Life is about kids. And bringing them up a bit better than what you were. With any luck.
I have never been given a proper opportunity.
I have been jumping through hoops, ticking the boxes, waiting for “my time”.
It is not going to happen.
Have been doing this more than a decade and now the lawyer for the child has managed to illicit “I don’t want to see Dad, I don’t want to talk to him on the phone, he slaps me often…” whilst visiting her at her Mums.
If the lawyer would have interviewed my daughter whilst in my care this would not have been said. I have not seen her for a month. Or talked to her. I have never slapped her often. I admit to slapping her back when she hit me once.
Her mum and her wannabe upper class but always middle class grandad, David Gilmour from Paraparaumu has managed to get her to say all this.
When will I ever get a say?
I don’t hold up much hope of ever getting a fair hearing. I say stuff, the people hear it, write it down and throw it up into the air and it comes down as confetti. It doesn’t even land in this time zone.
Of course my little girl will not want to rock the boat of her main caregiver whom she knows hates me.
Wake the fuck up family court.