Fathers Are Pigs I

Introduction

I want to tell you here and in the following posts about my divorce. Which was a good 15 years ago. I want to write about it because I'd like to clear up some clichés.

I also know that I'm privileged. And that everything I did to continue being a father to my daughter was only possible because I was wealthy enough to take all the necessary steps. As well as essentially not working for almost a year because I was solely occupied with legal matters. I want to emphasize this because a normal working father who can barely scrape together his child support payments wouldn't have had these options.

I therefore also want to stand up for these many fathers who are branded as second-choice parents. And whose children are told that their fathers have no interest in them. There are also a few examples where fathers have gone public to tell their stories. I'll address that at the end.

So this isn't about "settling scores" with my ex-wife. I'll try to keep things as factual as possible. But of course I'm writing my story from my personal perspective. Her view of things will certainly be different. But it's not about this individual case. Ideally, it should serve as food for thought about the perspective of lawmakers and the judiciary. In the interest of all our children.

And of course I also wrote this for my daughter, to whom I sent it in advance. I always wanted to wait until she was an adult. So that I could tell her my side of things. I always tried to keep her out of the disputes. Which unfortunately didn't work out as well as I would have wished.

Modern Father Against His Will

I always loved my work. And could easily have remained childless. I think kids are great, as long as they're not your own. The ones that stay when the visitors have left... And I was always a fan of the old-fashioned role model where dad goes to work and mom mainly takes care of the children.

That was also the shared understanding I had with my ex-wife. At least until the day our daughter was born. My ex-wife had at that point begun to finish her studies and do some internships. She often worked from 10:00 AM to 10:00 PM. Since I, as a self-employed person, could supposedly schedule my time freely, she expected me to take care of our daughter.

So I slipped—honestly, involuntarily—into the role of very active father. I brought our daughter to daycare. And picked her up again. I was also the contact person for the daycare management. Or took care of doctor's visits or whatever else came up.

As a result—and this was also very beautiful—we developed a very close bond. My daughter learned all the car brands early on that could be seen on the way to daycare. And we loved just taking the regional train to Berlin on weekends. Sometimes she'd simply fall asleep. Or we'd discuss how to recognize an ICE train.

It Begins with the End

I got divorced when my daughter was about three years old. I no longer saw a common future with my then-wife. I couldn't and didn't want to imagine spending the rest of my life with her.

There was no new woman. No Plan B or C. It was simply a difficult decision against a marriage that had developed in the wrong direction. Essentially a sober, rational decision.

We went to couples therapy a few more times. It was almost entertaining for both sides. But it failed on both sides at the question: "Do you both really want this? Is there still enough to try?"

Terror at the Mediator's?

To settle the separation amicably, we decided to go to a mediator. Simply because it sounded pragmatic and our prenuptial agreement contained fairly clear provisions that didn't leave much room for interpretation. I left my then-wife the agony of choice. The first conversation that followed I found constructive and good. My ex-wife didn't feel the same. She believed the mediator had been influenced by me. That was of course wrong. But we simply went to the next mediator of her choice. The process was similar. And it repeated itself on the third attempt too. Later, my ex-wife accused me of having bribed, threatened, or otherwise influenced all the mediators.

The Lawyer...

After the mediation attempts that had failed from her perspective, my wife hired a lawyer. The middle-aged woman specialized in family law and brought to life every cliché inherent in the more unpleasant representatives of this profession.

New technical terms quickly entered my life, such as "separation maintenance." And that the excessive continued use of a credit card debited from my account would not be counted against said maintenance. But I always reminded myself not to get upset about the financial aspects of the separation or my ex-wife's spending of my money, so that later, when it came to the child, there could be unencumbered discussions. I didn't want to become a mere weekend father. Instead, I wanted to continue being an important part of my daughter's life.

Wedding or Studies?

After several long sessions, my ex-wife received pretty much exactly the amount I had calculated beforehand. It was a good seven figures and enabled her from then on to stand on her own feet financially. She had studied journalism, art history, and Portuguese. And aside from largely unpaid internships, she had no professional experience whatsoever. Therefore, after 5 years of marriage, she was considerably better off than she would have been after the same time studying. Completely legitimate: it corresponded to the prenuptial agreement and I wanted the separation.

Custody arrangements were amicably settled so that I had Clara every other week from Thursday to Sunday, I believe. I had also decided against moving so that there would be as few changes as possible for the little one and at least some continuity.

Quick Change

After only three months, my ex-wife informed me she had a new boyfriend. I was quite surprised and first wondered if someone had already been waiting in the wings. That apparently wasn't the case; the internet had actually served as a catalyst for the new relationship. I quickly thought, this could be a chance. Maybe he'd be a nice guy. Somebody you could have a beer with. And then discuss things more quickly and unemotionally via the direct route. In fact, he was and I believe still is a nice guy. And he was and is a very good stepfather to my daughter. But my gentle attempts at rapprochement were quickly nipped in the bud by my ex-wife.

The relationship with my ex-wife was still very difficult and, from my perspective, excessively emotional. It should really only be about clarifying the practical matters in dealing with our shared daughter. I believed it should get better now, because my ex-wife was financially set for life and had simultaneously found new love.

Quo Vadis?

One day my ex-wife wanted to speak with me. This was preceded by a conversation with the daycare management because there had apparently been irregularities during her care time. Supposedly the child had been sent to daycare by taxi.

My ex-wife informed me that due to her boyfriend's professional situation, they might move to Hamburg or Munich. I was quite shocked. On the other hand, it's of course legitimate for an ex-partner to move to a different city. And it was good that she sought the conversation. I decided to move along if it came to that. Because I couldn't imagine—

We made a written agreement regulating a potential move. How further custody arrangements would look. That a relocation would only work "together" and we would coordinate with appropriate lead time on which neighborhood we would want to move to. So that things could continue for our shared daughter with as little additional chaos as possible.

The "Vacation"

A few weeks later, my ex-wife went on vacation with her partner and our daughter. They were going—or so the story went—to the Alps. I even received a postcard. The next mail that came was from my ex-wife's lawyer. It informed me that "my client has now relocated to Munich." The address was not provided.

I tried calling my ex-wife. In vain. I wrote messages. Without result. Then I set about the laborious task of finding out her whereabouts. I don't want to go into detail here so as not to cause anyone trouble. Suffice it to say: the move had been planned well in advance. And the vacation was a decoy.

I collapsed inside. Thought I would never see my child again. Got advice and was told that for God's sake I must not show up there. Then it would be very easy, under the claim that I had threatened or intended to use violence, to deny me all contact.

So I got legal counsel and began a long odyssey between the youth welfare office, the courts, and forensic psychologists... And moved to Munich for this, which as an adopted Potsdamer wasn't exactly my location of choice.

In fact, in family law there is a so-called expedited procedure. That means, I believe, that a court date must take place within three months at the latest. That's what my lawyer aimed for. In parallel, I turned to the youth welfare office to at least achieve provisional contact with my daughter, from whom I had been separated longer at that point than ever before in my life.

My ex-wife had enrolled the little one in a daycare in Pullach. That was unlawful. Both parents must sign the enrollment when there is joint custody. In practice, however, this obviously didn't concern anyone.

At the youth welfare office, I was told during the appointment that they couldn't do much for me. The mother surely knew what was right for the child. And they weren't sure whether unsupervised contact with the father could even take place. I no longer understood the world! Why was my right to contact being questioned by an unlawful act by the mother? Why should the existing custody agreement no longer be valid?

I received no answers to these questions. At least no meaningful ones. Instead, I had to try to ingratiate myself with the caseworker. Just so I could see my child at all. Eventually, after weeks, there was an afternoon where I was allowed to pick up Clara. And see her for a few hours. My girlfriend at the time, who was herself a social worker at a youth welfare office, recommended I bring the little one back by taxi so there would be witnesses that no violence or threats of violence by me against the mother had occurred. It was totally absurd. I was branded as a potential violent offender. Why? Because I'm just the father?

I brought the little one back. My ex-wife's partner opened the door. She wasn't there. And had left him this terrible moment. I handed him the child. Who wanted to come back to me. And he had to pull her into the house. Not because he's malicious. But because he was probably just as overwhelmed by the situation as I was. I stood alone at the door. And tears shot into my eyes.

In court, the ruling was that the child should stay in Munich. She had supposedly settled in well by now. Where this insight came from was a mystery to me. It also didn't emerge from the files. I argued that she had already settled in for almost three years in Potsdam. The judge wasn't interested. The youth welfare office was then tasked with giving its assessment.

So my daughter was interviewed by the caseworker from the youth welfare office a few days later. From the protocol that the caseworker herself prepared, it is evident how highly suggestive the questioning was. It culminated in the question: "You'd surely rather be with your mommy, wouldn't you?" Fortunately for me, my daughter answered very clearly and confidently: "I want to be with both my parents."

Later, the caseworker told me I would have to live in Solln, Grünwald, or Pullach. She could stop by on her way home. In plain terms: my ex-wife was allowed to unlawfully remove the child. But I was supposed to limit my choice of residence to one of these three places so the youth welfare office could conveniently drop by. Regardless, I did what I was told. Fortunately, all options were open to me. And I rented a detached house with a garden in Munich-Solln.

When the caseworker came to visit, she was completely surprised that it was indeed a really nice and tasteful house. Thanks... But what had she expected? That fathers are fundamentally slovenly creatures with no sense of interior design? I was slowly getting irritated. She then told me that she was also a single mother and that most fathers were really terrible. I just thought: "I see"... So the contact I was allowed to have with my daughter depended on the individual bad experiences of a single mother. Whose concept of family largely corresponded to what the Nazis had shaped in Germany.

When my ex-wife had "surprisingly relocated to Munich with the shared child," as her lawyers informed me, I was in the equally dire and luxurious position of being able to follow. Most men probably couldn't have afforded that. But suddenly I was standing in Munich trying to figure out where my child was.

So I shuttled between the youth welfare office and furnished accommodations. And discovered that the conservative attitude always attributed to the south was, at least in this microcosm, accurate. The father was under general suspicion of being a violent alcoholic. And the mother, who had violated applicable law, had the child with her and refused to disclose his whereabouts.

Out of necessity, I went to court. Sought emergency proceedings because I wanted to bring my daughter back to Potsdam. There were many good arguments, including files from the daycare that clearly showed I had taken more care of the child at that time. But none of it helped; the judge ruled that the illegal enrollment at the daycare in Munich by the mother could no longer be reversed. Because she had already been "three months" in Munich. For me, a completely absurd consideration, given that the child had already been in daycare in Potsdam for almost three years.