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| There should be a big dildo underneath this that says: "For Dads". |
Here in Philadelphia, us fathers are given the shaft practically the moment we walk in door. Whether it's 34 South 11th Street or 27 South 11th or whatever other door they direct us to (they all lead to the same place: the 9th Circle of Hell). Whichever door we enter doesn't matter. We all get that look by the workers there. They don't even know our story nor do they care. We're passed through security like cattle while security frisks us and complain if our papers aren't out, unfolded and ready to be handed over. To them we're already dead-beat, pieces of shit who don't bother with our kids. Why? Well, it says so right on the paper. A male's name under defendant? Surefire sign of an absentee father. At least to them. And every single person you meet in court after feels the same exact way.
Right after we pass through security we're directed towards another checkpoint. This security guy directs you to left or right, like an instructor at a concentration camp, to go to whatever elevator and floor he says. Again, we know it doesn't make a difference which elevator is used. All three have access to the same floors. Exiting the elevator we're met with yet another security guard, only this time, he's old enough to be our grandfather. More orders. Down the hall and to the left. First room on the [Insert direction here]. From the moment we enter whichever room we're instructed to go to, we can automatically tell what the person is thinking. They're mostly women behind the desks processing your paperwork. I mention that not because I'm misogynistic but because I'm trying to paint a clear picture of how family court is and my personal 10+ years of experience involved in it, regardless of being the defendant or plaintiff. These women don't give two shits about anything involving fathers. They've heard and seen it all. Well... only the parts they wish to see. They're all yes men as far as I'm concerned. Maybe they don't want to get involved, who knows? Whatever the case, in my experience, you can hear a faint trace of smugness whenever they pass you a clipboard to fill out information they already fucking have access to.
This is every time. Every visit I've had with family court this is the process. Over and over again I'm asked to fill out paper work. What for? I did the first time. Well, things can change, so you do it over and over and over even though they usually already have the updated information. It's like being a part of George Orwell's 1984. Every day is exactly the same. May 19th was my most recent visit and obviously not my last and was no different than the description above. The visit was about my petition I filed to lower child support (details about the defendant will follow in subsequent posts, stay tuned;). It was a clerk. Though she may have been nice she's not there to help me despite the fact that I was the plaintiff on this petition. None of it was surprising as I've heard all of the sexist bullshit before. Her income is irrelevant (conveniently). Court never tells you why quite simply because they don't have a legit answer other than "because" to give us fathers. During these hearings with clerks, not only is the father's income all they worry about, clerks don't worry about mortgage, car payments, insurance, utilities, etc, etc... They couldn't care less. Again.... the answer here is just because. Well I'm here to give the real reason: We have dicks. Plain and simple.
There's nothing I hate more than hearing about the poor mothers in family court. Fuck all that. Philadelphia's family court system is strictly built to cater to mothers. Period. Don't listen to the bullshit you may hear about wearing a suit, mind your manners, save your receipts, write everything down in a journal, teacher recommendations, etc... That shit doesn't matter. Those things are the definition of non factor. Not once did any of those things help me in all my years of dealing with the incompetent, dick hating, pieces of shit in Philadelphia's family court. So I brought a school bag full of paperwork to give to this clerk to argue my case. "Oh, all I need are your pay stubs from for the past few weeks". Naturally. Then she says the routine line; "And you are aware that her income is irrelevant, yes?" Of course it is.
*click*click*click*
"Okay... according to our computers your support payments should be raised $***.00". I laugh. I'm thinking; "Go fuck yourself" but I tell her it's a joke and I refuse to pay this woman anymore than what is already stolen from me. I explain how my children are exploited, even though the clerk doesn't give a shit, and that I filed the petition to lower payments, not to break the bank. Then she reschedules for June 9th. "Is that okay?" Would it make a difference if I said no? Of course it's okay and I'll be there, just like every other time. On June 9th I'll return with all of my relevant financial information. Only this time, rather than a clerk, it'll be in front of a master. The court's fancy word for lawyer. Sounds much more official than clerk or lawyer. Master sounds almost as oppressive as judge, right (at least in the context I'm speaking of)? I'm expecting another Lexington Steele sized dildo rammed up my ass by this master. The routine should be cut down from all the paper work, story repeating and bullshit and simply have the security guards check to see if you have a penis. Then, he'll check the box on a piece of paper and tell you to take it to the third floor where the clerk, or master or judge can pre-judge you, based on gender, then send off your children with undesirables. Why? We're dads.
*I decided to start this blog to share my horrible, 10+ year experience (and counting) of trying to get custody of my two children (well one now, since the older one is brainwashed by his Nazi elder) in the Philadelphia Family Court system. I know I'm not the only one.
