Anyone who knows me, knows I’m not one to fit cliches or to not stand out. So for another aspect of my life to be the opposite of others was no surprise. Instead of it being my father taking the role of a neglectful parent (which is the case for many) but it being my mother instead was a surprise to many and expected from some. I have always had a hard time remembering my childhood, half of the things I do remember, I’m sure they’re dreams instead of an actual memory.

I can’t remember if the judge was a man or a woman. As an eight-year-old I couldn't quite comprehend how significant this day was. Though I can’t remember the judge’s face, or if there was a jury, I can still hear Monica weeping. I can understand that it must be hard to be away from your son for half a year, then the first time seeing him again, he’s testifying against you. But then again I wasn’t needed in the case until she continued lying, saying the exact opposite of my father’s story. I refused to look at Monica, the testimony desk for some reason was next to her table. I remember turning my chair so my back was to her. I remember resting my white and black Nikes on this triangle piece coming off of the desk I was sitting at. I remember as I talked, the glass of water on the desk became more and more appealing after each word. I remember refusing to look up so I didn’t have to see all of the faces looking at me in all kinds of different ways. My white and black Nikes, the glass of water, and the triangle piece that was perfect for a foot rest, were all of my centers of attention. As long as I retold what happened, as I had already to a dozen others, I didn’t need to make eye contact with anyone. So I didn’t.