It is universal

I relate the stories that come through my office, the cases I've litigated, the successes and tragedies my clients have lived through.  Those stories are universal, they are experienced by everyone on some level, at some time. But the family law stories are not confined to my practice...

Yesterday I was at the gym, a place I visit far too infrequently, when I overheard a conversation between two gentlemen of moderate age.  Before you think I was eavesdropping, guys in a gym don't tend to share secrets as they pump iron, rather what they discuss they broadcast in semi-boisterous tones without regard, or sometimes with regard, for whether the nearby weight-lifters can listen in on the conversations.  It doesn't matter whether it is politics, sex (a frequent subject) or, pertinent to my story tonight, family.

What really captured my attention was that they were talking about their sons.  Having three myself, the subject is near and dear to my heart. Their sons were now grown.  The men had both been divorced when their sons were young.  The men related how they had gone through great difficulty with their sons, but with the passing of time, things were made right.

The first man was talking, "my wife and I split up when my boy was seven.  My wife was in a bad way at the time.  I got custody. Things were rocky, hard to manage, we got by I think mostly because I ran such a tight ship, tried to make it like clockwork. I think that kept me from going crazy in those days."

After awhile, my ex pretty much got her life back together.  She finally stayed in one place for longer than six months and found a job.  My boy and I were arguing more, he didn't like my rules, like, 'do your homework,' 'clean your room,' 'be back home by 9:00' kind of stuff.  So, when he was old enough, he decided to move to his mom's.  Broke my heart.  I mean, I shouldn't have minded so much since I'd had him for seven years but it broke my heart.  And he decided right after a big argument about whether he could stay out all night with a bunch of friends, including his little girl friend.  I said no.  His mom said she didn't see a problem with it and there you go, next thing you know, my boy's living with his mom. 

"We went through a few months where I couldn't look at him, it pissed me off so much.  Then it got better, he started coming over every now and then.  I kept up with him to see how he was doing in school.  Of course his grades were tanking, but then he was in ninth grade.  Anyway, two years pass, its the summer before he's a junior and he calls me up, asks me if we could have dinner together.  At dinner he says, 'I need to be a success, and I'm just not going to be a success at mom's house.  It's too disorganized.'  You could have floored me.  I felt like I was grinning all over my face.  He moved back in about two weeks before school started.  His mom thought that was probably best, too."

Then the other man shared, "my son's momma would fuss and cuss every time it was my weekend.  She'd come up with some excuse to keep him from me like, 'he's gotta study today' or 'he's gotta mow the lawn' or some such #&*%!."  (Talk runs like that at the gym.) "Got to where I couldn't break through, I couldn't keep her back long enough to see him when I was supposed to.

"Then he became a teenager and it got even worse.  He got all angry, sullen, accusing me of ditching his momma when it was she that filed for divorce.  Got to where he wouldn't even talk to me anymore, said he was too busy.  I never really lost track of him, I just barely saw him.  It became usual to where a few months would pass when I wouldn't see him.  That became the way it was.  So he drifted away from me.

"But now he's 22, a young man.  He's got a good girlfriend.  He's finished school.  And he wants to hang out with me.  Can you beat that?  He wants to hang out with me.  He was over the other day, I had my dad there too, and my son says to my dad, Grandpa, you raised a pretty good son.  I got so choked up I gave him another beer."

Time passes, wounds heal, wisdom grows.  At least it can.

Families are a fundamental reality, they are universal and their stories, our stories, are universal.  Good or bad they are a treasure for they are the stuff from which our riches are made.  There's a blog that's getting underway, The Twisted Family at  http://www.thetwistedfamily.com/2011_01_01_archive.html  It is about blended, no twisted, families, our families.  Real people.  Real stories.  Our stories.  Check it out.

Full disclosure: my wife writes it.  Look out, she might write about our family from time to time. Enjoy.

Michael Manely
http://www.allfamilylaw.com/CM/Custom/Attorneys.asp

The Melting Pot

There are so many fascinating aspects of Family Law that I think I could write about for ages, albeit sporadically.  One of the fascinating aspects is the question of what is a family.

Families come in an almost infinite range of hues, attitudes, preferences and origins. Some families appear homogenous, but as I am increasingly discovering, there is no such thing.  And homogeneity is a question of the definitions you impose. 

"Our family is of European origin," is both limited and broadened by that geographic reference.  Not that long ago the identifications would have been much more specific.  "Our family is of Irish origin."  Or, "our family is of German origin."  Or, "our family is of Italian origin."  Now it's "European" by convenient definition and often of necessity.  It's "European" because the European countries of origin have melted into a broader, more inclusive base in America.

"Our family is if African origin," is also a convenient definition.  Not only does it ignore the not so subtle differences from different regions in the African continent, but also ignores the apparently not so infrequent and often unwelcome intrusion of European ancestory. "African origin" is also a convenience because it may belie the centuries that the ancestors have been in America, far longer than many descendants of European ancestory.

"Our family is of Hispanic origin," is a similarly broad definition that spans many cultures and lattitudes.  Mexico is distinct from the Dominican Republic which is distinct from Guatemala and is distinct from Argentina or Chile, which says nothing yet of Brazil, which does not consider itself Hispanic with its Portugese ancestory, but is often so defined by those of us less aware of the identities.  But, for the sake of convenience, and for the American experience of the melding of cultures, "Hispanic" is the bandied about term.

"Our family is if Arab origin."  Again, a conveniently broad definition disguising intricately distinct  populations, rendered less so by their migration to America.  And this doesn't yet include persons of Persian descent.  And I haven't even touched on people of Asian descent or Polynesian descent, or Native American descent, the true originalists (especially the Iroquois). 

And, of  course, each of these identities, some self imposed, some imposed by others, all gross in their  description and ever expanding in their fuzzy edges form, only begin to contemplate the function, purpose and great success which is America. 

As a boy here in Georgia, I have witnessed anti-miscegenous indoctrination carried out with ruthless, bloody cruelty. And now, as a man, I watch couples not only walk hand in hand, but marry, have children, watch their children welcomed and embraced into our larger culture, whether the children come from parents of apparently similar backgrounds, or obviously diverse backgrounds.  Our ancestoral identities change day by day, merge generation by generation.

I'm not suggesting that all is a bed of roses in America.  I wouldn't be writing tonight's blog if that were the case.  Today's version of the anti-miscegenist is the xenophobe.  While racism in all its insipid forms still flourishes in quaint corners of American culture, the current cause celebre for the divisively inclined is to narrowly interpret what and who is American.

Without equivocation, the American family looks like America. We are black. We are brown.  We are tan.  We are pink.  We are yellow.  We are Christian.  We are Muslim.  We are Jewish.  We are Unitarian.  We are Atheist.  We are hedonist.  We are self absorbed.  We are utilitarian.  We are selfish.  We are generous.  We are having a teenage meltdown.  We are having a mid life crisis.  We are bounding for childhood joy.  We are espousing the wisdom of sages.  We are demagogic.  We are all embracing. 

With the exception of the Native Americans, we are a nation of immigrants.  We can't help but be.  We are and always have been a nation of immigrants melting in one giant, ceaseless pot.  Ever shall it be.

And we are one, big happy family, whether we like each other today or not. 

We, collectively are and rightfully shall be America.  And like all families, we ought to have each other's backs.  For united we stand.  Need I say more?

Michael Manely

The Dog Days of Summer

We are mere weeks away from the beginning of school and, thereby, the end of summer.  But as I sit here tonight in the sweltering summer weather, here in the hottest summer ever in recorded history, school, and with it the promise of autumn and cooler temperatures, seem forever away. 

Families will soon enough return to the fast paced life of packing the kids off to school, making PTSA meetings and Parent/Teacher meetings and class events.  Soon enough parents will be back to reviewing home work and wondering how projects get lost before they get turned in.  Soon enough children will be back to early bed times (initially before dark) and extremely early rise times (maybe initially still after dawn?)  Soon enough we will make sure the uniform is washed or just the right outfit is ready to go for the next day. 

But right now families are wrapping up their summer, taking their last vacations, winding down the week long camps for the children.  Within mere days we will be "back to school" shopping, meeting teachers, and standing astonished as our young ones go out that door again into a new grade, another year behind them and another year closer to being gone from our loving grasp.

But now, it's hot and it's steamy and it's lazy.  And it's summer.  And it's great.

Michael Manely