Herman and Jennifer went to court today to try to wrest custody of Herman's children from his first marriage from his wife. I went as their friend and supporter. I've been working with them all week, preparing their house for their kids. It's been a long week, and the anticipation was quite high. H and J's lawyer all but assured them victory in court, so I'm told. So confident are they of getting their children that they remodeled five out of six rooms of the upstairs of their house. It started last weekend with three days of solid work, and continued with work every night throughout the week to get their house ready. I went up last weekend and stayed with them a couple of days to help move furniture, paint and clean. Later in the week I spent two more nights up with them getting the last of the work done. Thursday night we finished. We were tired, but happy, and looking forward to Friday.
We woke up early on Friday and dressed in our good clothes for court. We picked up some pictures that H and J planned on using for court and proceeded to their lawyer's office. This was the first time I'd every been to a law office. Having seen lots of movies and TV shows, I was thinking the offices would be posh, maybe even luxurious. But, as is usually the case, reality is often much less glamorous. The offices were in a sort of strip mall, and the offices themselves were functional, yet very spartan. We were shown into an assistant's office where we had a pre-hearing discussion. We were shortly called over to the courthouse for the hearing.
We crossed the street to the courthouse, and I was turned away at the metal detectors. Apparently multi-tools and pocket knives are evil and disallowed in court. I love the way society feels that one weapon is any worse than another. It makes me feel like I live in the UK. But, to be expedient, I recrossed the street, handed over my tools to the assistant, and reentered the courthouse. Security was no problem this time, and I made my way to the elevator.
To say the next hour was bizarre doesn't do it justice. When I went up the elevator, I was sharing it with Herman's ex-wife, the respondent in today's case. That felt ultra-weird. After we emerged, they went one way and I went the other. (I wonder if they recognized me. I'm almost sure they did.) Down the hall were Herman, Jen, and their lawyer. The lawyer behaved very much like what I expected. Not quite what I saw on TV, but fairly close. After some last minute discussion and prep work, we entered the courtroom.
The courtroom itself was modern. There were three or four rows of what amounted to church pews without the holders for hymnals. The room was nicely decorated. The judge sat in the right-hand corner of the room as you face the courtroom. Each table had a microphone. The court reporter sat to the judge's right. The witness box was on the left of the judge and had a microphone also. To the left of the witness box was the bailiff. There were computer monitors in front of the judge, the court reporter, and the bailiff. The bailiff was wearing a brown shirt, dark pants, and was carrying what appeared to be a 1911 on his right side. The judge was woman, and was wearing the traditional black robe, exactly as expected.
What I didn't expect was the apparent looseness of the docket schedule. I didn't hear our case called. That's because it was called as soon as the previous case had finished. We were scheduled at 11am, but we were good to go as soon as the lawyers had set up. Our side set up and was ready first. The judge asked if the respondent had been notified as they were not there. They had, they were just running half a minute late. Our lawyer conferred with the ex-wife's lawyer for a time, then we were off and running.
Over the next half hour, I saw what had been acted out on TV hundreds of times. Lawyers called witnesses. Questions were asked. Testimony was given. The only thing I didn't expect was how witnesses would be sworn in. All witnesses were asked by the judge to rise and raise their right hands, and then she swore them all in at the same time. After the swearing, each was instructed to come forward and give their names to the court reporter. That done, the judge instructed all witnesses to leave the courtroom and wait until called. I was not a witness, so I could observe the entire proceeding. First Herman was called. Then Jennifer. Then we rested. Then the ex-wife was called. Finally, her lawyer testified as to what his expenses were. I don't feel it my duty or privilege to rehash everything that was said. The upshots were: the custody agreement was not changed, the ex-wife was instructed not to smoke around her kids, the place to exchange the kids was changed to a "more neutral" location, and Herman and Jen were instructed to pay the ex-wife's lawyer's expenses. Jennifer was fighting back tears in the courtroom. Herman was thunderstruck--a look of total, uncomprehending shock on his face.
Our lawyer was certainly not expecting the outcome. Once we were clear of the court, he said as much. He offered what advice he could under the circumstances, but whether any of it was heard or understood is something I'm not sure of. We just sat in the car in the law office parking lot for a time after the lawyer bade is farewell. Jennifer was sobbing. Herman was upset and trying to think of anything he could do to reverse the course of events. I sat in the back seat, teary-eyed, but trying to be strong. Finally, after having made a few phone calls, we proceeded on our way, shaken and uncertain of what to do.
After some consultations, all I could do was take them to lunch then return to base. Nobody had eaten anything at all up to this point in the day, and it was nearly half past two in the afternoon when we finally took a moment to eat. H and J were absolutely beside themselves with worry and rage, grasping at any stray or crazy idea that presented itself. H's mother and her husband came, but all that happened was more pot-stirring. We left the restaurant emotionally drained and exhausted and drove quietly back to H and J's house in Roanoke. They promptly passed out for a few blessed minutes before they were to pick up their kids, and I did some reflecting.
What am I getting myself into, I wondered. Finding my significant other, my wife, has been a priority for some time now. I want it to be the right person: the one I'll spend the rest of my life with. This experience upped the pressure on me to get it right. I don't ever want to have to go through this. To lose my kids and have to fight for them. To see my kids stripped away from me by some stranger in a black robe. To be told I can only do certain things certain way and only on certain days by an impersonal, cold legal system. What am I getting myself into?
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