A Child is the Ultimate Weapon

I stood there, powerless, while RadiantSmile sat on my couch, weeping.

She'd spent the night last night, sleeping on my couch after being bumped off her flight back home. Every other Tuesday, she flies with her four-year-old son to San Diego so that his father can exercise his 50% visitation, and we usually get together for lunch...it's a sweet spot in those weeks for both of us, I think, and those visits always feel too short.

Her son's father is a diminutive cop, with all the worst personality traits that go along with Small Man With Authority Complex. I haven't seen how he behaves with their son, but two weeks ago, I saw the boy's reaction when it was time for him to go to his dad. Granted, he'd had a great day throwing coins into fountains and eating ice cream and goofing around with my daughters, but while most kids would simply pout or whine or even cry when a day like that comes to an end before they're ready, this little guy crawled under my coffee table and refused to come out. He can be as defiant as any four year old, but his whispered protest was not petulant, it was plaintive: "I don't want to see my dad."

The boy is in therapy, with anger and anxiety issues. Already.

This morning, RadiantSmile got a message that she's going to have to come up with more money to stave off the latest assault by her ex, which stems from his refusal to accept less visitation when their son starts school in the fall.

So I'm standing there in my living room this morning, looking at this dear friend of mine and wondering where it stops. She asked me, "Do I have to just give up my son because I can't afford to fight this any more?" I have no answer, no words of consolation for this gentle, anguished soul.

I know that sometimes, simply saying, "It's going to be okay," is enough, but in this case, it seems a weak offering, a poor response from a man who just 15 hours ago was declared her hero.

I am angry, and I am sad, and I want to fix this for her (even though I know I can't). After dropping her off at the airport, I called and left her voice mail because I'd forgotten to tell her I love her, and even those words uttered as comfort and an honest expression of friendship seem insignificant.

On my way in to work, I thought about how often people use their children as the implements of the torture they inflict on each other. When a relationship dies, we naturally seek separation and closure, but when there are children to be raised, closure is more difficult to find and there can never be separation without also giving up on the child. It is easy to focus all of one's frustrations on one's ex-partner, to attribute to them all of the reasons we have to be angry. Without a degree of integrity, it can be remarkably easy to use a child as a means of revenge.

My ex-wife did it to me, doing all she could to limit my access to my daughters in retaliation for the unpardonable sin of holding her accountable for her infidelity. In our custody fight, I fought not for my right to see my daughters, but for their right to see me. This is no small difference. I did what I could, always keeping in mind the best interests of my children. Now that they are older, I think they understand that, and it colors our relationship deep and rich and true.

When she's asked, I've advised RadiantSmile to remember that all of her actions need to be about her son, and what is in his best interests. She was already doing that, of course, but I know she appreciated hearing it from someone who understands and has been there.

She faces a dilemma that is greater than the one I faced, because she lacks the resources to continue the fight against the relentlessness and remorselessness of her son's father as he uses the boy to exact his revenge against her for having the child in the first place. In her son's best interests, she may be forced to give up her son, even though it's clearly not in his best interests. A classic Catch-22.

How would the real mother of the baby brought to Solomon have reacted when he pulled out his sword, had she known that saving her child's life meant releasing him to a life of anger and bitterness and pain?