Names, Not Numbers

I was in electrical for years. There were a lot of things I loved about that line of work but I always felt like I needed something more people-based. I had some great relationships there and I have fond memories of the guys I worked with but it was a job that required my head to be down. Rather than being and connecting with people, I was connecting with blueprints. I'm just not wired that way.

It was a tough decision to get into real estate but I knew deep down that I had to follow my heart. I also had complete confidence that my work ethic from electrical would translate over to real estate, and I was right. I love my job.

The day before court I had to bring in some papers to the courthouse and when I walked through the heavy wooden doors I was greeted with a numbers machine--those things that spit out numbers so that there's no need for a line-up. We all just crowd around each other, exchanging flu viruses and sad faces, and wait for our number to show up. It hit me hard in there, that what started this process was human connection and now it is reduced to numbers on paper. Heads down. Skin weathered by the harsh storms of life. Each of us sitting in a crowded room, but feeling more alone than ever.

I went to court the next day and the judge demanded that I pay money that I can't afford to pay, and when my lawyer defended me, the judge replied smugly, "well, Mr. Slane will just have to work harder, won't he?" And at that moment it felt like all my hard work was being balled up into a fist and punching me in my own stomach. My character was being mocked, and he doesn't even know me.

It doesn't have to be like this.

I drove out to Chilliwack to check on my clients and when I got to the door, the 80-something year-old husband was standing there in the doorway, feeling a different kind of pain, as he was holding a photo of he and his wife. In the photograph, their faces were pressed together, smiling and so in love, eyes sparkling of promise and hope even as they neared the end of their journey together. His wife has a brain tumor and is suffering with a myriad of maladies, one of which is confusion, and she had walked out of the house and was nowhere to be found.

I grabbed my keys and took off in my car, looking for her everywhere, mostly so that I could make sure she would be safely reconnected with her husband but also because I have this inherent need for some sort of happy ending in general, in life. We cannot be reduced to numbers. When his wife went missing, we all searched for Sam. We didn't search for #457.

And when I go back to court, I want that judge to look at Andrew, not #458.

Blinding Truth

It's easy to pretend something isn't there if we simply look away. You know the saying, "the elephant in the room?" It's nothing short of miraculous how we are able to see past a giant elephant's ass when we are determined enough to ignore it.

Humans have ignored problems since the beginning of time. Why? Because sometimes we just don't like what we see.

Lawrence Hill wrote in The Book of Negroes: "To gaze into another person's face is to do two things: to recognize their humanity and to assert your own." It's way easier to detach from people when we look away, or by way of technology (through texts, Facebook messages and emails), than if we were standing there with them, face to face, heart to heart. We can unleash the devil in lightening speed if we are merely one step removed.

I heard a story about an obese lady who went to the ER for something and when the doctor walked into the room he could barely breathe for the stench coming from the woman's body. Upon examination he found that maggots had settled in between her moist fat folds. He asked her if she knew about them and she said no, and when he asked her how she could not notice, she replied blankly, "I just had no idea."

She didn't want to know, so she didn't look.

I know of a more recent story involving someone close to my heart. This time the maggots came in the form of legal papers carrying with them the diseases of hate and selfish gain. Handed over to him in a blow so personal, at the very essence of his person as a man, as a daddy, he sunk to his knees with the force.

I can't talk about it because of the nature of the situation, but I know from being open with others in similar circumstances that the legal system has no mercy, for fathers in particular. Why? There's probably a myriad of reasons. But I highly doubt that this shit would go down if each person stood together, face to face. Instead we are served with legal papers, shipped from one vulturous lawyer to another where they finally land in our hands, merciless eating away our minds and hearts. Maggots. Scarring blows.

Why do we have to hurt each other so much? And shouldn't the "justice" system be able to step into an otherwise emotionally-charged situation and intervene with objective and fair solutions? Or are we still on that boat getting beaten with batons and starving to death while everyone simply looks away?

There will always be a lot of pain in this world because that's really what we do best. But I guarantee we'd do less of it if we lifted our eyes up high enough to get our fat faces out of the trough of selfishness and instead looked into the eyes of the people we are directly affecting with our actions.

And give that elephant's ass a spanking. 

Arise

I have kept silent for a few weeks now while keeping the beasts of injustice happy; they think they are safe from being called out. I won't be silent too much longer as I too have a boiling point. I am the voice of all of the fathers in the past and in the future who have given up on their dreams to create a fair and beautiful life of equality. From the blood-sucking lawyers to the exhausted judges, the system continues to let me down. I've seen it first hand and I will tell my story without prejudice.

A few weeks ago I had stepped foot into the blogging world only to be threatened to be sued for slander by one of the beasts. All I want to do is tell the truth, to get my story out to people who don't have the strength to fight this long fight on their own. I guess the beasts are scared of the truth, to see themselves for what they truly are: the images of disfigured justice. My own rights have been violated but as soon as I stand up for myself I get hit back down. It's not just me who this affects, but my children as well. We sip our $5 coffees as we drive our brand new cars, and yet our justice system is like that of a developing country.

Please feel free to message me if you have a story to tell. I was getting a lot of great feedback from fathers who have been absolutely screwed by this unjust system.

I will be the conduit that will carry the stories, starting with mine.

"You have not converted a man because you have silenced him." -John Morley