One More Time And You're Out!

The guy from the Social Services was here today. A tall black chap, friendly and articulate.

I phoned him earlier and asked him a few questions to make sure he understands that I regard the state subordinate in my home. He makes it clear that it's fair enough, but he has ways of achieving his aims regardless of whether I'll cooperate or not. But he says it in a nice and diplomatic way, which I tell him I appreciate. After a few more pleasantries in which I remind him that it's me who's paying his salary and that, generally, the state should be distrusted, we finish and I think what a bigoted fool I am. One consolation is, of course, that I'm right.

When he calls round, he asks me the obvious questions and I give him exhaustive answers that impress him and probably give him much more info that he bargained for, some of it may turn out of use against me, should push come to shove. He invites my wife to join us as he wants to talk about our marital situation. She's seen him before in his office which makes me a little uncomfortable, because he knows more than I'd like him to: some of the things I did and said during my, say, three bouts of drinking were half-crimial if not just criminal.

The conversation turns to my drinking, which I believe I quit but no one else does and the evidence is leaning a bit their way. He tells me I have to stop or I'll lose my child. I get up suddenly and start pacing the room, my hands in my pockets. He's startled. I turn to him, my position giving me an little bit of an advantage, which I badly need. I feel so threatened. I can't lose my daughter, I can't. 'Is that a formal ultimatum?', I demand in a firm voice, trembling inside. I forget now, although I know roughly, what the procedures are, what the law is.

All I know is that if this guy makes up his mind that it's better for my daughter to be without me our future together will hang on a thread. The slightest provocation on my wife's part, and she's brilliant at that, one glass of wine too many on my part, I'm brilliant at that, and my future can be defined for years to come. I'm afraid of this. I will stumble, I know. I don't deserve to be left with just one final chance. After all I've done for my darling girl, after all the time I spent with her, after all the love I've given her, and even after all the suffering I've brought on her.

I sit down. He clarifies the situation: nothing can happen if there will not be further incidents or reports from my wife that she feels threatened. Were they to take place, he'll formally suggest that I be banned from living with my daugher and wife.

We discuss some more topics. I take part, but in my mind I see this big banner in the sky tailing an old aeroplane with an open cockpit: 'Three times, you're out!'.

From the cockpit, my wife smiles to me.