| Biographical Non-Fiction posted July 31, 2021 |
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Friend's ordeal triggers dreadful memories
Flashback
by Elizabeth Emerald
The author has placed a warning on this post for language.
Thirty-one years ago, I wrote a book titled The Only Passing Grade is "A."
Don't bother Googling. I solicited agents back when; the one who bothered to reply told me she had considered it, but ultimately decided it was "too personal for publication."
Personal indeed. The book comprises a day by day log of my eight-month trial experience, as co-defendant, with my then-husband.
Our trial was not conducted in a courtroom. Which is unfortunate, because the burden of proof would have been on the State, and we'd have been acquitted forthwith. (Which is moot, given we wouldn't have been indicted on the flimsy basis of a neighbor's suspicion.)
The charge? Child abuse.
When a child's welfare is at stake, the justice system is turned on its head. Once accused, one is adjudged guilty unless proved innocent.
Good luck with that. In order to satisfy Child Services, one must muster irrefutable evidence of six-star parenthood: thus was inspired the title of my book.
Dick and I rated two-stars; i.e.,"Improvement Needed." We desperately needed, and fortunately found, a good lawyer A$AP. (Spoiler Alert: Money well $pent.)
Backstory:
A neighbor, who'd oft heard Dick "advising" the g*dd@m kids not to run into the f#(k!n& street, noted my three-year-old son's swollen, purpled cheek. She drew the understandable, albeit erroneous, inference that Dick had punched him in the face. She called Child Services, and their minions descended upon us.
Dan had incurred the injury by jumping off the top bunk and face planting onto a butter-cookie tin filled with miniature metal cars. If the anonymous Mrs. Tryder had mentioned her concern to me, I'd have told her I knew for a fact, having been present, that Dan's bruise was self-inflicted. I would have readily acknowledged that, notwithstanding his innocence, Dick was a foul-mouthed sonof@b!t(h. Presumably, we'd have bonded in mutual sympathy for being obliged to endure Dick's l!ngu!$t!c indulgences, and that would have been a wrap.
As it was, we were forced to contend with a formidable pair of social workers, who are exempt from being sued for affirming unfounded allegations of child abuse. Conversely, they can be called to account for not doing due diligence. Thus, it is to their benefit to err by means of a false positive report.
It didn't help matters that, when the ladies came a'callin' that April Fool's Day (!) in 1989, Dick treated them to an impressive display of l@ng#@ge @rt$.
Two days ago, my friend Marlene's husband (Tony and Dick were separated at birth) greeted their uninvited caseworkers in $!m!l@r terms.
Marlene's marriage is as miserable as mine was and her elder daughter is profoundly disturbed, as was my elder son. ("Evidence," times two, of unfit parenthood, regardless of relevance to the accusation that triggered the investigation.)
Unlike me, Marlene is a five-star mother. But given Tony is a two-star father, their parental average is ... average. Not good enough.
My advice to Marlene:
Get the best lawyer you can't afford.
Thirty-one years ago, I wrote a book titled The Only Passing Grade is "A."
Don't bother Googling. I solicited agents back when; the one who bothered to reply told me she had considered it, but ultimately decided it was "too personal for publication."
Personal indeed. The book comprises a day by day log of my eight-month trial experience, as co-defendant, with my then-husband.
Our trial was not conducted in a courtroom. Which is unfortunate, because the burden of proof would have been on the State, and we'd have been acquitted forthwith. (Which is moot, given we wouldn't have been indicted on the flimsy basis of a neighbor's suspicion.)
The charge? Child abuse.
When a child's welfare is at stake, the justice system is turned on its head. Once accused, one is adjudged guilty unless proved innocent.
Good luck with that. In order to satisfy Child Services, one must muster irrefutable evidence of six-star parenthood: thus was inspired the title of my book.
Dick and I rated two-stars; i.e.,"Improvement Needed." We desperately needed, and fortunately found, a good lawyer A$AP. (Spoiler Alert: Money well $pent.)
Backstory:
A neighbor, who'd oft heard Dick "advising" the g*dd@m kids not to run into the f#(k!n& street, noted my three-year-old son's swollen, purpled cheek. She drew the understandable, albeit erroneous, inference that Dick had punched him in the face. She called Child Services, and their minions descended upon us.
Dan had incurred the injury by jumping off the top bunk and face planting onto a butter-cookie tin filled with miniature metal cars. If the anonymous Mrs. Tryder had mentioned her concern to me, I'd have told her I knew for a fact, having been present, that Dan's bruise was self-inflicted. I would have readily acknowledged that, notwithstanding his innocence, Dick was a foul-mouthed sonof@b!t(h. Presumably, we'd have bonded in mutual sympathy for being obliged to endure Dick's l!ngu!$t!c indulgences, and that would have been a wrap.
As it was, we were forced to contend with a formidable pair of social workers, who are exempt from being sued for affirming unfounded allegations of child abuse. Conversely, they can be called to account for not doing due diligence. Thus, it is to their benefit to err by means of a false positive report.
It didn't help matters that, when the ladies came a'callin' that April Fool's Day (!) in 1989, Dick treated them to an impressive display of l@ng#@ge @rt$.
Two days ago, my friend Marlene's husband (Tony and Dick were separated at birth) greeted their uninvited caseworkers in $!m!l@r terms.
Marlene's marriage is as miserable as mine was and her elder daughter is profoundly disturbed, as was my elder son. ("Evidence," times two, of unfit parenthood, regardless of relevance to the accusation that triggered the investigation.)
Unlike me, Marlene is a five-star mother. But given Tony is a two-star father, their parental average is ... average. Not good enough.
My advice to Marlene:
Get the best lawyer you can't afford.
Don't bother Googling. I solicited agents back when; the one who bothered to reply told me she had considered it, but ultimately decided it was "too personal for publication."
Personal indeed. The book comprises a day by day log of my eight-month trial experience, as co-defendant, with my then-husband.
Our trial was not conducted in a courtroom. Which is unfortunate, because the burden of proof would have been on the State, and we'd have been acquitted forthwith. (Which is moot, given we wouldn't have been indicted on the flimsy basis of a neighbor's suspicion.)
The charge? Child abuse.
When a child's welfare is at stake, the justice system is turned on its head. Once accused, one is adjudged guilty unless proved innocent.
Good luck with that. In order to satisfy Child Services, one must muster irrefutable evidence of six-star parenthood: thus was inspired the title of my book.
Dick and I rated two-stars; i.e.,"Improvement Needed." We desperately needed, and fortunately found, a good lawyer A$AP. (Spoiler Alert: Money well $pent.)
Backstory:
A neighbor, who'd oft heard Dick "advising" the g*dd@m kids not to run into the f#(k!n& street, noted my three-year-old son's swollen, purpled cheek. She drew the understandable, albeit erroneous, inference that Dick had punched him in the face. She called Child Services, and their minions descended upon us.
Dan had incurred the injury by jumping off the top bunk and face planting onto a butter-cookie tin filled with miniature metal cars. If the anonymous Mrs. Tryder had mentioned her concern to me, I'd have told her I knew for a fact, having been present, that Dan's bruise was self-inflicted. I would have readily acknowledged that, notwithstanding his innocence, Dick was a foul-mouthed sonof@b!t(h. Presumably, we'd have bonded in mutual sympathy for being obliged to endure Dick's l!ngu!$t!c indulgences, and that would have been a wrap.
As it was, we were forced to contend with a formidable pair of social workers, who are exempt from being sued for affirming unfounded allegations of child abuse. Conversely, they can be called to account for not doing due diligence. Thus, it is to their benefit to err by means of a false positive report.
It didn't help matters that, when the ladies came a'callin' that April Fool's Day (!) in 1989, Dick treated them to an impressive display of l@ng#@ge @rt$.
Two days ago, my friend Marlene's husband (Tony and Dick were separated at birth) greeted their uninvited caseworkers in $!m!l@r terms.
Marlene's marriage is as miserable as mine was and her elder daughter is profoundly disturbed, as was my elder son. ("Evidence," times two, of unfit parenthood, regardless of relevance to the accusation that triggered the investigation.)
Unlike me, Marlene is a five-star mother. But given Tony is a two-star father, their parental average is ... average. Not good enough.
My advice to Marlene:
Get the best lawyer you can't afford.
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