Skip to main content

Facebook Stalking

I found Kate's father.

We knew the girls had different fathers even though, according to the courts, there was only one.

Grandma knew his name and told me. She spelled the last name wrong and the first name is a common one that can be spelled many different ways so it took me awhile.

But then there I am staring at the male version of Kate's face. I have no doubt he's her father.

He's a cage fighter. Seriously. Like boxing. But not. There are tickets that have been sold to his events. His FB knickname is "LowLife" and his slogan is, "Once a lowlife, always a lowlife." Covered in tattoos and muscles and a nose that's been broken many times.

He may also do tree trimming as a job, according to pictures of him up in a tree in a harness with a chainsaw. We will not need any of our trees trimmed ever again.

Nothing screams, CLOSE THAT ADOPTION! like finding out the birth father is a chainsaw-wielding, cage-fighting, lowlife. Feeling pretty firm in my decision not to pursue a connection with that family.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Flash Fiction - Guilt Free

And this one I wrote for the fun of it. It was delicious to wallow in such a world of self-indulgence I'll never know. This is flash fiction (less than 1,000 words). Guilt Free It was fudge sauce, thick and cold from the back of the fridge, dipped in gourmet raspberry jam—the kind from France with the understated label—straight onto a spoon and then suckled in my mouth, a frosty mug of milk tremoring faintly in my left hand, to be gulped in indelicate swaths allowing a dribble or two down my front, the first time I hit her. Not really hit. Shoved. A forceful push. A push that began with contact. The contact of my hand wedging so neatly between her small sharp shoulder blades, wedging in so that I almost could not retract myself from the catapulting force launching her into the tub. Not a hit—there was no smacking, cracking, sharp stinging rebound. No bruise. She’d laughed. She’d thought it was a game. Like when I clapped my hands together as she went up the stairs, cla...

I Lied.

For the very first time I lied to a birth family member. I've been brutally honest even when it caused an uproar. I've been honest because I was personally committed to always telling the truth. Until now. Because this lie may actually be the best way to preserve Jane's relationship with her birth family. At our last video call with Grandma Jane seemed uninterested, unengaged, not showing any real emotion. I struggled to find things to prompt her to talk about. Over the next two weeks I waited and she never asked for another call. In the third week I casually brought up the topic and she did not really respond, certainly didn't ask for another call. Finally, yesterday I point blank asked if she wanted to do a video call and she said the word yes but her whole body language said no. It was clear that she was saying yes because she thought she was supposed to, not because she wanted to. So, I took her body language rather than her words and made the decision that we...

We are thiiiiiiiissss close

Just got this email from the adoption worker: "We will be filing both girls’ adoption petitions tomorrow in [ ] County." Now I just want to sit right here with my cell phone and landline phone and email browser refreshing every thirty seconds until we get the final word. And today at 4:15 there's another social worker meeting at our house. I'm not doing this one. Theo is taking it, per my request, well, demand. I can't even think about them derailing us, again, when we're so close, again.