Since the day I left Luc, I have been fighting for survival – physical and emotional survival.  Sadly, my son didn’t survive the fight.  I was not able to protect him no matter how much time, money, and emotional energy I spent.    These past two years have been a nightmare to live through.  For many who are reading this post, you understand all too well the trauma of Family Court.  While most will not lose their child to a senseless and pre-meditated murder, they will lose a sense of themselves in that courtroom that they might spend the better part of their lives trying to recover. Others, will be forced to watch the emotional death of their child as the war rages onward.  To all those still in the war, I hope that my story will continue to give you the strength to fight – even on the toughest of days.  The days when you have run out of money – days when you are crying on the bathroom floor – and days when you wonder if you will ever see your child again.

I write to you all of you to thank you for your support.  For those of you who have been following me from the first post, those of you who have just discovered my story, and those who will continue with me on this journey for justice and fight for reform.

A reporter recently attempted to get me to comment on what seemed to be turning into a “pissing contest” with Luc in the media.  This reporter flippantly referred to the death of my son, from a “crude journalists worldview”, as a “great story”.  Reading the murder of my son referred to in this way made me to want to vomit all over my computer screen.  In light of this “crude worldview”, I have decided to take a break from blogging until the end of the trial.

(Note:  The majority of media I have spoken with have been extremely sensitive and supportive.  The above refers to a select few, and not the majority I have encountered.  For those who have reported on this case with respect for my son and his life, I thank you.)

I am no longer in any legal war with Luc.  It is not my job nor is it my place to respond to every inane defense that Luc’s lawyer attempts to throw at the wall during this process.  As is the case in any criminal case, the State brings criminal charges against the individual.  This current situation that Luc finds himself in is of his own doing.  The charges, the trial, and the eventual conviction are all things the State will pursue.  Of course, because my son was the child murdered, I clearly have a strong desire to see that justice is served.  That being said, this case is The Commonwealth vs. Rams – Not McLeod vs. Rams as it was when I still had a son whom I was trying to protect.

I am not abandoning the blog, nor will I stop writing.  I am simply taking a break to force a shift in focus here.  I don’t have any special insight into what the State is planning on presenting.  In fact, I have purposely tried to stay away from the gruesome medical evidence surrounding my son’s murder.  I hope that the media will focus on the facts, and watch as the case unfolds to the public through the trial.

In the meantime, I will keep engaging in meaningful dialogue surrounding child safety, domestic violence, and family court on my Facebook site:  https://www.facebook.com/cappuccinomama

Stay strong folks and please pray for me and my family through this process of waiting for justice for my son.  Prince was an angel.  I have said time and time again – that child saved my life and without a doubt the lives of many whom he will never even meet.  May you rest in peace my little boy.

Thank you for your support and understanding through this difficult time.

It’s been a while since I have spoken directly about what is happening in the State’s case against Luc.  Anyone who follows my blog is aware that since the murder of my son, I have spent nearly all of my waking hours (when not in my full-time job trying to stay afloat financially) fighting for justice.  Though the justice system moves much slower than most victims would like, this past Monday was a small victory for justice in what is sure to be a long and tiresome journey.  While I have taken on a lot of issues lately on this blog related to child welfare, domestic violence, and family law, for today’s post I want to share with you what the pre-trial was like for me.  I hope this will allow you all to see a small window into what our “justice” system is like for the victims.

Before Court:

The night before the trial, I couldn’t sleep.  I spent hours wondering how I would feel when I would have to come face to face with my son’s murderer.  I also wondered how I would be able to contain myself from flying over the witness stand and slapping both him and his attorney across the face.  After spending months attempting to properly grieve for my son, while making sure all of the people involved in signing my son’s death papers (attorneys, judges, police, fraudulent therapists) couldn’t hide from their role in this horrible situation, I was left to think about how to deal with something that might seem like a fairly simple task – walking into a court room and telling the story all over again to a judge.

The morning of the trial, I woke up in a Manassas hotel and looked over the clothes I had packed.  ’What do I even wear to the trial for my son’s murderer,’ I thought as I stared down at my clothes.  I immediately remembered having a similar feeling when I was forced to decide what to wear to my 15 month old son’s funeral.  ’Was this really my life,’ I thought in disbelief.  ’Who does this?!?!’

The Arrival:

I arrived to the court in full on mafia-like style.  I have a huge family (who some jokingly refer to as “The Catholic Mafia”) walking along side me.  We were a force to be reckoned with – several angry Mamas who had nothing to lose.  My father joined us later in the day as well as Shawn Mason’s family who were also out to see Justice served.  Walking in with all these people beside me, I felt so proud.  I thought to myself, ‘this is how we roll Luc…you had no idea what you messed with here.’

Shortly after I arrived, the media started rolling in.  I took that opportunity to point them in the direction of Luc’s supporters (all two of them).  For the purpose of this blog, we will just refer to his main supporter as “the boyfriend”.  Luc’s boyfriend, in true psychopath fashion, saw me pointing him out to the media and immediately called for police protection as if I was going to bother touching him.  This display of ridiculousness made me chuckle as it reminded me of the pathetic antics Luc used to play in Family Court when he tried to make the world believe he was the victim.  The boyfriend was terrified.  He was not terrified that I would hit him, but he was terrified at my power to expose him for his involvement in this whole nightmare.

The Entrance Of The Monkey In The Orange Jumpsuit:

As the judge entered the room, my heart started beating faster as I anticipated the arrival of the devil himself.  A few minutes later, Luc was led into the room in an orange jump suit by a police officer.  To my surprise, he didn’t look much like I had remembered at all.  His hair was matted to his head and frizzy, his skin a grayish tint, and his face was puffy as if he had been eating a few too many donuts while in prison.  At first I had to do a double take to even make sure it was him, but then I saw the menacing look in his eye and the familiar smirk that came across his face as he noticed a full courtroom.  He looked like a caged monkey who had just been taken for a walk by the prison guards.

While I had been worried about how I would feel in this moment, I immediately felt a huge sense of relief as I realized that I would walk out of this courthouse at the end of the day without Luc in my life.  I would leave his pathetic existence behind me in that courthouse – the fight would end here.  This wasn’t even my fight – now it was the State who had the job of exposing the horror to the court.

After being sworn in, me and the other witnesses were told to leave the courtroom and wait for our turn to be called to the witness stand.  I walked out of the courtroom confident that this day would be miserable for Luc as he would finally have to face the reality of what he had done.  Family Court had been full of second chances and lies, however, I had a sinking suspicion that criminal court might play out a little differently.

On The Witness Stand:

My testimony seemed to be simple.  I explained my last morning with Prince and how he had been feeling.  I told the judge about how I had let Prince sleep in that morning, and how he followed me around the house saying “Mama, Mama…” in his quiet voice.  I talked about how I brought him to the grocery store right before the visit and let him run around and get out some energy.  We played tag that morning as he laughed, sang, and spoke to all the grocery store employees.

When it was time for cross-examination, Luc’s attorney was clearly full of misinformation and intent on filling the room with smoke and clouds.  His line of questioning was such that he seemed to be trying to set the stage to say that my son had been sick and that somehow I had hidden this fact from Luc.  After setting the record straight, and informing the judge that I had provided Luc will all the necessary information on how to care for a baby (in writing and via the supervisor of the exchanges), it seemed as though Luc’s attorney had nowhere to go.  He fidgeted with his notes and stuttered that he had no further questions.  His questions about seizures annoyed me.  I wanted to scream and inform him of the large elephant in the room by saying, “Sir – I hate to state the obvious here, but seizures don’t cause drowning.”  As I walked past the defense table, I turned and looked straight at Luc (who was actively avoiding eye contact as he looked down at his bright orange attire) and said, “ugh…baby killer…good riddance.”

The Ruling:

Once all of the witnesses had been called, we were all allowed back in the courtroom to hear the judge’s ruling.  Since it was only a hearing to establish probable cause and whether or not the case should go to trial, I wasn’t too worried about the judge setting Luc free that day.  (Though I am sure that Luc believed he would be going home with his boyfriend that very afternoon)  Oddly, as I walked back into the courtroom, one of the police officers warned me not to have an outburst once the verdict was read.  In that moment, I think my jaw might have dropped a little as I gave the officer a confused look.  I wondered if in my stressful morning I had dressed in Jerry Springer guest type attire or if this was a common warning given to all victims of such a hideous crime.

After shaking my head and assuring the man that I would not release my inner “angry black woman”, I came back to my seat to listen to Luc’s fate.  The defense lawyer muddled through his closing statement and tried to make it appear as though he had more medical experience than the medical examiner.  The prosecution, however, was not phased by his feeble attempts to shift the focus and hijack the discourse.  She elegantly and simply spoke to the judge and reminded the court of why we were there, and that the judge was only supposed to determine that a crime had occurred and that Luc was likely the person who committed the crime.

Luckily, this did not appear hard for the judge as he quickly noted his belief that the threshold had been met, and that this matter should be sent onward to the grand jury.  Of course, in true Luc fashion, he began his monkey like dance in his chair and a scorned look came across his face as if he had been the person wronged by the system.  For all the sane people in the room, excluding Luc’s boyfriend of course, a wave of relief overcame us all.

Upon my exit from the courtroom, Luc’s boyfriend decided to make an attempt to show his dismay by starting toward me as if he had something he wanted to say.  As he opened his mouth to verbally abuse me (likely in an attempt to defend his man), I simply said to him, “you are next to be in that orange suit *****”.  I walked out of the courtroom with my head held high – happy that I would not be followed by the monkey wearing the orange jump suit.

It is no secret how I feel about the state of women in America (and all over the world).  I have often referred to the fact that it appears as though the courts have waged a war on Motherhood.  In recent news, it appears as though the justice system has intentionally turned a blind eye to the idea of a woman’s right to choose when and where she has sex – and with whom.  The message young boys and men are being sent in our current society is that they are allowed to have sex with whomever they desire – regardless of whether or not the woman is consenting.  If the woman doesn’t want to have sex, a man can simply just video tape her and tell everyone she is a whore.  Instead of going to prison, the rapist will be able to terrorize his victim relentlessly without any consequences for his behavior.

Some people might read this and think I am being overly dramatic.  ’Come on Cappuccino Queen, its not like men are running around raping women in the streets,’ you might be thinking.  While it might not have reached that level of social exception, it is disturbing that according to a 2010 Center for Disease Control survey, nearly 1 in 5 women in the United States have been raped at some point in their life, including forced and attempted forced penetration and alcohol/drug facilitated penetration.  Forty-two percent of female rape victims experienced their first rape before the age of 18.

Current Events:

Just this month, two teenage girls have killed themselves after photos of their sexual abuse were posted online. Rehtaeh Parsons was 17 years old.  She was called a slut and bullied after her abusers emailed photos of her sexual assault around the school.  The other girl, 15-year-old Audrie Pott took her own life after pictures of her sexual assault by three boys appeared online.

A sane person would think that the fear of getting caught for raping a girl would deter a rapist from posting the evidence of the rape online; however, many times rapists use video tapes or pictures in an attempt to claim that a girl consented to sex.  Those who find it easier to blame the victim instead of consider the horrible truth, might jump to the conclusion that the girl wouldn’t let somebody take their picture if they weren’t consenting to sex.  The breakdown of that argument, however, comes when you consider the obvious reality that in most cases the woman is not consenting to be photographed or video taped and unless you are present in the room when the event occurred – there is no way to determine who controlled the video, how it was taken, and the level of consent from all parties.

The Amazing Male Circle of Trust:

While I don’t have the personal experience of being raped, video tapped, and then assaulted again when the sexual assault video footage goes viral, I do know exactly what its like to be written off as a liar simply because of my gender.  It is amazing how Judge Algeo had no evidence to suggest that Luc cared about Prince, other than his word, yet he was so convinced that Luc’s motives were pure.  He chose to believe a man who couldn’t even tell the truth about how old he was, and who had a history of abuse and chaos that followed him where ever he went.

One of my witnesses, who Luc had been involved with at some point, was written off in court by Judge Algeo didn’t agree with the choices she had made when she was younger and the jobs she had chosen to work.  Luc had never held an honest job in his life, but his word meant more than this woman who has worked steady jobs since the day she left school.  Judge Algeo didn’t seem to be concerned about the fact that Luc had no problem leeching financially off of this woman, but couldn’t seem to get past his own personal bias against her former lifestyle choices.  She was written off as a slut in Algeo’s eyes, while the man who sexually abused and exploited her  was brought into the court’s circle of trust.

It’s all connected:

In the “lovely” state of Maryland, even sex offenders and rapists have rights to their children.  Regardless of their personal history, the slate is wiped clean when you enter into custody court.  While I understand that there are men out there who have suffered through the abuses of Family Court as well, I see all to often that when it comes down to he said/she said the court seems to revert to the early 19 hundred before women were trusted to vote in this country.  Women are most likely to be written off as “scorned” and judges assume they are making “false accusations” while often times men are looked to for the “voice of truth and reason”.

The recent examples that we are seeing in the media surrounding rape and suicide are yet another example of a man’s word continuously being taken over that of a woman.  When a woman is seen on a sex tape, she  is automatically viewed as dirty regardless of her role in the planning of the video.  A man, however, is still given a pat on the back for his sexual conquest.  Even if you are disgusted by the video, you might be of the camp that says, “well boys will be boys.”

When Luc presented his illegal sex video to the police depicting a sexual assault.  The police responded by saying, “Well, he isn’t a good guy – but we don’t believe he is a rapist.”  Why not Prince William County?  What about this man’s character makes you just want to trust his word?  He is not an honest tax paying citizen, your patrols have been called to his home for domestic disturbances several times in the last few years, and he has nothing to prove that he is honest – yet he is standing in front of you as a man telling you that the woman in the video wanted it.

The police officers and school officials who ignored the cases involving Audrie Pott and Rehtaeh Parsons should be ashamed that they didn’t do something sooner to prevent these deaths from happening.  The police officers who allowed Luc to go free after he sexually assaulted an innocent woman (just because he had the nerve to illegally video tape the incident), should be ashamed of themselves too.  They should feel responsible for what happened as a result of letting a criminal go free.

There are many people who can ignore injustices like this and look at it like someone else’s problem.  One of the parents from Newtown said it well when he said, “you can keep ignoring the problem saying it only happens in other neighborhoods..until one day you wake up and it has not only happened in your neighborhood…it has happened to you.”

Injustice to this disgusting degree is everyone’s problem.

I distinctly remember being 16 years old and walking through the mall with my friends.  My eye was suddenly drawn to a teenage boy (who happened to be black) with his pants sagging nearly to his knees.  He had on a poorly fitting belt and his boxers were completely showing.  He walked around as if he owned the mall, all the while loudly cursing at his girlfriend and friends and attracting all sorts of negative attention.  I remember cringing as I watched him.  I didn’t cringe because I was embarrassed for him.  I cringed because I was embarrassed by him.  I knew that there would be people who looked at him as some sort of prime example of blackness.  I knew that I would have to fight daily to erase that image of blackness from the minds of many people.

16 year old Cappuccino Queen believed she was the most mature teenager who ever lived.  I thought that I knew a whole lot about the world.  Even though my short 16 year old life experiences had taught me something about the ugliness of racism, and I had what I felt to be a good reason to cringe at the thuggishly dressed – ill behaved black teen, I didn’t realize how much about the world I still needed to learn.  I didn’t realize how my judgements on other groups was just the same as the ignorant people who chose to judge the entire black race based on one immature teenage boy who was trying to “show out” for his friends.

What did being a single mother mean to me?

I was the young woman in college who told all of her friends that she would never have sex before marriage.  I didn’t ever think it was possible for me to “end up as a single mom” because I believed that I commanded more respect from men – I believed in the stigma that has haunted single mothers for generations.  I judged single mothers the way ignorant people judged all black people based on rap videos and loud mall kids.  I believed that people had complete control over their destiny and that single mothers were single because it was their own fault.

I sure did talk a good game in college.  I went through my entire college years with my virginity completely intact.  I had intended on keeping it that way until I was married.  I believed that would ensure that I would not end up a single parent and fall victim to the evil statistic of black single mothers.  I never imagined that my first sexual experience would not be with my husband – it would be rape.

What does being a single mother mean to me now?

Life has slapped immature and naive Cappuccino Queen in the face.  Before I was a parent, I had no idea what it was like to be any kind of parent.  I had no business passing judgement on anyone.  Being a parent is hard – period.  It is the most amazing gift from God, but it is hands down one of the hardest thing in life.  It isn’t hard because of the diaper changing and the crying, it’s hard because it requires you to love with your entire heart – your entire being.  Before Prince, I didn’t know what it felt like to literally be willing to lay down my life for someone else.  I had never fought so hard and loved so completely.  To love someone that much is hard because you expect the best from yourself.

Despite my naive childhood belief that I would, under no circumstances, become a single mother – I became one.  It was only after becoming a single mother that I was able to truly appreciate the struggle, pain, and joy that being a mother brings.  I don’t sit here on a high horse looking down at other mothers saying that I somehow had it harder because I was a single mother; however, I do wear being a single mom like a badge of honor.  It’s an invisible badge that I am proud of because it represents love, struggle, battle wounds, and shows how far I have come.  Something I would have been ashamed of in college is now something that represents a source of pride.  Being a single mother is part of my identity because its my experience.

Every parent has a unique experience with parenthood.  No easier – no more difficult – but different.  Whether you are a single parent, working parent, stay at home parent – you should wear it with pride because it represents something important for which you undoubtedly have worked your hardest.  (Note:  …unless you are a deadbeat parent…in which case you should wear a neon sign on your head so that we can all be sure to avoid you in the future.)

A few days ago, Michelle Obama slipped up during a press interview and called herself a single mother.  She quickly corrected herself and said she was a “working mother”, but that sometimes she felt like a single mother because her husband worked so hard and was often gone.  While I cannot pretend to imagine what it would be like to walk in Michelle Obama’s shoes (and I believe she is one amazing woman in her own right),  she also cannot pretend to imagine what it would be like to walk in my shoes – as a single mother.

In the past few days, I have heard folks make comments that single mothers “just like to complain” and that it “isn’t that hard.”  That is a laughable and silly notion.  Just as silly as if I told a military wife, whose husband was serving in Afghanistan – was home raising their children in his absence -and worrying that their father would never come home, that she was being ridiculous for expressing how tough things were.  Being a parent is tough.  I try not to compare the apples and oranges of parenthood.  For those of us who love our children with all our hearts, we will face challenges as a parent in various ways.

I am Prince’s SINGLE MAMA:

Prince was my heart.  Every single day, I woke up knowing that he relied on me to take care of him.  I was the one and only person who was responsible for making sure he was clothed, fed, and healthy.  When important decisions were to be made, I had tons of support from friends and family – but it was my ultimate decision alone.  Nobody on this planet cared about him the way I did, and that was evident by the way his father treated him in the end.  There are many people who loved Prince so much and who feel terrible about what happened to him  They might even feel personally responsible for not doing more to try and stop what happened to him.  For me, however, as a single mom – and the one who was solely responsible for his well being – I bear this on my shoulders the way nobody else can.  I don’t say that to complain or to cause people to feel bad for me.  I say this so that people understand what being a parent is like for one single mother – what it was like for me.

Raising a child truly takes a village of people.  I used to think that was a corny statement that only politicians pulled out of cans when they were trying to sell some education bill.  After being a mother, however, I know how true this is.  Despite how big or small your village is, being a parent is a tough job if done well.  Moving forward, I pray that people will look beyond their personal situation and dig deep.  Be thankful for the situation you have, the life you have been given, and the people who share the love of your child.  And the next time you see a single mother with her child (or children), don’t assume you understand her situation or begin to judge her just because her path was different than your own.

On March 24, 2013,  a Washington Post Editorial shed light on the ugly realities of Child Abuse in our country.  According to the Washington Post, experts estimate that more than 2,000 children die from abuse and neglect each year, with nearly 82 percent of victims being under the age of 4.  The Post then goes on to disclose a possibly even more disturbing comparison when it mentions that between 2001 and 2010 15,510 children were reported to have died from child abuse and neglect.  This number is 2 1/2 times the number of U.S. troops killed in Iraq and Afghanistan.

When I read the Post editorial, I stared at my computer in shock – completely hung up on these statistics.  Ironically, while I was reading the editorial, the national news was playing in the background.  The newscaster was discussing how careful we must be when we send our troops to war, and the tragedies that occur on the home front when a soldier doesn’t return.  My son was sent to war too, but it was a different war.  It was a domestic war that children are fighting every day.  Healthy mothers and fathers are forced to send their children to the battle lines of a disordered/crazy/abusive “co-parent” –  armed with nothing more than the hope that they will return unharmed.

The War:

I have spoken with many parents about Family Court, my beliefs when it comes to the system, and tips I learned the hard way.  When I describe Child Custody as a Custody War, I am not trying to be dramatic.  That is exactly what it is.  If you are faced with going to court for custody of your child, with someone whom you believe to have a personality disorder, it will not just be a battle it will be a full on war.  These individuals need to feel as if they win no matter what happens and they will continue the battles until the war is won to their satisfaction.  The reality is – this war could very well last 18 years.  It will be ugly, your child will likely suffer as a result, and the court will inevitably not put the child’s needs first – ever.

Difficult Questions:

Not every custody situation needs to turn into a war.  While I understand first hand how emotions can run high when it comes to your child, it is in the best interest of your child to step back and try to look at the situation with the most objective eye possible.  Before entering into a war, I suggest asking yourself the most important question every parent should ask themselves in a situation like this:  ”Will my child’s parent physically harm my child – intentionally or by neglecting the child’s immediate needs?”

Honest Answers:  

If the answer to the above question is “yes”, you need to find the most intelligent/aggressive attorney you can afford, dig your heels in, and prepare for an all out Custody War.  Your child deserves to be protected and deserves the healthiest life you can possibly provide them.  If the unthinkable happens to you, as it did to me, you will need to know that you did everything in your power to save your child or else you will blame yourself forever.

If, however, the honest answer is “no” then you need to think hard about what is making you uncomfortable about the other parent.  The hard reality is that the world is full of terribly immoral jerks.  Your child’s father or mother might just be one of them.  Your child will run into a lot of jerks in his/her life and you will not be able to shield them from these deplorable people forever.  Trust me when I tell you that if the other parent is a scumbag, your child will probably realize this before you need to even utter a word.

One of my readers told me about something her young daughter recently said after coming home from a visit with her father.  (Note: the child is about four years old)  The child wisely said, “Mama, I don’t think Daddy is a very good person.  He lies a lot.”  The woman was shocked (and a bit worried) as she had worked very hard to make sure her daughter never heard her speak negatively about the father.  While the father would without a doubt blame parental alienation for his daughter’s statements, the reality of the situation is that this child is just perceptive.  Children can spot bad sometimes sooner than adults can.  Prince hated evil.  He was always able to spot it and it didn’t take me having to tell him.  In fact, he wouldn’t have understood me even if I had tried.

Little Soldiers:

Possibly the most painful part of any Custody War is the days when you will have to send your child to someone you wouldn’t even hire to be your daycare provider.  Even worse, the constant reminder that you had a child with this person and will be battling this monster for 18 years.  No matter how awful it feels to constantly drag yourself into court day after day, turn most or all of your salary over to attorneys, and face legal abuse every single day – your child is the real soldier.  Your child will be on the front lines of this war and you will not always be there to protect him/her.

I wish there were something I could say – some advice that I could give on how you could prepare your child with some sort of weapon for protection.  The only weapons there are in this fight are the weapons of love and hope.  I will never forget the last time I saw my son.  As I placed him in the supervisor’s car, I kissed him on the face, hugged him tight, and told him how much I loved him.  I armed him with love that day.  It was all I had to give him.  There are days when I am angry at myself – wishing that I could have armed him with more.  In the end, however, I know that at least my son knew real love in his 15 months of life.  My son knew that day how much his Mommy loved him.  That is what I hold onto when I am so angry and full of rage at the outcome of my Custody War.

I had hoped and prayed that I would be able to give Prince more, but that is all I had – love and hope.  I now fight every day to make sure that your children are armed with more than mine was.  In order to make children safe, we need to stop making them soldiers and stop sending them to the front lines of battle.  We need to change the minds of those who feel the need to send them – the courts.

Prince was a brave soldier.  I am a proud Mama knowing that even after he is gone, he will fight to protect those who will stand on the front lines after him.  I will fight to make sure of it.

This week’s post comes from a good friend of mine,  and famous Daddy blogger, Doyin at Daddy Doin’ Work. I asked Doyin to share  what being a father means to him and how he feels when he hears about all the terrible deadbeat Dads out there.  In the past two years, I have seen the worst when it comes to Dads.  Doyin, however, is a great example of what a father should look like.  It is refreshing to read the raw emotion that comes through when he writes about his child.  Thank you Doyin for bringing light and hope to fatherhood.  I hope you all enjoy his words as much as I did.

The Most Important Job

Rewind to December 2009. I was a happy guy, my wife was 11 weeks pregnant, and I was going to be a dad for the first time. Words couldn’t describe how pumped I was to be a father. In June of 2010 (ironically, the due date was a day before Father’s Day) I was going to meet the baby boy or girl that I was already completely in love with…and then my world came crashing down.

Three days prior to Christmas 2009, my wife and I lost our baby.

I understand that bad things can happen during the first trimester, but that didn’t ease our devastation. I put on a brave face for my wife by saying everything will be OK, and I told my inner circle that we’ll dust ourselves off and try again – but privately I was a mess. I didn’t eat, I lost a lot of weight, and spent a lot of my private moments in tears. I knew I had to move forward, but I didn’t know how. I would hear stories of deadbeat dads, lazy dads, and dads who frankly don’t give a shit about anyone but themselves - and I would become enraged. How the hell could someone father a child and not want to be involved in their lives? I’d give up anything to raise a baby. That’s all I wanted. I’m far from the most religious guy you’ll come across, but I promised God that if we were lucky enough to have a child – I would be the best dad I could be for my baby, if I could just get the chance. All I wanted was a chance.

After what seemed like the longest wait ever, I finally became a father to a beautiful baby girl in January 2011.

When I held my baby for the first time, I felt a rush of emotion that I will never forget for as long as I’m alive. I cried, laughed, and felt as if I could leap tall buildings with a single bound. As I wheeled her bassinet down the empty hospital hallway so she could have her first bath, I whispered to her, ”Hi there. I’m not perfect, but I will dedicate my life to ensuring yours is amazing as possible. I love you, kiddo.” She was sleeping peacefully, but I know she heard me.

I don’t take any moment with my daughter for granted, I cherish all of the time I have with her, and I miss her like hell when she’s not with me. Poopy diapers, tantrums, late-night meltdowns, whatever – I don’t really care. I asked for this, I prayed for this, I am built for this.

I call myself a Daddy Doin’ Work not because it’s a catchy little nickname, but because I understand the amount of work it takes to be good, involved father. Gone are the days when a dad can come home from work, kick off his shoes, and yell, “Honey, where’s my dinner??” while he watches ESPN, plays videogames, drinks beer, and ignores his children.

It takes work to support an exhausted wife and girlfriend.

It takes work to change diapers in the middle of the night and comfort a crying infant.

It takes work to always keep promises to our children.

It takes work to be the positive male role model our children need and deserve.

The good news is that plenty of these great men exist today, and they’re constantly Doin’ Work to ensure their kids have the happiest and most fulfilled lives. To these men, no job is more important than being a good daddy. They are selfless, hardworking, and loving - and they should be the gold standard for whatfatherhood is all about.

So what does being a Daddy Doin’ Work mean to me?

It’s a reminder on that cold rainy night in December 2009 I didn’t think I’d ever be a father.

It’s a reminder that I was supposed to hold my son or daughter in my arms on Father’s Day 2010, but instead I spent time alone in tears clutching the baby’s ultrasound picture. It’s that memory that will ensure I never take a moment with my daughter for granted.

It’s a reminder that I wouldn’t hesitate to kill or be killed if it meant protecting my daughter.

It’s a reminder that unconditional love truly exists.

It’s a reminder that my daughter is the only person who can erase the shittiest of days with a simple smile or hug.

It’s a reminder that money shouldn’t be spent on things (fancy cars, designer clothes, etc.) but on experiences that create lasting memories (weddings, vacations, parties with loved ones, etc.).

It’s a reminder that delivering a healthy baby is truly the universe’s greatest miracle, and one that I will cherish forever.

So in closing, that is what being a Daddy Doin’ Work means to me. I want to give a big shout out to the real men out there who understand that raising children isn’t “women’s work,” the real men who aren’t afraid to hug and kiss their children in public, the real men who cook dinner and clean up the house so their wives/girlfriends can take a much needed break, the real men who bust their asses to provide the best lives for their kids, the real men who take their jobs of being the primary male role-model for their children very seriously, and to the single mothers who step up and play the daddy role as well.

Yes, I call myself a Daddy Doin’ Work, but when you love what you do, is it ever really “work”?

Not in my mind.

Doyin Richards writes the blog Daddy Doin’ Work where he writes about the adventures of a first-time father raising his daughter.  You can also follow him on Facebook.  

On March 19, 2003 Shawn Katrina Mason was murdered in her Manassas, VA condominium.  Shawn had been attempting to move on with her life despite the violent relationship she had with her son’s father.  Just days after her murder, Shawn was due in family court to finalize a custody agreement with Lucifer for their young son.  Shawn never made it to court.  Instead, the prime suspect in her murder (Lucifer himself) got custody of their son by default, and began to receive social security death benefits as a result of her murder.  At the time of her death, Shawn’s son was only three and a half years old.   For the past ten years, her murder has gone unsolved and is now what is considered a cold case.  

While many of you know that Shawn’s murder is somewhat connected to my son’s death, what you might not know is how the murder of a woman I have never met has impacted my life.  I never had the chance to meet Shawn, but I do believe that our lives have become somewhat intertwined.  For the first several months that I lived with Luc, he had me thinking that Shawn had left her son by choice.  I imagined that maybe she was a deadbeat mom or possibly had some sort of illness that rendered her hospitalized.  It was the topic nobody in the house ever seemed to want to talk about.

Suspicion:

A few months before Prince was born, I began snooping around Luc’s house.  I had a feeling that something wasn’t right when Luc’s story about Shawn went from “she left” to “there was an accident” to “she lived in a bad neighborhood.”  In one of my searches, I found her baby journal tucked away in one of Luc’s closets.  In this journal, she wrote about how excited she was to have her son, and all about her hopes and dreams for him. Almost hauntingly, I felt as if I was reading something that I would have written about my own son.

Over the next few months, despite how I felt about Luc and my growning anxiety about the future of our relationship, I worried about Shawn’s son.  What had happened to this woman and why didn’t anyone want to talk about it?  The night I left Luc, I had to make a decision to save Prince, but I knew that in saving Prince I would be leaving Shawn’s son behind.  I felt terrible about this, but I knew that I had no rights to the child as he wasn’t biologically mine.

As I walked out the door that night, clinging to Prince tightly in my arms, Luc’s eyes went cold as he said, “If you leave I will kill you just like I killed Shawn and I will end up with Prince anyway.”

Chilling Discovery:

As the weeks skipped by after I left Luc, I eventually learned what really happened to Shawn.  It wasn’t an accident at all – someone went to her house intending to kill her.  In fact, about six months before Shawn died, Luc had his name changed to his son’s name (making his son a Jr…or maybe making his son a Sr.?) and subsequently claimed that Shawn’s life insurance policy (that had been in her son’s name) was for himself.  For the past ten years, Luc has been actively trying to get his hands on Shawn’s life insurance policy which luckily the state was smart enough to block from him.

Not a day goes by when I don’t realize that it could have been me instead of Shawn.  In fact, I believed it would have been me instead of Prince.  I would have wanted it to be me instead of Prince.  I never imagined that Prince could have been Luc’s next financial target.  Since the day I left Luc in July 2011 and began fighting for my son’s life and my own, I have felt as though history would repeat itself in some way.  Since Shawn, two others associated/related to Luc have died violently and Luc has standed to gain financially from both.  If we are to believe that Luc killed all three of these people (Shawn, Alma Collins (Luc’s mother), and Prince), that qualifies him as a serial killer.  All three motives would have been the same – life insurance proceeds.

The Future:

I have said this before, but I believe that Shawn had a hand in my son’s legacy – like maybe she sent Prince to protect her son and to protect others.  I believe Shawn is an angel just like Prince.  Shawn knew that it was likely police would never charge Luc for her murder, and that Luc would continue to terrorize and possibly even kill others.  If I had died at the hands of Luc, and my son had been left behind, I would have sent an angel as well.

It’s been ten years since Shawn was murdered, and Luc is finally in prison where he belongs.  It is troubling that it took this long, and it took something this bad happening, before he was locked up.  When Prince was still alive, not a day passed when I didn’t pray police would catch Shawn’s killer and I would receive a call that he was finally in prison.  I knew that if Shawn’s killer were behind bars, we would finally be safe.  That prayer was never answered.  Instead, I received the call I feared the most – that someone else had been killed and this time it was my little boy.  Police told me not to worry, because they would get him this time.  These words brought little to no comfort, because I didn’t  want my son to be their this time.  I wanted the police to protect us before my son got hurt, instead of promise justice after he was already gone.

All of Luc’s victims remain on edge awaiting the conviction.  I understand the risk I took coming forward and fighting this monster.  I was chosen to be Prince’s Mama for a reason, however, and I believe its because its not in my nature to just let this one go.  I will hold fast until the bitter end.  If my son had to be the one to bring Luc down, then he better stay down this time…right beside big Bubba where he belongs.

Rest in peace Shawn Katrina Mason.

Back in the early 1980′s when I was more of a Cappuccino Princess than a Cappuccino Queen, I remember watching fairy tales on VHS tapes (yes, I am that old).  My parents would bring home a new fairy tale on what seemed like a weekly basis.  I would watch stories about pretty Princess’ turning frogs into Prince’s with a kiss, Prince’s bringing back Princess’ from the death curse of an apple, and beastly creatures who were really good on the inside –  if only the right woman came around to turn them into a handsome Prince.

As a parent, you might not think your child really believes this stuff.  I was a believer, and if your child is anything like I was – she believes it too.  I remember being five years old, looking at a frog, and actually wondering if that frog was really a Prince waiting to be kissed.  As I grew older, of course I knew they were all just fairy tales; however, some of the lessons and the hope from those stories still remained.  I believed that there was good in everyone, and was determined to find the good in even the beastly, dirty frog.

When I grew up, I found a frog.  He presented himself as charming frog, he tried to clean up well, and even said many of the right things; however, he was still just a frog.  When I started to see poor behavior from the frog, I said to myself, ‘he is really good inside – he must be because everyone is good deep down.’  It took me a little over a year to realize that this frog wasn’t turning into a Prince – this frog would stay a dirty, nasty, and evil little slippery frog…even after I kissed him.

How Psychopaths Use Fairy Tales:

When I met Luc, he made a point to tell me I was the first person he felt so strongly about that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me.  When he proposed, he told me it was the first time he had proposed.  I later learned that I was at least the third girl who had been told that same story.  (One of the three of us didn’t survive the relationship)  Why did he tell me that?  He told me that because he wanted me to believe that I was the woman who would turn him from the beast into the “good guy”.

About eight months into the relationship, just after I found out I was pregnant with my son, Luc described a scenario where he had treated the woman before me horribly.  After listening to the story, I was scared.  I wondered how this man, whom I had wanted to believe was good deep down, could have treated someone that way.  He tried to explain that it was the woman who was abusive toward him, and that was why he didn’t respect her.  (Of course, always someone else’s fault)  His son was sitting in the back seat of the car during this conversation.  After listening to his father talk about treating this woman poorly, his son said, “would you do the same thing to Hera that you did to her?”  Luc began to yell at his son saying, “How could you say that!?  Of course not!”  His son said that to his father because he had seen it happen over and over again.  He knew it would eventually also happen to me.

You Had A Child With The Beast – Now What?

I had no delusions that keeping Prince safe would be easy, and I knew raising him to be that good man I knew he could be would be met with challenges (because his father was a beast).  Recently, a mother asked me my advice about how she should handle the fact that her son was being conned by his father.  This is a great question and one I gave a lot of thought to when I was planning for Prince to live a long and happy life.  On one hand, one of the best case scenarios would be for the psychopath to show your child the “good side” and attempt to make him believe he is good (as the alternative is evil abuser).  That being said, every protective mother knows that this facade cannot last.  It is a normal concern to worry about the day when the mask drops and your child is devistated, or worse – injured or killed.

I don’t have all the answers and, sadly, Prince didn’t live long enough for me to have to shield him from the lies of his con man father.  What I believed I would do, however, is never lie to my son.  I would always tell my son the truth even if that meant exposing his father’s lies.  For example, I imagined my son would come home telling me about how his father was going to be opening for a major musician in a concert.  Then, he would likely have asked me if I remembered a time when I saw his father in concert.  At this point, I would say to my son, “I have never seen your father in concert.  To my knowledge, he has never been the opening act for any major artists.  I am not sure why he would tell you that, but if you would like to go see him in concert – I will buy tickets and you can surprise him.”  I would never have made excuses for Luc’s poor behavior and I would never allow Prince to believe something that wasn’t true – especially if he asked for my verification of the truth.

Lessons for my children:

I am not suggesting taking the magic out of childhood.  By all means, I will tell my children about Santa Claus and encourage them to put their teeth under their pillow for the tooth fairy.  I will, however, make sure my children have the best chance in life, and grow up understanding that not all people are good people and that people don’t just change because you love them  or because you “kiss them”.  We will watch fairy tales together and we will talk about the real lessons in life.  I will tell my daughter to watch how the man (or frog) treats his mother, sisters, and previous girlfriends.  If he is slimy and terrible to those women, he will do the same thing to you.

Prince was only 15 months when he died.  While I did a lot of talking to him, I never got the chance to teach him life’s lessons.  If I had, I would have told him not to be a frog – but to be a true Prince.  I would have explained to him how important it is to just be a good guy – no scamming, conning, or cheating – just a good guy.  If he was a good guy, he would find his princess.

The other day I went to see the movie “Oz the Great and Powerful”.  There was a five year old little girl sitting behind me with her mother.  For those of you who haven’t seen the movie, the bottom line is that Oz is a con man through and through. At a point in the movie, the little girl yelled out, “I told you Mama!  I told you Oz was really a good guy!”  For the little girl, her faith in humanity was restored through another fairy tale.  For Cappuccino Queen, it was another example of a little girl who was being “set up” to believe that one day she would have the power to make a bad man into a good one.

Let me start out by saying that I am by no means a forensic psychologist with a degree and years of clinical experience with psychopathy.  I am, however, a woman who ran into a really bad dude.  I would be remiss if I didn’t admit that during the year I spent with Luc I did see some odd signs – or red flags.  Sadly, some of the signs I didn’t pick up on, and others I simply ignored in hopes that things would improve and my son’s father would actually be the man I had hoped he was.

Since starting my blog, I have heard from hundreds of other women who have also run  into some really bad dudes.  While these men are different guys, and not all are psychopaths, they are all people each one of these women now wishes she had avoided.  All of them showed signs, and we all ignored these signs until it was too late.  These women are all strong women who have stood up and admitted to having ignored these signs (or completely missed that they were signs at the time), and have shared their stories in an attempt to help other women recognise when its time to RUN.  Ladies, I salute your courage and I congratulate you for leaving no matter how long it took.

If you are reading this blog entry and recognize one of the below red flag situations as similar to something that is currently happening to you in your relationship, please take the advice of many women before you – and run.

Compulsive lying:

I couldn’t stop shaking.  I knew that every word coming out of my mouth would likely not make any sense.  This was the last time I would testify in an attempt to save my son’s life.  As I walked to the stand, I felt as if my legs would buckle beneath me.  Judge Algeo watched me closely and I knew this was going to have to be the show of my life.  Sadly, no matter how much I tried to “keep my emotions in check” as I had been coached many times by my attorneys – this was my son I was fighting for and I couldn’t shut off my maternal instincts.  I hadn’t eaten in a week, hadn’t slept in days, and probably should have been on some sort of anti-depressant medication (if, in fact, there are meds that can help a mother not feel as terrified as I felt in that moment).

My testimony went by in a blur.  Everything I had planned to say didn’t come out right.  I begged Judge Algeo to wait until Prince was old enough to speak before he would consider unsupervised  visits.  As I sat there terrified and shaking, Luc sat back and smirked.  He knew he had checked all of the boxes (or at least lied his way through the court’s tests) and he appeared to enjoy my very visible pain.  Prudence Upton, Luc’s very aggressive attorney, seemed to also enjoy my suffering.  She spent a considerable amount of time chastising me for not making plans for Luc to spend time with Prince at chuck -e- cheese on his first birthday.  I remember thinking to myself, ‘seriously woman?  You are worried about chuck-e-cheese and I am worried about my son living to see his second birthday.’

Unfortunately it appeared as though Chuck-e-cheese was a bigger deal than I thought it was.  Judge Algeo and Prudence seemed to expect that it was my job that week to make sure that Luc didn’t have to lift a finger in order to spend time with his son.  I was supposed to contact the supervisor and request more time, plan for a party that Luc would enjoy, and make sure everything was rolled out on a red carpet.  Luc never lifted a finger nor requested extra time outside of court.  That day, however, Luc was the calm and collected father who could shed a controlled tear on the stand and I was the mother who had been painted as a basket case – a scorned woman – and over dramatic.

A reflection of myself:

A couple of nights ago, I received a frantic phone call from a mother who is going through a terrifying custody case with an abusive (soon to be ex) husband.  She has a two year old son whom she is fighting for.  As I spoke to her on the phone, I thought to myself, ‘this woman sounds like a basket case.’  After our conversation was over,  however, I realized that I may as well have just been speaking to myself  about seven months ago.  This woman had a right to be frantic – act crazy – be terrified – or whatever emotion her body allowed her to have.  She was in the fight of her life struggling through a thankless and helpless system that fully intended on harming her son for the sake of “parental rights”.

To give you some background, the father in this case had assaulted this two year old boy and this abuse was documented by Child Protective Services.  In fact, the CPS worker came into court to testify in the hearing when this mother tried to get a protective order against the father for her son.  After hearing the testimony of the abuse, the judge denied the protective order calling the bruises found on the boy “merely negligence” vice abuse.  The judge admitted that he called it “negligence” because he did not want to end all visitation.  This judge chose to  protect the father over this two year old little boy.

Upon hearing that the protective order for her son was denied, and visits with the abusive father would begin, this mother broke down crying in the courtroom.  The judge reportedly called her out publicly and told her to “put on [her] game face.”  He continued to tell her that he was watching her every move and that this sort of “behavior” would be used against her in his future rulings.

Unrealistic expectations:

Ever since I have gone through my own Custody War, I have learned many tough lessons.  One of the toughest lessons that I have learned is that the courts have turned into a war zone.  In this war zone, women are expected to stop being mothers who worry about their children.  In fact, showing fear in the courtroom could be one of the very things that will label you as a “parental alienator”.  We are supposed to forget about having been abused, turn our children over to men we know have abused and will abuse again, and we are supposed to do all of this enthusiastically and with a smile on our faces.

To expect a woman who has lived through the chaos created by a psychopath to “remain calm” in family court as the abuse continues, and while she is trying to protect her innocent child, is asking her to leave her humanity at the door.  Any woman who could walk into family court when the stakes are that high and remain calm – I would question her mental state.  I have heard that the family court used to be slanted toward women.  I sure wish I had been going through the system at that time. When I went through, I experienced what seemed like a war on motherhood.  I was told I wasn’t allowed to be a mother to my son, but that I was required to make sure that Luc could be his father despite what he had done that proved he was not capable of being a real father.

As absurd as it sounds, I am still waiting for the day when I get a call from my family attorneys telling me that Judge Algeo has requested that I provide Luc with some time to visit Prince’s grave.  I can also imagine that in this same phone call I would be asked to provide Luc with a car, since he doesn’t have one, and a packed lunch for the long trip.  Some of you might be thinking that sounds absurd, but not as absurd as the moment when I stood over my son’s dying body listening to nurses discuss how they wanted to create a hospital “visitation schedule” for the man who had just murdered my son.

While nurses were discussing allowing this man to visit, I was told that if I said a word to Luc that I would be taken to a psychiatric ward and kept away from my son in his final hours.  That – ladies and gentlemen – is the state of our society.