Chapter 8 - THE CRIMINAL CASE AGAINST ME
My slap did not disappear because Bernice was investigated.
The prosecutor offered pretrial diversion.
Misdemeanor battery.
No prior record.
No injury beyond temporary redness.
Terms:
Anger-management program.
Thirty hours community service.
No unlawful contact.
No new offense.
Dismissal upon completion.
I accepted.
My lawyer asked:
“You understand this is not an admission that Bernice’s conduct was acceptable?”
“Yes.”
“Do you understand self-defense is weak because you struck after the immediate pull ended?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
I did not want a trial.
I had hit her.
Then Elodie asked why Grandma could not visit.
I said:
“Because adults are figuring out how to keep you safe.”
“Because she pulled me?”
“Yes.”
“Because Daddy hit?”
I swallowed.
“That’s a separate thing I’m dealing with.”
“Are you in trouble?”
“A little.”
Her eyes widened.
“Jail?”
“No.”
Then:
“Was Grandma in trouble because she hit me?”
“She didn’t hit you in the hospital. She pulled you and you fell.”
Precision.
“But that was unsafe.”
“Yes.”
“Daddy slap Grandma unsafe?”
“Yes.”
She hugged Mr. Patches.
“Everybody unsafe.”
My heart broke.
“Not forever.”
She looked at me.
“Daddy safe now?”
I took time.
“Yes. And I’m doing work to make sure I keep choosing safe actions when I’m angry.”
She nodded.
That was better than:
Trust me because I’m Dad.
Then my anger counselor asked:
“What did the slap accomplish?”
“It stopped nothing. Bernice was already separated from Elodie.”
“What did you want?”
“To punish her.”
There.
Not protect.
Punish.
“Why?”
“Because she hurt my daughter.”
“Do you believe punishment is your job?”
“Not like that.”
“Good.”
May you like
I hated every session.
Needed every one.
