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Running on Fumes Sometimes

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As some noticed, a new chapter of Azkoval has been posted.

I thought I'd posted it six weeks ago but it seems that I forgot.

To update the familial situation:

After many stressful months - and more than few sleepless nights - we finally were able last week to welcome the newest addition to our family.

I've written previously about my new granddaughter's less-than-glorious entry in this world so I won't go into that again - other to note that some people are really pieces of shit and I hope their lives are filled with anal warts and festering pustules.

I detailed the facts surrounding the Little One's early years in a blog post from last July if anyone is interested.

The adoption process is never easy. It's intrusive. It's exhaustive (in every sense of the word). The process moves at a glacial pace and suddenly somebody shows up needing to see something (or be paid for something) in 20 minutes.

There is literally never a moment when you're certain everything is going to work out right - and most of the time you're positive that something is going to go wrong. It was horrible to watch from the outside and it almost broke my heart several times as I watched my daughter and son-in-law go through anguish as first one thing and then another cropped up. The thought of having the Little One taken out of our lives was harrowing.

In the following narrative, I use the word "we" a lot. I probably should use the word "they." But my wife and my kids (even the one that really isn't my kid, at all) gave emotional (and in my case, financial) support throughout. So I'm going to claim a portion of the credit for us that we aren't really due.

The problem with the Little One's original adoption five years ago came because of the birth father.

The birth father is not a citizen or a resident alien. He had little interested in participating in any legal process -- even one that promised anonymity. The current political situation means everyone is a target, I suppose.

He was part of the DACA program five years ago and he signed away his rights at that point -- but the process officially ended before his signature was notarized.

His DACA enrollment lapsed and he disappeared into a city where about 2 million people have his skin tone. Add in a very common name and you have a real problem.

It took almost three months to even locate him and then two more to get him to agree to sign paperwork. Except he had no documents to prove he was who he said he was. It took the help of an immigration attorney to get things moving.

I have no strong opinion on immigration (or at least none that is based on well-researched facts). I've seen the rhetoric (or propaganda) from each side (which, as above, clearly isn't based on well-researched fact) and I'm unimpressed by all their arguments.

By all rights, this kid isn't a bad person in any way. He was brought from his place of birth as a mere child. He no longer speaks his native language. He has no ties to his former homeland. Sending him back serves no real purpose that I can come up.

He's just as "Americanized" as I am. But, every day, he faces the prospect that someone will scoop him from where he's lived for 20 of his 24 years on the planet and ship him off to a place he doesn't remember.

I don't want to get off on a political diatribe. I truly understand both sides of the coin and I don't really like either. There just has to be a better way.

This was the final step in a very lengthy, very expensive adoption process.

I get that we can't just put these kids anywhere. But you have two good people -- with little debt, no criminal history, a stable relationship -- who want to bring in a child from outside. A simple background check pretty much tells you all you need to know these days.

Why should it take 10 months and cost close to $25,000?

We wound up hiring three separate attorneys (including one to help with the birth father's immigration status) and a private investigator for something that probably could have been decided in two weeks instead of 10 months.

The low point was getting to meet the people who had arranged to adopt the Little One five years ago -- but reneged because of the birth father's nationality.

I've written about "pieces of shit" but I have a new standard now. I swear, if it wouldn't have adversely affected the adoption, I would have seriously hurt both of these assholes.

I worked as a journalist for close to 20 years. Some of that time was working cops and courts. I've talked to people who've murdered their parents; I've been around rapists and pedophiles; I've met people who hit their kids or their spouses or their elderly parents. I've spent time around people who are involved in narcotic and human trafficking.

I know despicable when I see it. And I don't say this lightly.

Given the choice, I should spend time with any of the people I just mentioned if it meant I'd never have to be in proximity to these upper middle-class "pillars of the community" again.

They were more than willing to sign anything we put in front of them - for a price. I decided that I was willing to meet that price - but not for them. I was willing to pay that much to anybody who would put them in intensive care for an extended period of time. I finally decided I would rather do it myself.

I have a (relatively) clean record. I might even get off with probation. But, of course, given the continual background and financial checks Youth Services did on every member of the immediate family, it would have been a Pyrrhic victory.

Thankfully, the judge in the case had common sense. She simply terminated any on-going rights they might assert when she found out about their little extortion scheme.

We also pointed out that their "bleeding heart liberal" friends would be pretty disappointed to learn that they were just as racist as the white-nationalists they denigrate.

I'm a prick at heart so I'll probably wait a few months and then find a way to fuck with their reputation anyway. You can bet that they'll turn up in a story at some point along the line.

The process was so much fun that we're willing to do it all again.

Last month, our ward's father passed away. It wasn't unexpected and they weren't particularly close but it still hurt her.

Her mother is incarcerated for the next decade or so and she has no other relatives willing or able to care for her.

She's made strides over the past several months. She's in a new school and she has found new friends (who aren't into the same shit that her old friends were into). She goes to school with my son and stepson and they've helped to ease her transition.

With some of the baggage off her shoulders, she's started to turn the corner. She's still on probation (and will be for 18 more months) but she's been granted a little bit of leeway. We got to take her with us for the adoption hearing last week even though it meant taking her out of the county for three nights and she now only has to visit her PO every other month.

Her grades have improved. She's never going to be accepted to MIT but she's trying to do better in school and it shows. She's making better choices and learning to think about consequences. I wish I'd have learned to do that before I was well into my 30s.

Mostly, her demeanor has changed. She still has bouts of "teenage angst" and it would be stretch to call her "pleasant." But it's been a lot of years since I met a pleasant teenager who wasn't pulling the Eddie Haskell routine.

All I can say is that she's at least as nice as the other two teenagers living under my roof (and the two teenagers before that who grew into adults over the past few years).

Her tough facade started to fall away when it became evident that her father wasn't going to get better. We spent time talking about what was happening with him and what it meant for her.

She certainly doesn't deserve to be alone in the world at 17 years old.

We have permanent guardianship over her and we've offered to "make it official" even though the process might not end until after her 18th birthday.

This one should be easier than bringing the Little One into the fold. Her mother doesn't really give a shit about her. She'll sign whatever needs to be signed if I drop $10 on her commissary account.

A couple members of her mother's family came out of the woodwork when her father died but they disappeared pretty quickly when they found out that any money from his estate is to be held in trust until she turns 25 (or earns a college degree).

I'm the trustee and I made it clear that they'd play hell on Easter getting a penny of the money even if they did try for guardianship. That was the only clause I insisted upon: the trustee isn't her guardian; it's me - unless I die, then it's my wife or my daughter.

The reality is that there is only going to be a few thousand left after probate. Her father's illness was lengthy and costly. Hospice care consumed the sale of his house and most of his assets. A lot of his medical bills have been written off by the hospital but there are a few that still need to be paid. All in all, she's not going to get a whole lot. But anything would be enough for some of the vultures in her life.

And she'd be right back to the sort of life she had when she lived her her father.

I just can't let that happen when all it will take is a bit of patience and time and money to help her decide if she likes her new outlook on life better than her old one.

We're going to wait until school is out in a few weeks to really sit down and talk about what comes next for her.

Whatever she decides, I think she knows that we're not walking away and we'll always be here to help.

If it's as another daughter, that's great. If it's just as someone who cares about her as a person, that's fine, too.

So, as we've done for the past few months, we'll keep muddling along for a few more.

Jay C.

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