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. 

People Are Stupid

    People are stupid.

    I'm sitting at Atlanta International Airport, - one of the largest and businest airports in the world.  People coming and going and moving between places.  While waiting for my flight, the gentlemen who was sitting beside me gets up. He has four or five seats covered with luggage, childrens toys, and a stroller.  He wants to go to the restroom and asks me to look after his lugagge.

    "I'm not supervising your luggage."

   The guys walks off.  Where is the rest of his family? Who has the children associated with the stroller and toys? I'm not your minder of luggage. And shame on you for asking.

    The airport overhead speaker annouces "Keep control of you baggage. Do not allow anyone to have control of your baggage."

    After the divorce when I was out with my daughters, then a single Father, I had to rely on myself to do all the tasks associated with raising children. When we travelled I made sure we travlled as a group and accompanied the girls everywhere - except into ladies restrooms. 

    Was it difficult? Absolutely. There were times when I wished I had female companion to assist the girls, but, I didn't...and I had to look after our own luggage.

    I would not have wanted anyone to supervise my luggage.

    See Something, Say Something. 

    I called the Department of Homeland Security to supervise their luggage. 

    People are stupid.

My Wifes Ex Husband

    

 

 

 

 

    On November 1, 2022,  Chicken Soup for the Soul will release the next book in their series, My Wonderful Wacky Family.

    Almost four years, to the day, since I was last published within the Chicken Soup for the Soul series, I have returned to their publications with my next story, My Wifes Ex Husband.  This is the story of Joe and I - two divorced men trying to make sence of the relationship when I marry into the family.

    It is, in my mind, one the two most difficulty pieces of literature that I have written, and conicdently, the piece prior to this, was the previous most difficult.

    My Wifes Ex Husband was written during the pandemic while I was the in house carer for my wifes mother. It was written of the most significant man in my life, outside of my own father.

    It was an honor to write of Jeanette's son, Jillian and Janeva's Dad, and Everley's Grandpa.

 

 

 

 

You Snooze, You Loose

 

 

    In 2009 I started working on a second major body of work. That piece was a factional account of global sporting event.  The work was started in what was known as National Novel Writting Month. Participants would write their story, upload the title and synopsis, and as they proceed, enter a word count for their body of work.

    My progress in that after completing the event, resulted in about 120,000 words written - but it was missing something. So, I set it aside.

    Last week I returned to the body of work having sourced some information that would add the details I needed to complete the work. While researching that, by chance, I just happened to enter the parameters of my work into Amazon.

    Son of a bitch. The exact same piece of work using the same title and a slight varient of my work was published in April this year, by someone I do not know.

    Coincidence? Probably. Liable? Probably not.

    You snooze, you loose.

News News News News

 New. News. News. News.

But I can't tell you.

Not till November 1.

Then, I can tell you the news.

But you will be second to know.

In Memorium: Mark Lawrence Goodwin

  The day could not pass without reflection.

  This day will always be linked to another, which will haunt my horrors.

  In Memorium, Mark Lawrence Goodwin, Constable of Police.

 

 

 

There, but for the stroke of a pen, go I.

Mark left behind two children, Megan and Alyse, ages 2 years and 8 weeks.

Twenty five year later after that night, I would finally write of him.  I will hold copies of the book for his children, should they ever ask. 

 Thirty one years after that night, I have not forgotten him.