How I lost custody of my sons to Trudy Luz

This post is just going to be an explanation of the allegations which led a judge to take my ability to speak with and interact with my children away from me for the next year.

No complaints here.  We’re going to review what Trudy said to the judge (well, actually she wrote it), and offer a fuller picture.

The first item is my speech to the judge, which, since I was not allowed to attend the hearing at which my custody of my sons was eliminated, was never delivered.

In this case the court is asked to enforce, by arrest and imprisonment, the wife’s edict that the father has no right to see his son.  And why?  — because the father is a jerk toward whom the mother no longer feels affection.

That is the issue.  Since the mother considers the father a jerk, she has withdrawn all access to the son.  She asks the court to enforce this decision of hers.

Of course, it is a universally agreed legal principle in the society in which this family makes its way, that a man who raises his voice is breaking the law.

If you dear reader have trouble understanding my drift, I am suggesting that there is no reason to deprive me of custody.  Although it is de facto true that a man raising his voice leads to arrest, especially if he is speaking to a woman, there is and cannot be any such law.

Disruption is illegal, assault is illegal, intimidating is illegal.  And so they ought to be.

Speaking in a loud voice, even if a jerk does it, is not illegal and no statute in common law history ever has said it is.

Judge’s Hehn’s order provides no parenting time (which is how custody is described using two words in place of one) to me, because

He is psychologically abusive to our sons and my youngest son is afraid of him.  He gets extremely angry over trivial issues in a matter of seconds and can not [sic] control his anger.  I am afraid that unless parenting time is taken away from him he will use the fact that he is their father to harm them.

Well.  I have never struck either of them, nor Trudy, during the course of their entire lives.  That counts as nothing next to Trudy’s fear that I might continue what she says is psychological abuse.  That is to say, I treat them as a father treats his sons.  I am not their mother and they do not get a lot of gushy feelings from me; they don’t like it a bit.

This is for real.  That is the stated reason I have lost custody of my sons.

That is it.  Really.  An attachment to the legal deprivation of my custody includes a paragraph entitled “Danger to Others” that presumably was also written by Trudy.  It says, in its entirety

He is menacing and shouts at extremely high volume inches from somebody’s face.

Immediately I change my structure: I will quote the remaining three sentences of the paragraph in their entirety, but let me simply interject some comment after each one.  For this first sentence we can simply invoke my comment of a few lines above.  Speaking in a loud voice, even if a jerk does it, is not illegal and no statute in common law history ever has said it is.

And yet (digressing yet further) the above makes it clear that Trudy certainly believes just that.

I assert, my dear reader (if there is one), that our society — and I am speaking about the society in which I have lived, not Western Civilization or something like that — teaches its females to crumple into an emotional puddle when ever a man raises his voice, and not to answer any query posed by such a male.  For substantiation I turn at this point to the “Incident of Abuse” in the Petition [as opposed to the Court Order, which I have been up to now quoting] For Restraining Order To Prevent Abuse, on p. 2 of 6:

He is manic and shows no restraint in his behavior.  He pushed past me with a threatening demeanor on Saturday morning to scream at my son about some shoe laces.  When he came over on Monday afternoon he was so threatening to my friend that she was cowering with her hands over her ears crying.  His lips were inches away from her ear.

I “pushed past” Trudy to speak with my son because at two o’clock in the afternoon on a Saturday she would not let me speak to him; she said he was sleeping, and barred my entrance.

I ask you to note that the conversation which took place with my son, which he apparently paid little attention to, was not about shoe laces at all.  I am arranging the transfer of all of my property, house, books, and grounds, when he reaches the age of 25 (should he live so long); just last month (which is to say, in May) I asked him to transfer $20,000 of my life savings to a no-load indexed stock-market firm.  He claimed he had done so but turns out to have erred in a number of ways.  On May 22, 2016 I received the letter below

Chase Morgan Bank, N.A.

Michael Kepler Meo

2925 NE Weidler St

Portland OR 97232

05/13/2016

We blocked [this is in boldface in the letter I am quoting] and will close your account ending in 0520

Dear Michael Kepler Meo [this the name of my opera-singer son; I am Michael]

The safety and security of your account is very important to us.  We’ve blocked and will close your account above due to recent activity or because we didn’t receive information we requested from you.

Simply put, there are many things we have to get straight, and now.  Trudy mistook the purport of the discussion, period.

But the clearest example in this document of the socialization of females in our society to crumple when addressed by a male concerns not Trudy but the (I believe to be Carmen Ramirez) friend who cowered with her hands over her ears.  Here’s what I said to her, and the words I used can be confirmed by Michael Kepler Meo, who was present during the entire interview (which Trudy was not).

“If you are Carmen Ramirez, I am concerned about your mail.  Since I know Trudy leaves the mail in the mailbox for a day or at least many hours before she removes it, I have picked up pieces of the mail and will keep it safe until you call for it.  That is, if you are Carmen Ramirez.

“Are your Carmen Ramirez?”

(no answer)

“Are you Carmen Ramirez?”

(no answer)

“Are your Carmen Ramirez?” loudly

“Please.  You’re hurting my ears”

Twice more I asked, and then walked away.  I very much wanted to know whether or not that person was Carmen Ramirez, but she never answered me.  She never got out the word “Yes” or that other one, “No”.

Rather she has been trained to collapse at the very sound of a man speaking to her in a loud voice.  At the risk of her life — apparently I could tie her down and break her fingers and toes one by one, each time asking her, are you Carmen Ramirez, and she would die complaining I had tortured her to death — she would refuse to answer yes or no.  She’s been trained that way.

I turn to the men who are reading this.  How do you feel when, very very anxious for an answer, you question a woman angrily and she refuses to answer because you have asked in a manner she dislikes.  Eh?  The purpose of this response, guys, is to get you so angry that you will escalate.  As shown in the example cited.  If she was Carmen Ramirez or not, doesn’t matter a lot compared to the shall I call it abusive way in which she refused a reasonable request for her identity.  She incites the male by refusing to answer, and then has an opportunity to claim victimhood.  Our society, especially the so-called feminists, taught her that.

Okay.  Now let’s go to Trudy’s second sentence in the Attachment entitled “Danger to Others”:

He has given one woman a bloody nose and his violence is always escalating.

 

I will begin by explaining the first seven words.

I would call this a striking example of what happens when you admit hearsay into a legal proceeding.  I am not complaining, mind you; the legislators who allowed the admission of hearsay testimony into hearings on Restraining Order to Prevent Child Abuse surely thought about the exception being made, and they may have had good reason for making it.

It is also another example of a female crumpling emotionally when told something reasonable in a harsh tone of voice, if nothing else.  The woman in question was Pam Brown, whom readers of this blog have known as The Housekeeper.  A few words about Pam Brown are in order before we go any further; this background is germane to providing you with an explanation of the account of assault leading to bloodshed.

Pam Brown has abundant thoracic development.  As a result, this is approximately how Pam Brown would respond to the fact of needing to pay the rent.

[okay, first effort at inserting video illustrative material failed.  Enh.]  How’s this?

 

How Pam Brown sees herself responding to a demand for the rent by the landlord.  She told me she'd like to do a cam show.

How Pam Brown sees herself responding to a demand for the rent by the landlord. She told me she’d like to do a cam show.

Pam Brown came under my roof at the express request of homonymic but unrelated Vahid Brown, a veteran activist for the homeless or houseless or whatever. She told me upon arrival that she had been convicted of felonious bank robbery, which event must have occurred when her daughter was four or so, because she did some two years at least of state penitentiary time and then had had but two years together since getting out with her daughter who when I met Pam Brown was all of nine years old but given out as ten.

Do the math. Nine minus two is seven and seven minus three is four.
So when her daughter was four our dear Housekeeper was convicted of felonious bank robbery. And although she promised (like the model in the illustration) she never came across. She never explained a thing about choosing to rob a bank with a four year old daughter at home.

Now, dear reader, what do you know about pathological liars? Ah. Your answer is, Nothing, because you haven’t been locked up for years with a population full of them, as Your Intrepid Reporter has. Long ago in a Kingdom by the Sea, where in Lompoc, California Puff the Dragon (invisible but not magical he) first met me.

So, alas, we’ll skip that subject for now [no sense attempting an explanation of a phenomenon of which you have had no experience yourself].

 

 

  •  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *   **   * *   * * * * * * *    * *

 

 

 
What we have on the desk before me is a document that intelligently read reveals some of the problems associated with Housekeeper Goody Brown.  In childish handwriting a piece of stiff paper taken from the wall of the spare bedroom at the headquarters of the Cascadia Chapter and the residence of its Secretary testifies to the complete domination by the nine-year-old (but given out as ten: her birthday came two weeks after the two females moved in).

 

Rules of Skys Nook

  1. have fun

  2.  Don’t touch my phone (or stuff)

  3. Don’t be like cool and then mess it up

  4. Don’t be rude

  5. be happy

  6. Do Not Cry (its annoying)

Let us just note some obvious features.  This is a posted declaration by the nine-year-old making a series of statements in the imperative voice, ordering how her forty-nine-year-old mother is to behave.  For one thing, she is commanded not to cry.  Such behavior (which must be prevalent for it to make the Rules list) is expressly prohibited because it annoys Lovena.

O.K.?  That is the maturity level of the mother here.

That if not demonstrated at least provided with some evidence to believe the emotional shred of a human being who is an unemployed ex-felon, houseless, with a (lets go with her and Vahids statement) ten-year-daughter — the latter of whom by the way, was when she arrived a stunning beauty, with golden hair cascading down to the middle of her back.

As long as we’re on the by-the-way, during the three months the Housekeeper and the Housekeeper’s Daughter stayed with The Parson the daughter chose to have that cascade of blonde hair completely cut off, an absurd choice that her mother was incapable of stopping, so that she looks like Christopher Robin in the Winnie the Pooh books.

As soon as it had been done the daughter started to complain about the loss of her good looks to her mother.  That is the level of maturity of Lovena Araña, but then she’s ten and in a broken home.

 

How broken?  When she’s ten her dad called on the phone.  Look here, I am sitting in my chair by the window smoking my evil weed.  Pam Brown (the one with the big breasts) arranged it so that the birthday phone call was put on what is it called broadcast mode and there I was listening to his birthday greetings.

He told his ten-year-old daughter that she was now old enough to be raped.  That’s how broken a family she has to cope with.

 

Arguably, Lovena Araña took a critical look at her hectic, attractive and alternately shouting and crying mother and said, If This Is Beauty, Let Me Have None Of It.  Prevents rape at the same time, looking like a boy does.  So both Mom and Dad agree in advising the ten year old girl to be ashamed of her attractiveness to males.

So much for background, and in my opinion the account is an impartial one.  When the daughter took a bath, the mother served her a glass of water, upon demand.  When the daughter spilled water in the bathroom, from the sink or from the bathtub, and in substantial quantities, the mother denied this.  The spilled water on the floor of the bathroom, water  which Pam Brown denied existed, flowed in a stream into the basement.

Your Intrepid Reporter called his brother-in-law, Mark “The Rev” Markiw, Jeneral Contractor [it says on the museum piece of a VW van he drives].  I asked him to check the fittings under the bathroom floor, and in the fixtures themselves, to see whether there could be any other explanation for the streams of water flowing down into the basement from the floor of the bathroom and (obviously) doing permanent structural damage to the residence.  That is, is there a leak?

So, on the day that Mark reported that I assaulted Pam Brown, giving her a bloody nose, here’s how it came down.  Mark came up from the basement with his report.  There was not a shred of reason to believe any leak existed in the fixtures or their plumbing connections.  The water entering the floor timbers and submitting them to wet rot originated by spillage on the bathroom floor.

Mark delivered this bad news to me in the living room, which has a dining area with a table.  So, my tenants are doing permanent structural damage to my house.  Whew, this charity business is expensive, thats for sure.  “Pam, tell Lovena to pick her stuff up off the dining room table.”

[from Pam to Lovena] “Pick up your stuff from off of the dining room table.”

[Lovena] “There isn’t any.”

There on the table Mark and I could see a pile of Lovena’s stuff.

I repeated the demand, addressed as a matter of course to the Housekeeper and not her Daughter.  “Pam, tell Lovena to pick up her stuff from the dining room table!”

Well, as is evident this post is already long, so let me just say

To  Be  Continued

 

 

About M. Meo

Worked as translator, museum technician, truck lumper, lecture demonstrator, teacher (of English as a Second Language, science, math). Married for 25 years, 2 boys aged 18 & 16 (both on the Grant cross-country team). A couple of scholarly publications in the history of science. Two years in federal penitentiary, 1970/71, for refusing the draft.
This entry was posted in Brian Willson, Dan Handelman, Education, Free Speech, Friendship, Inequality, Local government, Oregon state government, Pacific Green Party, Police, Seth Woolley, Spiritual life, U.S. Constitution, Vali Balint. Bookmark the permalink.

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