

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 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.

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.  

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. 

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. 

 

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. 

Happy Birthday Chickybabe

 

 

 

 

 

    Happy birthday Chickybabe.

    Each year on this day I think back to the first occurrence of this day. What occurred, what had to happen, who brought you into the world.

    As you grew, I use to think that the worst thing that could occur was that your life would be taken by accident - vehicular, illness,  abduction - I never though that the worst thing that could occur would be that your life would be taken by alienation.

    I am sorry.

    You have now been out of my life longer than you were in it, and your grandfather - Poppy, has lost the grandchildren he tried to recapture life with - after his children were taken by alienation.

    And you will probably do the same, should you choose to have children.

    Happy birthday, my child.

It Was All He Had

 

The following is a reproduction of an article that I wrote for the Fathers Rights Movement California State Chapter on 6 Feb 2021.

    My parents were divorced when I was young. As a teen and later as a college student, I'd occasionally visit Dad at the Army base he lived and worked at. On his desk were photographs of my brother and I but they were old photos...as toddlers, the first day of school - there was nothing recent.

    I never understood why.

    Come forward sixteen years and I'm divorced with two daughters. On my last day in Australia before coming to the USA, Dad took us to a fine seafood restaurant. At the end of the meal a photo was taken of the people present, including my Dad, my brother, and my daughters.

    Come forward another sixteen years and and the photo pops up on my Facebook memories.

    And suddenly...I understand why Dad only had old photos of my brother and I.

    It was all he had.

    The photograph taken at the restaurant was the last time my Father saw his granddaughters. It was the second last time I saw my daughters.

    Now, it is all that I have. 

The Dreamtime Stories

It has a been...a quiet time. A Dreamtime.

For the First Fans - we have lost three in sixty days.

The Big Man was the first to go. He taught me more about parenting then my own Father did.

The next was Her Mom. She needed the dependent care but in the end, She would always been the disobedient person that She was, in need of oversight at all times, and needing saving when there was no oversight. She wanted to make Her own decisions, and that is why She has gone.

The third, I did not not know well, but Her loss punctuated the generational gap.

There is a child that will be born this year, a child that will be the first (known) grandchild to me.

...and suddenly, the stories I should have written have now become the stories that will be told to a young child. The stories that they will hear of the Big Man, Large Marge and another, will no longer be coming from the lips of those people, but will be regaled by story tellers.

The aboriginal people of Australia speak of the Dreamtime, to explain the landscape of the land, and the history of their people. And I will speak of the Dreamtime in the technological era, of the people that came before the child, and of what the child meant to those people.

I wonder if my own children will tell the Dreamtime story of their Father to their children? 

Happy Birthday Chickybabe

>


  Happy Birthday Chickybabe

  Today, my eldest daughter turns 31.

  When I was 31 her mother and I had separated, and I went on to my best "role" as the divorced father of two daughters.

  Now, I'm just the alienated father of the same two daughters that I haven't seen in years.

  Perhaps when they read the Book, they will realize that their Dad never left them. 

I Am Done

I am Done.

A letter today from the California Department of Child Support Services reads "According to our records, your support obligations are paid in full ....Do not send further payment."

It is almost 23 years to the day since I was divorced. Along the way I have battled the Commonwealth of Australia, set precedent in the San Diego Appeals Court against the Dept. of Child Support, had my fight against the oppressive Child Support machinery published locally and in Australia, and been on radio talk shows.

I was fortunate that I knew how to read law, prepare briefs of evidence, compile witness statements, and handle a court room. I became schooled in the Hague Convention Child Support rules, and put a stop after their financial gang rape. But at what cost?

The swiftness of the system to take is not replicated on correcting their errors. I've not owned a house, but their mother bought a beach house with my child support. My credit report is obliterated, had my drivers license in peril, my passport attempted to be revoked by a foreign country not authorized to, and worst, emotionally hurt another women as I failed miserably in a relationship.

I was lucky - not everyone gets to win almost all their fights. Others may not have had the knowledge, or the staying power, or maybe they were beat down more than I was and could not go on. The one I truly needed to win though - is a loss. My daughters are now 31 and 25; alienated from me by their mother. I last saw my eldest when she was 18, her sister - when she was 12.

It's too late for my girls. I am done.

Today Is The Day

  Today's the day.

  Today is the day that I have now not seen my daughter Sarah, for more than half of her life.

  I was asked today to put aside all the grief earned in the year, ready to launch into 2020.

  I said I was going to more time.

The Abduction of Sarah

 

                It is twelve years today since I last saw my youngest daughter, Sarah. At the time, she was twelve years and thirteen days old. In a few weeks when Christmas arrives, I will have not seen my Daughter for more than half of her life.

                And what atrocity occurred to warrant this segregation of Daughter and Father?

                Her Mother and I divorced.

                Weeks after our divorce, her Mother remarried, and later had a child with the other man. Sarah became the “lost” child, as her Mother began to fabricate a life for her new family. Apparently, unnoticed by her Mother, Sarah slipped into a life of vice and crime, and like all divorced Fathers, I found out about it too late. Upon learning of her situation, when I telephoned Sarah’s school principal, I was informed that Sarah was “a child at risk.”

                I telephoned her Mother and suggested that Sarah reside with me, where Sarah could be monitored and have oversight while she corrected her ways and got on with her schooling. Within seven days of that conversation, her Mother absconded with our child, fled across three State lines, and took up residency in a jurisdiction where I had no reach.

                Had I done those same actions, there would be Amber alerts, wall to wall television coverage until the child was found, and then, I would have been swiftly incarcerated. But, because it was her Mother that broke the same Federal and State laws that I am bound to, there would be no repercussions, no enforcement and no consequences.

                Her Mother would rather destroy the child, than co parent with me.

                And I would have to start over, again. Except this time, I would have to restart the documentation to ensure access to our child with another country, another state, another government and another school.

                The slippage of time would rob me of her 13^th through 21^st birthdays. I would not know of her milestone events, her health, her academic awards, or her graduation. There would be no Christmas or holidays together, and my Father became collateral damage, unable to see his Grandchild. This would be in addition, to whatever lies the child was told about me.

                When the telephone went unanswered at our scheduled calling time, her mail began to be returned. Scrawled in her Mother’s handwriting on the envelopes and packages were the words “no longer at this address”.

                It would be years before I could classify her Mother’s actions as “Parental Alienation.”  I’d always treated her Mothers actions as nothing less than child abduction, albeit the discovery was after the fact.

                A parent knows within minutes, sometimes hours, when their child is abducted. An alienated parent doesn’t find out until much later.

                The parent of an abducted child has multiple law enforcement agencies chasing down leads, investigating sightings and sharing information. An alienated parent has to do their own leg work.

                The parent of an abducted child fears for their child’s life. An alienated parent fears that the child will never recover their life.

                The parent of an abducted child knows that the longer it takes, the less likelihood the child will be found.  An alienated parent usually starts at this point, as they learn of what has already occurred. They are playing from behind the moment they discover that their child has been “abducted”. For me, it was almost nine months before I uncovered that Sarah was “a child at risk”.  A perpetrator given nine months head start knows that the authorities have little chance of catching them.

                It is too late for my youngest daughter, Sarah. If She is still alive, She is now an adult who chooses to have no contact with her Father. It is reasonable to assume that Sarah was told lies by her Mother, which She accepted as truth, as I was not physically present to refute them. My only hope is to wait until my daughter questions one of those lies, and then seeks me out to verify. I pray that Sarah has better critical thinking skills that Her Mother.  Sarah’s Mother is also the daughter of an alienated Father.

                Before we were married, her Mother and I were walking along the beach together when we ran into her Father. In the weeks thereafter, Sarah’s Mother sought clarity over the horror stories that Her Mother had told, and her Father refuted them. When Sarah’s Mother independently verified her Father’s version, She learned that Her Mother had manufactured the stories about her Father, in order to cover up immoral sins. Sarah’s Mother choose not to repair the relationship with her Father, because She could not accept that her Mother’s account of her Father’s absence in her life, were all lies.

                It is twelve years today since I last saw my youngest daughter, Sarah. At the time she was twelve years and thirteen days old. You can diminish the actions of her Mother to “Parental Alienation” as much as you like, but as her Father, this is the story of the abduction of my youngest daughter, Sarah.