TheBanyanTree: The truth heads its ugly rear

[Tobie Shapiro]

March 24, 2000000000000006


Dear Ladies and Gentlemen of the Jury,

	It's been hot here inside my skull.  Not temperature, though 
if thoughts could elevate body temperature, this would be the febrile 
time.  I wrote another letter to my friend in India about it all, and 
I'm here to share it with you.  Those of you who have been through 
divorces will recognize pieces of the puzzle in these tidings.  Those 
who haven't might think twice and again if you're considering 
dropping your vows on some garbage mound and heading off with a new 
slinky.

	Here's my letter:


March 24, 200000006


Dear Phiroze,

	You haven't heard from me in a while.  Well, a while.  I've 
been dragging myself through the sludge of the divorce (which was 
final on the 7th of December, appropriately enough on Pearl Harbor 
day).  Do you want to hear the wretched writhing details of the inner 
workings of a divorce?  Hey, you've been there.  But maybe it wasn't 
ugly.

	Yesterday was a settlement conference between verman and me. 
This meant that the two lawyers and clients had to meet in the hired 
retired Judge's quarters/office.  There are great advantages to 
hiring a Judge.  You get undivided attention, and plenty of time for 
consulting privately with your lawyer.  It doesn't smack of that 
governmental brush-you-aside of which publicly held hearings are 
composed.

	I was so nervous going into this thing.  I can't tell you. 
But add to that general queasiness and uneasiness the fact that I had 
to read through verman's twelve page dissertation which was a 
rebuttal to the psychologist's report on Feyna's and Meyshe's ability 
to be independent.

	You remember that verman (villainman) had asserted that both 
kids could be independent and therefore he shouldn't have to be 
paying child support.  He forced a study done by a psychologist that 
he picked out because he liked his credentials (and his expertise on 
child estrangement).  The study took two meetings each with the Dr. 
(Kaufman, a yid!) for each one of us in the "family", plus an extra 
one session with verman and me in the same room, sitting on the 
opposite sides of the same couch.  I remember averting my eyes from 
verman during the entire meeting so I wouldn't have to look at his 
mug.  It was the only way I could remain there without meltdown. 
Then the meetings with the kids (two each) and two more private 
meetings with verman and me each alone.  He then contacted the long 
list of experts who have been working with Meyshe and Feyna, and 
consulted with them.  A great expense of time, energy and clams.

	And in the end, he came up with a report that corroborated 
everything I'd been saying about the twins, that neither was ready to 
be independent for quite some time -- Meyshe, maybe never.  The final 
report upset verman who then combed through the entire thing and 
refuted it point by point, inserting little bulletted paragraphs, and 
expoundings upon my unfitness as a mother.  When you looked at the 
whole dissertation, it was sad, and obviously the yelping of a 
desperate man, not quite in his right mind.  But, it gave me the 
heebee jeebees just to see the characterization of me, the desperate 
thrashing against me as some sort of agent of arch evil who had 
deliberately turned the children against him (poor him), and had 
frequent violent bouts of temper.  And, oh, he really should have 
called 911.  He wanted a study of me to determine whether I was fit 
to be their mother.  Even though that was all preposterous, and many 
claims he made were outright lies, I still had to take a tranquilizer 
to face the ordeal yesterday.  You never know the outcome, the 
irrational minutiae of the law.  We have a word for it, "Pilpul".

	The Judge, a woman and also a Yid, was a bit flashy, but down 
to earth and thank God, concerned mostly about the welfare of the 
kids.  As my lawyer had predicted, verman's twelve page condominium 
was largely ignored.  It isn't a custody case, and Judge P saw it for 
what it was.  I had bumped into verman on my way into the building, 
and we had to go up to floor two in the same elevator, which was 
lined with packing quilts.  I commented, "Oh.  A padded cell." 
Verman snickered.  See I made him laugh, even under the present 
circumstances.  He acted as if being pleasant was an option after all 
he's said and done.  I was very curt, and tried to pretend he wasn't 
there.  Once in the office, we were each escorted to separate rooms 
where we would be able to confer with our lawyers in private.  The 
session consisted of the Judge  meeting first with the two lawyers 
alone, while verman and I waited it out in our corners.  Then Judge P 
and my lawyer, D.R., came in to talk to me while verman's lawyer went 
in to talk to him.

	P said that while she was reading the report by Dr. Kaufman, 
she kept thinking, "Oh my God.  What would become of these kids if, 
God forbid, something should happen to Tobie.  Tobie is their whole 
support system."  Note that she didn't think automatically that if 
something happened to me the kids would go stay with their father. 
She went on to propose that when the house gets sold (and she agreed 
that the kids should stay in the house until after Meyshe graduates 
from high school), verman would be forced to take his part of the 
proceeds and put it into establishing a special needs trust for 
Meyshe and Feyna.  In exchange, he would be relieved of paying child 
support and spousal support.  That era would be done and we wouldn't 
have to deal with him any more at all.  Finished.  Complete.  Voila! 
That would leave the kids elligible for social security because they 
wouldn't be getting support from their father every month, and I 
would be able to put some money away from my part of the proceeds so 
that I could live on the investments plus my disability, and afford a 
nice little house.  She didn't use the word nice.  I did.

	I said I didn't think verman would go for it.  D said that 
verman just hasn't yet faced the inescapable truth that the majority 
of his wealth is going to go to taking care of his kids, and he would 
have to accept that.  Judge P said she was going to twist his arm and 
give him no other option.  There would be continuing the way it is 
with the support unto perpetuity, or there would be the special needs 
trust idea.  There would be no door number three.

	Then the Judge P strolled off to twist verman's arm in 
presence of his lawyer.  And after that, the Judge and the two 
lawyers met again.

	It was easy for me to make up my mind about the proposal. 
I'd been worrying about a special needs trust for quite a few years, 
but couldn't figure out where the funding would come from.  As long 
as my kids are taken care of, and I can get by, there is no problem 
for me.

	I am ashamed to say that it gives me some satisfaction 
knowing that verman is mighty unhappy about this, and that the pain 
and suffering he's caused and continues to cause has come back to 
bite him in the scrotum.  He just never accepted that the twins had 
disabilities, and that we were responsible as their parents to care 
for them as long as they needed us.  He doesn't quite get to the 
point where he is living what a parent is.

	There will be several other conferences.  Next time, I'll 
bring more reading matter.  I finished reading a book while waiting 
for the lawyers and the Judge to conclude their consultation, and had 
to turn it over and start again.  I suggested to the Judge that 
perhaps next time, I could bring my cello and spend the down time 
practicing in one of the empty offices.

	That gives off inharmonious vibes, that idea does. 
Practicing while waiting for a judge to judge and lawyers to thresh 
the laws into little rows.   There will be I, good Mom and arch 
fiend, making music in the sanctorum.

	How are you?  I haven't heard one two-fingered typed word 
from you in months.  Do you get my letters?  Would you rather I 
stopped?

	Let me know, Oh Indian man.  And in case you didn't know it: 
the dishwasher has been fixed.  The dryer is working again after the 
repairman had his way with it.  The old van has been donated to the 
Jewish Community Center.  The workmen are outside right now fixing 
the walkway so it isn't pitch black while we miserable worms try to 
slither up the front path and into the house.

	Love,

	Tobie
-- 




Tobie Helene Shapiro
Berkeley, California   USA

tobie at shpilchas.net