Oh, The Mother and Child Reunion...Is Only A Motion Away

Charles Fredrick Hamilton

I talked with the girls last night, finally.

It was a bittersweet conversation, mostly one-sided, with me asking questions and them replying in one-word answers. As it has been for months now, it doesn’t matter when I talk to them; every time I do, I hear a lot of muffled background noise; voices, activities, and such.

Carley spoke first, initially excited, she told me about playing with her friend from down the street. But after a couple sentences her voice began to trail off. She stopped, mid-sentence, and I could hear Charlie in the background whispering to her. The line went quiet on her end. After a couple seconds we resumed our conversation, and Carley sounded… removed. I attempted to ask open-ended questions like, “tell me about your friend,” and her response was, “I don’t know. Do you wanna talk to Kara?”

It wasn’t much different when I talked with Kara. She was busy making bookmarks out of glue and glitter. I asked her what she did all day and her response was “nothing.” So, I asked her what “nothing” was. She then told me she had spent the afternoon swimming with her friend in the neighbor’s pool. I managed to pull a slight giggle out of her when I responded, “wow, that sounds like a lot of fun ‘nothing’ to me.”

I asked Kara if she was allowed to go into another room to talk and she told me no. When I questioned her further about all the background noise she became quiet and wouldn’t answer. I then asked, “Is your dad standing right there listening to your conversation?” And her response was an astounding, “Uh, yeah!” to which I envisioned her cocking her head and snapping her fingers.

In that moment I could feel the fierceness begin to swell within me. And just sitting here, typing these words, my hands are shaking and my heart is pounding.

I’ve suspected for quite a while now that they were being monitored, their every word being dissected microscopically. That is why they seem afraid to talk, answer my questions with one-word answers, and rush to get off the phone. That is why they sound tired, expressionless, reserved, withdrawn. I imagine they live in fear, constantly, of saying the wrong thing, letting something slip out that shouldn’t. Charlie’s presence during their phone conversations is wrong on so many levels. I can picture him, ordering the girls to stand directly in front of him, while he hovers over them, and torments them the entire time they’re on the phone, with me, their mother, by sternly pointing his finger and shooting them the evil eye. Charlie’s behavior is unacceptable, as it impedes their ability to be who they are and share freely their hearts, their thoughts, or something as simple as what they had for breakfast.

I’m worried. I worry every single day about how the current emotional wounds to their hearts will turn into deep gaping scars later in life as a result of Charlie’s inability to just let them be who they are.

I agonize before and after every phone conversation. I don’t want to put unnecessary strain on them by asking too many questions, or asking the wrong questions, or attempting to discuss a topic that would grant Charlie an opportunity to scold them because they slipped in their excitement and shared too much.

After last night, I’m more convinced than ever as to why Charles Fredrick Hamilton doesn’t want to, flat out refuses to, abide by the court order. He loses control the minute those girls are in a safe haven. He loses control over what they say, when they say it, how they say it.

Shortly after Corbin was born Charlie came to our house one night to hang out with all three kids while Jim and I went out and had a couple drinks. We felt safe leaving the kids in Charlie’s care, and at that point, we had been co-parenting better than ever before so we didn’t give it a second thought. When we got home that night, as usual, I put on my bright red lipstick and kissed my sleeping beauties goodnight. That was our ritual, and I knew they would look for their visible kiss upon waking the next morning.

I awoke to voices early the next morning in the hallway outside my bedroom.

It was Kara, who had been pacing back and forth in the hall willing us to wake up, chomping at the bit to confess the sins of her father. Jim, first out of bed, was dazed and couldn’t quite comprehend what she was saying because she was talking so fast. I jumped out of bed and questioned what had transpired in our absence.

Kara informed us that her dad, Charles Fredrick Hamilton, made her lie to his girlfriend, Rosie Granados, on the telephone the previous night by saying they were at Charlie’s buddies house taking care of his baby, Jared. Her dad, Charles Fredrick Hamilton, told her that some people don’t understand the dynamics of our family, that it’s confusing to explain the details, and that’s why she must back him up and confirm his lie to his girlfriend. Kara explained that, at first, she told her dad no. But, he gave her a “mean look” and told her if she would do it, he would take her shopping. So, she complied.

Immediately, I called him. Of course, I was told that I should know how Kara is with her wild imagination and how she likes to make up stories. He not only denied forcing and bribing Kara to lie for him, he called her the liar.

I assured Kara I believed her. I also expressed my disappointment, though, and explained to her the policy we have about not lying. She understood that, she said, but ended the conversation with, “I did it because I didn’t want to get in trouble. I’m telling the truth now, mom!”

And, I believe that is what Charlie fears. The minute the girls are out of his sight and feel safe, he knows that no amount of hovering, threats, evil stares, or emotional distress he has bestowed upon them will matter. They will produce every detail they’ve been warned to keep secret. They will talk without thinking and it will all come out. That is, after all, how I learned that he lied about buying them a big house with a pool. They were disappointed. They felt gypped. And their sadness, their pain, is distressful to me. To go from seeing the excitement and gleam in their eyes to witnessing a glazed-over defeated look is incredibly disheartening.

No matter what happens, I cannot, and will not, be erased from their lives. I am their mother – and that is a love that doesn’t end or waver. Despite Charlie’s best intentions to alienate me from the lives of Kara and Carley, I refuse to play his games or allow him to stomp on their hearts.

I know he’s in contempt of court. He knows he’s in contempt of court.

I have refused any further verbal contact with him and told him he needs to communicate in writing. I want proof, in black and white, of each and every occurrence in which he denies me, and our girls, the opportunity to spend time together.

I figure he will eventually dig his own grave.

And I’ll be the one to spit on it!