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  • by Jamaal

All about the Benjamins...Part II


I just added this pic because I thought it was funny...sad but funny...

First off, I need to apologize. I haven't been making regular blog posts in a while. It's been two weeks since my last post and when I started this blog, I wanted to be consistent. I'm good at starting stuff, going strong for a week, and then falling off like Michael Jordan when he was with the Washington Wizards.

I called my uncle a couple of days ago to tell him happy birthday. He informed me that he liked reading my blog and he asked me why I stopped. I told him that I didn't stop and I just let life get in the way. But the fact that he told me that he really enjoyed reading it and he's all the way in Indiana (okay, it's just six hours away, but you get the point) let me know that I should try to do this on a more regular basis.

So, I'm going to commit to one blog post per week. Probably on Thursday or Friday. Ya'll keep reading, so imma keep writing.

Okay, on to today's topic. All About the Benjamins...Part II.

For the past couple of months, I've been struggling with the decision to put my oldest daughters mom on child support. Now I know most dudes would kill to be in my position. Especially when I (faithfully!) paid child support for my daughter for about seven years before she came to live with me. Like I never missed a payment. Never. I never wanted to be one of those guys who was ducking and dodging child support. To me, that's just no way to live. So every two weeks, there would be a line item in my check that said child support. I know a lot of you fellas out there can feel me on that line item.

(Side note. If you're paying child support, one of the worst things you can do is look at the total amount column of child support you've paid for the year. Child support comes out after taxes. So that's money you just didn't get. Then you see the total amount of money you didn't get. It hurts. I mean I looked once and damn near cried.)

Most guys would be like, "Go get your money bro! It's your turn!" And the way our custody agreement is set up, in lieu of child support, my daughters mom is supposed to be paying child care expenses. My daughter is 12. Child care expenses are pretty close to zero. I am in all my rights to go to Child Support Recovery and get my paper.

"So what's the problem? " you're probably asking.

The problem is I got pride.

You remember that part in Pulp Fiction where Marsellus Wallace was telling Butch Coolidge to throw that fight? Ving Rhames summed the pros and cons of throwing the fight. And he also, brilliantly, summed up the potential pitfalls with emotion along the way. He told Butch that his pride might get in the way of doing what he should be doing. Butch knows he should throw the fight, but Butch's pride might not let throw the fight.

Marsellus says, "That's pride...fuckin' with you. Fuck pride."

So my pride is "fuckin" with me. I don't need the money from my daughters mom, but dammit why should I have to bear undue financial burden when I ain't the only person who made this kid? I'm come from a long line of old school men. We work, provide, repeat. We do not want to have to ask anyone for anything. So for a long time, I kept saying to myself that I didn't have to ask for this. Now I know I won't get a ton of money out of the deal, however, a few dollars could go to clothes, food, gas money, sports fees, phone bills, etc etc etc. So again, why am I struggling with this?

I even went so far as to apply for DHS to look into my case. They said there would be $25 dollar fee to open a child support case. Now I got the $25 bucks, but I let that be an obstacle in my way of actually proceeding.

Then, I got a letter from DHS saying, because of certain reasons, I could have the $25 fee waived. So there is nothing that is keeping me from opening this case.

Except. My pride.

Pray for ya boy ya'll. The letter has been sitting in my house for about a week now untouched. Just waiting for me to fill it out.

Maybe I'll do it today.

Hell...I don't know.

Read and Discuss.


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