Previously Known As Chopperpapa.com

“Let her be the one you have chosen for your servant Isaac.” Genesis 24:14  The Queen and I first met at a bar. It’s not something we advertise. Similar stories usually end with hook ups and poorly. Ours, blessedly, led to meeting again the next day at church, and eventually marriage. We downplay the ‘bar’ thing, instead of saying it was a ‘restaurant,' they technically did serve food. Why we do this, I’m not entirely sure. It may have something to do with the images ‘bar’ convey, or maybe it’s too similar to my former marriage, she and I also met at a bar, one that didn’t have food. And if you’ve visited this website before, you know how that ends. So there’s a fear not to jinx it. But perhaps, and I think this get us closer to the point, our story reflects a complete lack of intentionality. I mean honestly, how uninspiring and unoriginal?  Besides, it models nothing positive for our kids except to demonstrate that a good way of going about the most important earthly relation...

With all the bitterness and resentment that surrounds divorce such as alimony, co-parenting, every other weekend, and the train wreck it makes of lives in general, the notion of parental visitation is head and shoulders the most dehumanizing of all.  The mere fact that, as their father, I only get to ‘visit’ with my children is enough to make me strap TNT to my chest and walk into the nearest family court room. It’s the one piece of my divorce that I have yet to come to complete grips with.  When the Jap and I divorced in ’05 our children were 10 and 18 months old. I moved, and still live, seven miles from the home she and the Trainer live in today. Unaware of their impending living situation and ultimate marriage, I agreed to provide enough financial resources for her to stay home full time until my son was two years old. She felt, and I agreed, that at their young age stability was vitally important and the going back and forth with sleeping here one day and there the next w...

There’s been only two times in my life where I felt like a rock star. Those times when everybody loves you, has all eyes on you and hangs on your every word.  The first was in the 6th grade when I won the Charlotte Elementary School Stomper Pull-Off (click the link if you need a reminder) after my mother surprised me with a silver, snub-nosed Peterbilt Stomper 4X4 that yanked its entire weight in nails, screws, and washers on a make-shift sled. On that day, obviously not being able to see me in the next row over in Mrs. Heath’s class any other time, Tammy Moneypenny finally talked to me.   The other was my wedding day.  ** The culmination of nine-months preparation replete with two open bars, DJ, 5-course meal, and a hundred or so of our closest friends and family was the stage for the event. The last addition to these nuptials was a lone photographer whose duty it was to get the bride and groom in as many photos as possible without earning the label paparazzi. ...

I had driven through the neighborhood countless times, it was less than a ½ mile from where we lived and made for a dreamy alternative to the busy commerce laden street that was our standard route to the grocery store, pizza parlor, or dry cleaners.  “If I could live in a house like that, I’d finally have made it!” If I thought that once I thought it a thousand times passing by this particular home. It had a traditional feel with a wonderfully graded lot, which meant it sat slightly higher than its surrounding neighbors like Mount St. Helen among foothills. The yard was perfectly manicured with seasonal flowers and shrubbery which would have given any royal garden a run for its money. And its three-car garage simply validated my attitude that it encapsulated the pinnacle of the American dream. And much like Ralphie Parker staring at that Red Rider BB Gun in Goldblatt’s store window, I had lofty ambitions of having a dream of my own.    Little could I have imagined in just...

I’ve held senior leadership positions within corporate America for over a decade. I’ve led and worked through countless others to get projects completed or goals achieved and from all of the experience I’ve learned one essential truth regarding people – I can’t make anyone do anything they don’t want to do. I don’t believe I can give a group of associates a pep talk that will suddenly cause them to run through brick walls, nor do I buy into popular notions of how I can directly ‘motivate’ anyone.  From my many failures I’ve come to realize it doesn’t matter how much I beg, bribe, plead, or prod, unless that person decides to act – on his or her own – I can’t change the mind. But when I stop to think about it why would I want to? If I must coerce and cajole another person to do a job how much passion and commitment will there be and how good of a job will they do?  ** Down the street from the Queen lives an eleven-year-old girl. On the surface she looks the part of any classic ...

Parenting isn’t easy. Anyone saying otherwise has never been one  - or at least a good one. When I became divorced in ’05 my children were 10 and 18 months old –young by any standard. I can still remember the trepidation that first weekend alone with them. Would I be able to do this on my own?   That first year was frequently agonizing and consistently chaotic. It’s sad to say but early on I regularly dreaded those Friday afternoons and Sunday night couldn’t get here fast enough. This single parenting thing wasn’t something I signed up for and without a local support network I was doing it on my own. The simple act of going out to eat, the three of us, was such a production with diaper bags, strollers and bottles it became grueling at best.   There were lots of times when I wanted nothing more than to unload them both, head south, and never look back. My entire life had been turned upside down and not only was it taxing it was seriously cramping my re-emerging s...

What still amazes me most about divorce is how two people, once committing to love, honor, and cherish each other till death do part, almost overnight wishes to see that qualifier become a reality. Well, maybe not technically dead, but at least out of the way, vanished, or forgotten. This can be especially true when the complications of co-parenting are involved. For the better part of the last thirteen years as a divorced father, I have often felt my place is to keep quiet and the checks coming. It was usually the case we were more adversaries than teammates.  One of the deadly characteristics of co-parenting, not talked about nearly enough, is this combativeness on account of the unspoken competition between divorced parents. An ongoing struggle for the affections of their children. It can manifest itself in countless ways from gift giving to vacations, where each parent lives or even the type of house; and all for the purpose of one-upping the other parent, to believe one parent...

T he day my divorce became final was anything but cause for celebration, except that I could finally let my attorney go milk someone else for phone calls and ‘office supplies.' There was relief that I could now get on with my life and not have parts of it used against me in a court of law. I was obviously thankful the thing was behind me; once I had reached the tipping point in trying to keep our marriage together, once I had accepted that she was moving on with her life and with someone new, I set loose a hurricane of energy preparing for my own future. It was sixty days of sheer chaos that left me exhausted and frazzled.  But mostly I was sad, that day became a funeral of sorts. Something had died and was now laid to rest. Dreams and hopes given birth years before had been lowered into the grave. That day was and will remain, a testimony to two people’s failure, of promises never to be kept.      There were many emotions that afternoon, but none worthy of pictures....

      It’s always amazed me that second marriages end in statistically higher rates of divorce. I would think that enduring one of the most difficult times in a persons’ life might leave a more lasting impression. It might teach us a thing or two. I can appreciate the passion of those who swear off marriage, though for most that’s a short-lived position. But what I don’t get are those who remarry, perhaps several times, only to have the same result. It reminds me of that old, but true saying, ‘fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me.’       The effects hit close to home for me. In our small group of seven, all remarried, couples, one couple divorced shortly after we formed and two others may well be on their way. While each story was different, they all share a common thread that I think gets to the root of why so many second marriages hit the wall.   They never embrace the larger blessing of divorce.  **   ...

In the aftershock of her announcement to end our marriage, one thought immediately pressed upon me; what is this going to do to our children? I wasn’t so interested in the why as I was the what. One child was six months the other just over 2.5 years. I knew they couldn’t grasp what was going on, even though she sat them down and comically explained that mommy and daddy were no longer going to live together.  Their reaction fell somewhere between Barney the Dinosaur distraction and drool.  The shame subsided only during happy hours and furniture shopping. I looked into their faces and saw my failure glaring back. I kept wondering how would I explain this to them in the years to come, and what does fatherhood look like when you are only doing it part-time? My therapist reminded me that kids were resilient and quality was more important than quantity. I wanted to believe him but knew it wasn’t that simple.  I was hurting, vulnerable, and it would have been easy to leave it a...