Price was investigated for allegedly making death threats.  He was investigated not once, but twice for abuse against his own children.  He notes that “my ex, under the guidance of her mother’s lesbian, feminist friends, started claiming [a history of] abuse.”  So there are all of those things. In the end, opposing counsel presented a stipulation that required Price to attend parenting classes and anger management counseling.  (Anger management counseling is often ordered for individuals who abuse their wives or children or who otherwise act out in violence.)  The agreement also included a set amount of child support to be paid to the children’s mother.  Price fell into arrears on his support obligations almost immediately.  The good news is that he doesn’t care.  ”Yes, it sounds like an awful mistake, but to me, the time with my kids was worth it. They can throw me in jail, make a pariah out of me, or proclaim me a worthless deadbeat to the entire world, but I am not in the least bit ashamed—my conscience is clear.”  That’s great.  Mr. Price, you know that your kids need food and clothes and school supplies and all sorts of other necessities, right?  This is not about you. This is about your children, who have a legal right to support from their father.

Price has some advice for all you men out there:

Never go into marriage or fatherhood without being fully aware of the risks they entail. Never look at a young, willing woman without a critical eye, and always be prepared for the worst. And, if you should ever find yourself in this position, don’t lose faith or despair—they can take all your worldly possessions, your children, and even your freedom, but they can never make it right, and there are such things as honor and goodness in the world. Believe it, for yourself and your kids, if for nobody else.

 

Good fathers are out there. They pay their ordered child support willingly, because they understand that their children often need that money. I refuse to believe W.F. Price represents the majority of divorced fathers. I refuse to believe that most men look at marriage and fatherhood as solely financial risks and that most men consider having children while being “prepared for the worst.” This is not honor and goodness, Mr. Price. This is selfish, self-serving storytelling.

He’s in the other room right now, messing around on his laptop. He’s got Pandora playing in the background. He made me grilled cheese for lunch. He announced his new high score for Fruit Ninja. He wants to read The Hunger Games just because I told him I liked it. I don’t know how to explain the importance of all of these things, because you can’t possibly understand how my chest nearly burst when he did a version of Moonwalk for me this morning. (I know, right?) I didn’t know something could feel like this.

It’s like when I saw:

and I thought nothing could ever beat it. And then I saw this:

and I thought I couldn’t ever be so head over heels. And then I saw this:

and I was pretty much done for.  And now I just wait for the next fantastic tv show to demolish me.

That’s what love has been like. I thought I loved my partner as much as was possible, and then I found that the next day I could love him more. And THAT KEEPS HAPPENING. It’s weird. And kind of annoying. But also really cool.

Except I forgot that I do have a reason to open books. I love reading. I’ve always loved reading.  It’s incredibly pleasurable. And I forgot to remember that that’s enough.

I want to say that I stopped reading because law school intervened. That studying kept me busy. That I have spent the last two and a half years in a state of just-in-time and slightly-late.  All of which is true, even if it isn’t entirely the source of my reading hiatus. During law school’s first year, I scarcely had time to sleep. I existed inside constant mental, physical, and emotional exhaustion.  I had some free time, but not very much. Certainly, I had to make my free-time choices very carefully that year. I had time for a little bit of yoga, and a little bit of blogging, but not much else my first year. I believe this is true. So, ok, I get a pass for those two semesters.

But the truth is that I stopped reading for pleasure long before the I even knew what the LSAT was. I don’t know exactly when it started, but I do  know that by the time I was 19 or 20 I had switched from Dean R. Koontz to Hemingway and Shakespeare and that by the time I was 24 I was struggling with Lacan and Derrida and Freud. Because I got Serious. I started counting down the years left in my life and realizing that I had to start Enriching myself immediately or I would die in a state of…what? Ignorance? Which means that for the past 15 years or so I have restricted my reading to the point where picking up Harry Potter was a sort of rebellious act.

This was senseless violence and also completely unsustainable. That sort of black-and-white thinking (advancement or stagnation; literature or fluff; alive or dead) led me to throw up my hands and turn on the television (or to close my eyes and pull the covers over my head).  You know what I think is true? We–all of us–find ways to simply pass time. We go for walks; we weed the garden; we post to blogs; we take bubble baths; we play gin. This week, I took a deep breath, came to terms with my mortality, and read a book.

Told you I was Serious.

Ahem.

I started this post with the intention of making this into a Life Lesson or turning it into an Amazing Story, but I think I won’t. I think I’ll just let that sit there. I think I’ll go watch another episode.

And then it gets fun again. I’ll be in court today. We’ll be working out some important details in today’s hearing and I’ve been prepping for this all week. I think I had forgotten how much I love this part. I love working out a theory of the case. I love juggling facts and outlining arguments. I have even grown to love the anxiety and excitement of being in a courtroom and standing before a judge. I love walking into a courthouse in my suit and feeling that buzz of being real. In a courthouse, I’m tangible. People read what I write and they listen to what I say and it matters.

So what if this is just a grand game of pretend? Am I just here for the stage performance?

I don’t know; I can’t answer that right now. Right now I have to put on my suit, grab my files, and head to court.