Forced to compromise

I could not look him in the eyes. God, do I hate him that much?

Luckily the Deputy was there and I thanked her afterwards. The conversation without her would have gone on and on; there would have been blood.

The Deputy took the lead saying my son's teacher's point of view, so far. The Foca spoke loads, too much. I sat there, fury eating away at me at what I considered to be a whole heap of bullshit.

For example, he tried to say it took him four hours on a Sunday to get to London by rail. It might do, but do not say that you leave at midday when he gets back to me at 7. That is not four hours, not by anybody's amazing mathematical calculations.

He said that on a given Monday he wakes my son up at 7 and has him out the door at 20 past. I dunno, wake up the child, get them dressed, get them eating and finishing breakfast, then coats on and out the door all in 20 minutes? Tell me fellow parent readers, can your kids do that? I didn't know my son could...

I was asked to compromise, try the Monday bring back once.

I looked, I sounded very uncompromising indeed. "NO."

I reminded the Foca, with the deputy listening, that I'd already been forced to compromise twice already. That twice he'd bought him back on a Monday without my consent. Twice I'd had to deal with the fallout of my son. Twice was quite enough.

"Bring him back later on a Sunday," I compromised, so late could at least be agreed.

Try a Monday morning once, was asked of me.

We could have sat there for fucking hours but the conversation had to fucking end, for my sake, I hate sitting in the same space as that man.

This weekend my son is coming back on Sunday. I said not this weekend, I was in no mood to prepare my son for it. The following weekend he'll come back on the Monday.

The school will monitor him. Then guess what? It's half term, he'll be coming back later then anyway. So I'll be asked to try it again, 'once'.

I might be an uncompromising old cow. But the Foca is a selfish bastard.

My son's with him now, that's why you're getting the bile. Yesterday I'd told my son to decide whether he wanted to go for tea with his dad or home with me. "I want to go for tea with both of you mummy." I told my son that that wouldn't happen, it couldn't happen.

I reminded the Foca of this, for I've told him before. I told him in front of the Deputy that he wasn't my friend, I wouldn't pretend he was even for our son's sake. I told him not to encourage our son to hope for little family get togethers.

I could have gone on, explained why, but the school deputy was the mediator, not a family therapist.

The Foca knows exactly why but doesn't want to 'know' or be reminded. I asked him for an apology years ago, but he said he had nothing to apologise for. Fine, but don't ask me to be your friend.

We all have to face what arseholes we are or were at some point, it's our only hope for personal redemption. It might not be very pleasant, it might absolutely stink, but it's the only way up, the only way out, the only way forward.

The Foca doesn't want to be my friend, not really; he'd rather pretend (infront of other people). I don't care if this makes him a bigger person than me.

Meanwhile, I can acknowledge that it would be nice to be friends with my son's father but can also accept that I don't have to be if I don't want to be. Not even for my son's sake.

My son my sun I'm sorry.