PersonalStories27

Yes, this did just happen.

Tuesday, May 21st, 7:01 AM

Even this early, Starbucks on the Boulevard had no seats. So I headed out the side door onto the small plaza dedicated to 'Helen Putnam' somebody and turned down the alley heading toward ACRE Coffee on Fourth. It's a bright alley carved from the brick walls of buildings that date to the late 19th century. The stains on the sloped asphalt date to that and last week. A 30-something man who looked 55, leaned out from behind a green restaurant recycling bin about fifteen yards ahead to my right. He was practicing a private recycling, pulling close to him a black, ratty item he'd just retrieved from inside the bin. He eyed me as a thought crossed my mind, which I squelched and kept walking. If I were going to die, it wouldn't be here; it would more likely be from the mounds of paperwork and frustration I'd been carrying for more than seven months. But the cause ain't heavy...she's my daughter. Another ten paces and a second man, dressed in last month's, maybe last year's dark canvas windbreaker filled in the horizontal topography. If the first guy didn't get me, surely this guy would. Or maybe my odds would hold out.

"Hey, how you doin'?" he asked me. Even with stringy, greasy hair, he could have been a stand-in for Brad Pitt. Shoot, did I have any spare change? No. I was on a plastic diet since dropping $90 on a two-hour supervised visitation last night.

"I'm terrific," I said, and continued walking. Then I stopped, turned back to him, adding, "No, actually, I'm a mess."

He took a few steps toward me. "Oh yeah? Why?"

"Because I miss my 22-month-old daughter who they've taken away from me. Why? Because of one false accusation by her 'mother'."

"Yeah? I have a 22-month-old daughter."

I thought he was playing me until, without missing a beat, he added, "July 3rd."

"My daughter's is June 28th. I'm fighting for her in Family Court."

He gave me a fist bump and said, "Man, why do you think I'm homeless?" I wondered if he thought that tear running down my left cheek was from the off-the-charts Sonoma County pollen count or because I couldn't believe what I was hearing, what I was seeing. Brad Pitt reduced to dumpster diving. And all because of the ravages of custody and a system which bankrupts good dads every day.

He continued looking me in the eyes. If there was any concern that this was the script for a shakedown, it must have dissipated seconds earlier. A man fist bumping his support for a total stranger is not a man with an open hand begging change.

Raising his hands like one about to perform a baptism in a river, he looked up at the framed clouds and blue sky. "You won't fail. You've got God on your side. You have to let him handle it."

We traded a few more segments of dialogue and then I said good-bye, headed off, and wondered and then didn't wonder if I'd just encountered another angel.

From forty yards away, his last directive was almost inaudible against the cross traffic on Western as I stepped out onto the sidewalk.... "Never give up the fight. You've got God on your side." I'll keep that in mind the next time I walk into that other corridor of terror and opportunity on the second floor of Sonoma County Superior Court.

Ralph's Story...