The Undeclared War We Fathers Fight

We fathers - and our families - are engaged in a battle within a larger undeclared war against our culture - against Western civilization - against our entire way of life. Unless we respond immediately, we are headed for extinction.

Monday, May 7, 2007

Sins of Omission

The Duke non-rape case was given front page top of the fold coverage nation wide virtually over a span of an entire year. As David Ussher has pointed out,

we were bombarded with the 'culture of rape' propaganda ad naseum an infinitum. A "mob environment inexcusably hateful to men at Duke University" was created. We were told by many anonymous victims of rape how they live in fear of men because, "all [white] men are rapists and nothing else." This nauseating propaganda was churned out continuously, that is, until the boys were found innocent. Then it became as quiet as a heart tugging altar call to repentance.

Contrast the non-rape Duke case of a stripper, prostitute and likely drug using liar to the real life double rape, torture, mutilation and murder of two young white people in Knoxville, Tennesee on February 1 of this year. Although this horrific tragedy actually happened, it has received virtually no attention whatsoever in the mainstream media. In case you don't know what took place, let me fill you in:

Two young people, Christian Channon 21, and Christopher Newsom, 23,
were out together driving when they were car jacked and kidnapped by four black men and a black woman. These four men raped Christopher Newsom, severed his penis, set him ablaze and shot him several times - fatally - forcing his girlfriend, Channon Christian, to watch.

Unfortunately, that wasn't all they had in mind.

Channon Christian, was beaten and gang-raped for four days by all four men in between the times they took turns urinating on her. Not satisfied, they cut off her breasts and put chemicals in her mouth in an attempt to destroy DNA evidence... and then murdered her and dumped both of the bodies in the nearby woods for the animals to feed upon.

Nice, huh? Think this was newsworthy? Why didn't this make the network news or the major newspapers? Why aren't all the feminists groups up in arms and prostesting? Where is the Group of 88?

Had the victims been a black prostitute stripper and the rapists/mutilators/murderers white boys instead of insanely sick black men, this would have been posted like a wanted poster on every major newspaper in the country and certainly worthy of a FoxNews Alert! in the same category as the Amber White case of Arruba two years ago.

Ask yourself why hasn't this atrocious heinous crime been made public by the mainstream media of our nation? Why the silence?

The obvious answer to any unbaised thinking individual is that these media moguls have an agenda they constantly push at us, both by what they publicise and what they leave out by the sin of omission.

This sin of omission is not only taking place in these types of crimes, but in many other areas of our culture, society, politics and world events as well. The fact that many non-custodial dads are stripped of their children and made destitute by the very system that then demands them to pay for a double household and punishes them with the loss of basic rights and privileges, if they refuse or can't comply.

We also don't see any honest open debate on 9/11 in the mainstream media. We're expected to accept the Official Conspiracy Theory for three professionally union built skyscrappers disapearing form the New York skyline, in direct violation of the laws of physics, as the only possible explanation and go on with our lives as if nothing unusual happened or that it's unpatriotic to think our government/Israel had anything to do with it. That despite

Ron Paul won the latest presidential debate according to the MSNBC online debate poll, but if not for the alternative media, you'd never know.

but when one goes to the MSNBC site, where the poll was conducted, you get this instead:
Giuliani sets himself apart on abortion

Among Red State Republicans, Romney is the favorite after the first debate

Ron Paul wins the debate according to MSNBC own online poll but Guilliani and Romney get the accolades.

The feminists pushed for 'no-fault' divorce back in the 1960s and our 50% divorce rate is destroying families, but not a word about it in the main stream media. To them, that destruction of the foundation of our nation is part of their agenda, so, it's not happening, it's not newsworthy. But white men are again blamed for the fact that they don't want to get married and raise a family.

Meanwhile, adjust the pillows on your couch, tune in to the next episode of American Idol, stay up with your favorite sports team. All is well in America, the Leader of the Free World"bringing democracy" to the Arab nations so they too, can be just like us. And if they don't like it, our military - mostly young white boys -

will kill them all until they do. Or be killed doing it.

There's nothing to be concerned about. If there was, the main stream media would tell us about it. They will make sure we get all worked up over that problem, after all, it must be newsworthy, or they wouldn't have brought it to our attention.


Thursday, April 26, 2007

Break Marriage Contract - Receive Reward

Marriage vows - the "marriage contract" - is intended to be a lifelong obligation of a man and a woman to each other. The purpose of marriage is usually for the purpose of expressing their love for each other. This love often results in the pro-creation of children to be raised as a family - together - as husband and wife, father and mother.

"I...... take you to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; from this day forward until death do us part.

However, since the advent of no-fault divorce, starting in many states in the mid 1960s, the marraige committment, ie. marriage contract, has been routinely broken for little or no valid reason, and when children are involved, usually - 70-80% of the time - by the wife or mother. This breaking of the contract, quite often for 'irreconcilable differences,' often results in the father being separated from his children and they from him, for basically no reason whatsoever, other than the desire of the mother to no longer live with the father of their children.

The mother has been given great incentives by the American family legal system to break her marriage contract at a whim. In a divorce, the wife undoubtedly will be given the triumvirate of the system - the house, the car and the kids. Along with the kids comes stipping of the dad of his right to be a dad to his children, and the making of the dad into a visitor instead with 'visitation rights.' These new rights may or may not be enforced and usually aren't if the mother decides to prevent the father and the children from having a relationship. And of course, along with the children, goes to the mother the all important 'child support' obligation - a private debt owed by the father to the mother and enforced by the State under severe penalties meted out to the dad for failing to comply, no matter how onerous or unreasonable the burden.

This breaking of the marriage contract is the only contract in existence that can be broken unilaterally by one party, who is then granted benefits for having broken that "until death do us part" - contract. In no other contractural arrangement is one party allowed to break a legally binding contract with the approbabtion of the legal system except in the marriage contract, arguably the most important societal contract exant.

Perhaps an analogy will illustrate what happens when a mother no longer wishes to live with the father and files for a 'no-fault' divorce, petitioning the court to break the contract.

Let's say you contract with a builder you're friends with and you trust to build a house for you. The builder, before the house is finished, decides he doesn't want to finish his contract. He doesn't 'feel' like fulfilling his obligation. You've paid all your bills up to that point and things have been going well up until then. But, for no legitimate legal reason, your contractor friend, through his attorney, visits the courthouse, fills out some papers asking for the contract to be broken, for no reason really, but 'irreconcilable differences' is checked in the box on the convenient form provided for the 'no-fault' divorce to commence.

A clever builder will change the locks on the house and seek and be granted a court ordered restraining owner preventing the owner from entering his house. Soon thereafter, the judge says to the contractor, "No problem. I will take the house and give it to you. The owner will pay your attorney bills and you get to live in the house, and he will make the house payments. If he doesn't make the payments, we will label him a 'deadbeat, take away his driver's license and his professional license until he does. If he still refuses, I will find him in contempt of court and throw him in jail until he changes his attitude. Have a good day. Next case."

Women wonder why there are so few 'good men' to marry. What man, in his right mind, would enter into a contract that can be broken at the whim of the other party and result in his financial ruination, perhaps for life?


Friday, March 9, 2007

Deadbeat Dad - First Two Chapters

Deadbeat Dad

The story of how the author lost his children,
his home, his business, his city, his country
and was labeled a ‘deadbeat dad.’

Charles Fockaert

A True Story

Dedicated to my two youngest children - Matthew and Maggie - who paid a dear price for being dragged into the American family legal system and separated from their dad.


Fleeing America 11
My Father 15
My Children 19
My Business 25
Happy Birthday, Bitch 37
Got Beer? 46
“Come Out Come Out Wherever You Are” 58
Another Restraining Order 68
My Turn to Turn to the Legal System 85
Court Appointed Special Advocate 101
Center for Child Advocacy 103
Preparation Preparation Preparation 109
Finally - the Truth 115
Truth is Stranger Than Fiction 127
“Why? Daddy” 140
No Order in This Court 143
Visitation 156
Going Postal 167
And Justice for All 175
The Divorce and the Judge’s Rulings 182
The Bankruptcy 198
Role Reversal 202
Where Was Stephanie Spain? 211
Jury Misconduct 219
California State Court of Appeals 222
Deadbeat Dad v. Humboldt County 233
A Deadbeat Dad’s “Anger Problem” 235
Contemplating Suicide 240
‘Certain Unalienable Rights’ 244

Fleeing America

The day I called hoping to talk to my two youngest children, I hadn’t seen or communicated with any of my four children in over four years. A sweet little voice said “Hello.” In my heart I knew it was my youngest daughter Maggie, but in my ear the voice didn’t sound like her. Her voice was different than what I remembered. She sounded like her older sister Hannah.
“Maggie?” Her voice was so grown up. I was still thinking I might be talking to Hannah, my oldest daughter.
“Is that you Maggie?”
“Yes, this is Maggie. Who is this?”
My voice, broken with emotion, was barely able to get out, “It’s your daddy, Maggie.”
“Oohhh… Dad.”
The tears were flowing now.
“I miss you Maggie.”
“I miss you too, Dad.”
“How’s your brother Matthew?”
“He’s okay.”
At this point I heard the phone being taken away from Maggie and “Mr. Wonderful,” the ex’s new husband, came on the line.
“Where are you?” the junk-yard dog demanded.
“It’s none of your business where I am. I didn’t call to talk to you.”
“What are you doing, calling to cause trouble?”
“I called to talk to my kids. How is that causing trouble?”
“Where are you?”
“It’s none of your business where I am. Let me talk to Maggie”
“Where are you?”
“Like I said, it’s none of your business where I am. Let me talk to Maggie.”
No answer.
The line went silent.
Anguish seared red hot through my being. I trembled with rage. Fortunately, for that very reason, I was seven thousand miles away.
Then, once again, I wept.
* * * * *
Four years earlier my brother offered his place to stay until I could get back on my financial feet. My brother lived in the desert of Southern California. He had just filed for divorce from his wife who had a boyfriend in Nevada and thought my brother didn’t know.
We unpacked the few things I had left to my name and had managed to cram into the rental truck into a storage unit. His unfurnished apartment was a one bedroom. My brother left his furniture with his ex and the children, who, of course, she had custody of. We took what furniture I had brought with me and furnished his small apartment. I slept in the living room on the floor in a sleeping bag, just as I had done my first year in college.
I put an ad in the local newspaper in the home repair section, as “House Doctor.” I started doing handyman jobs, just like I had done while attending college nearly 25 years earlier.
I eventually secured a job framing houses for a contractor, like I had done before I had gotten my own contractor’s license, after graduating from Humboldt State University, some 20 years earlier. I was the only English speaking white guy on the otherwise all Mexican crew. The change from the cool lush green climate of Humboldt County to the desert of southern California was as abrupt as one could get. It was hot. It was dry. The work was physically demanding. All of the other workers were 15-20 years my junior. My pay was $12 an hour, $13 an hour less than what the Honorable Judge John. E. Buffington had imputed to me some months before. I was being paid what I had paid my own employees while in Humboldt County. After working all day in the hot desert sun, I did handyman jobs in the late afternoons and evenings. My body ached at the end of my long day. When we finished that framing job, I was told, not asked, but told like the other itinerate workers, to report to another job in Newport Beach, a two-hour drive through Los Angeles traffic. I was expected to work for the same $12 an hour but now with a minimum 4 hour daily commute.
I wasn’t making enough money to pay child support. I was barely making enough money to live on. My child support arrears were accumulating monthly, with interest. Now I was supposed to drive my worn out truck almost 200 miles a day for $12 an hour?
I was damn near despair. And glad I had my brother to talk to.
While I was working during the day, by night I sent out resumes and applications all over southern California and Las Vegas. I applied to over 60 possible jobs. I went to interviews after work or on Saturdays. One prospective employer, an expanding automobile oil change outfit, asked me what I thought my best attribute was. “Anticipating and avoiding problems.” Wrong answer. The right answer was ‘organized.’ Organized? I figured that was a given. I didn’t get the job. I was never offered a job. I had proven the Honorable Judge John. E. Buffington wrong. I couldn’t get a job in Southern California or Las Vegas.
I took the qualifying test for a possible position for the State of California. My brother was working for the Department of Corrections and with his connections we figured I might get work with the D.O.C. According to inside sources, I passed the test. I was now in the pool of eligible and potential future State employees.
Eight months after I left my home and children in Humboldt County, I took a written test and passed the initial interview for a Construction Supervising Manager for the Palmdale Unified School District. I had letters of recommendation from several of my professional peers verifying my qualifications. With my over twenty years of construction experience, much of it working on government projects, including my alumni Humboldt State University, I felt I had a decent chance of being offered the position.
Both of these positions for which I had a fairly good chance of being hired for, brought me back full circle to my younger days when I had thought of working in the public sector. I decided then that I wouldn’t make a good government employee and, in fact, wouldn’t make much of an employee at all. I felt I was created to work for myself.
On Monday, November 8th, I received a letter from deputy district attorney John Wright of the Humboldt County Family Support Division, notifying me that my contractor’s license was suspended effective November 8th - that very day - and that my driver’s license was suspended effective the next day, November 9th. Both of these licenses were requirements for the job with the Palmdale School district with which I had a final qualifying interview scheduled for Wednesday, November 10th, just two days away.
Because of my contractor’s license suspension, which was the second time Mr. Wright had suspended my license, I was no longer qualified for the Palmdale School District job. Because of my driver’s license suspension, also the second time Mr. Wright had suspended that license, I could not legally drive to the scheduled interview.
By this time, I had had all I could take. I sent Mr. Wright copies of the 60 or so jobs I had applied for to protect my self in any future legal battle I should have with the Humboldt County Family Support Division. I also asked Mr. Wright what purpose he was accomplishing by cutting me off at the knees before I could even get back on my feet?

My Father

While growing up, there were times I wished I had a dad like other boys did. One time was when I was 10 years old and trying out for little league in our new home town in Southern California. We had just moved from Michigan where I had played baseball all day, everyday, in the hot summer sun. I was a natural third baseman, with good speed and a strong arm who could get the ball to first base quickly and accurately. Emulating my hero, Mickey Mantle, I would bat both ways, usually as lead off batter. On the day of the tryouts, I went alone on my bicycle. I didn’t notice any other boys there without their dads. It hardly ever rained in Southern California, but it was threatening to that cold spring morning. I watched from the sidelines as all the other boys were showing their skills, fielding, throwing and then batting. I never got to field or throw the ball. I was the very last eager boy to get a chance to show how I could hit the ball. By that time the rain was coming down fairly heavy. I don’t think the coaches even saw me. I never made a team and never tried out for little league again.

My father taught me many things about being a dad. He was a good example of the kind of dad not to be. My father was just that, my father. Although I called him Dad, he was never my dad. Looking back from the perspective of many years, I can’t really blame my father. He most likely never had a good example of how to be a dad. His father was an alcoholic and verbally abusive to his wife, my grandmother. I know, because I was old enough to begin mimicking my grandfather’s verbal abuse of my grandmother, much to my grandmother’s chagrin. My guess is, based upon how my father treated me, my grandfather was abusive not only to my grandmother, but to my father as well, the proverbial like father – like son. My father’s abuse of my mother and me ending up creating such a stress filled home that I developed a severe stuttering problem at a very young age, a handicap that plagued me throughout much of my life.
My father was, however, as his father was, a good provider. Although my mother often complained that she had to beg my father for money, we never lacked for any material thing. We lived in a nice four bedroom house in a good neighborhood in a respectable suburb of Detroit. I went to the Catholic school at the end of our block to get what my father no doubt believed would be a good private education. His construction business thrived in the post war mid 1950’s booming automobile driven economy. His work kept him busy making phone calls early in the morning and late at night.
The demands and challenge of his work was, I’m sure, the reason we kids rarely saw him at dinner time. Or on Saturdays. And when he was home, he would often be seated in front of the TV eating ice cream out of the carton, (something that irritated my mother to no end). Or with his head thrown back snoring loudly (something else that irritated my mother to no end).

It’s not that my father never took me anywhere. He would take me with him to the lumber yard. Once, he was gone so long I grew more bored than usual and started playing with the column shift of his green Ford pick-up truck. The truck ended up rolling out into the middle of our town’s busiest street. It wasn’t often I saw my father run, but run he did after the honking horns of the irritated motorists attracted his attention. Another time I remember my father taking me somewhere was when he brought me to a friend of his who gave me a shoebox full of fishing tackle. My dad then brought me to the nearby lake and left me alone on the pier while he went somewhere. Where he went I didn’t know. But I do know I stood on that old wood pier with my fishing pole in my hand watching mesmerized as the gusting wind slowly blew my just acquired shoe box full of really cool fishing tackle across the weather-worn wooden beams. I stood spell bound as the shoe box hesitated at the edge of the pier, as if to give me a chance to save it, then plopped over the side into the chilly water and float slowly on the short choppy waves out of reach and sink forever out of sight.

My father also brought me to the family dentist just before my mother and he split up. The dentist said I would need braces to correct my overbite. I was too young then for braces. Had my parents not divorced, I would have gotten the braces I needed.
When the battles at home escalated to the point where my mother could take no more, she left my father to live with her parents. She drove her 1955 Chevy Belair on Route 66 to Southern California. It was 1961. I was nine years old and now the oldest of three boys being raised by a single mother. We went from being upper middle class to near poverty almost over night. I don’t blame my mother, she did what had to be done. But life was not easy for her or for us. I started working at 13 years old, cutting lawns and pulling weeds. I remember buying my first pair of Levi’s with my own money for $4.52. I got my first real job on my 16th birthday, the day I could legally work, at the Sizzler within walking distance of our house. I graduated from there to working at Al’s Arco, where I learned to work on my first car, a car that I had bought and insured with my own hard earned money, a black two door 1961 Chevy Impala. I took my future wife out on many dates in that Impala.

We met in eighth grade and went steady on and off until we finally married when I was 19. Her parents were still married and her dad provided her with the kind of home life I had always craved – one where the father and mother were still married and led a seemingly normal life. Her father took me water skiing on their family vacations to the Colorado River, hunting in Kern County, camping and fishing. Her parents would come to watch me play football, something even my mother didn’t do.
I was a high school jock, playing football and running sprints as a captain on the track team. As a senior I was awarded the Coaches Trophy from three of the most influential men in my life. Sports taught me that discipline and hard work has its rewards. Because of my involvement in track, I was able to attend my first choice of a university, Humboldt State, in Northern California.

One other time I wish I had a dad to stick up for me was my junior year when I played high school football. That year was a big year for us football players. The previous year all of the first string varsity backfield graduated, leaving the first string halfback position open. I expected to fill that position. I was a junior, one of the fastest players on the team, and I had my sophomore year's success behind me. By all rights the halfback position was mine.

The head coach had other ideas. There was a sophomore who normally would have played on the B squad like most sophomores did - like I did - but who the head coach wanted to come up to varsity. The sophomore was going to be groomed to play halfback a year earlier than usual. I wasn't having any of that male cow dung, even as a high school kid. I wasn't going to sit on the bench watching a sophomore twenty pounds lighter than I play my position. I knew I was better than my competitor. Not only was I knocking the snot out of him in practice, I had paid my dues and with several MVP awards under my belt, had already proven myself. I felt the coach should have been working with me.

The sophomore’s dad was a member of the boosters club whereas my mother didn't even come to see me play let alone know what a boosters club was. Our family couldn't boost anyone, we were the ones needing a boost. I'm sure the sophomore’s dad and the head coach had conversations, and so his son had the edge on me there. The entire team had a pre-game dinner at the local country club every Friday night before the game. The boosters club was welcome to join us. I got my first glimpse of how many of the parents lived; I was intimidated by the posh country club atmosphere. I was very uncomfortable with the fact that I would be eating in such plush surroundings every week, knowing what we had at home.

I was pissed off by the fact that the head coach wasn't playing me when we both knew he should be. I was intimidated by the Friday night country club dinners. I was embarrassed that I wasn't playing in the games that my girlfriend and her parents were coming to watch with the purpose of seeing me play. These facts made me tell the coach I wanted to play on the junior varsity team. I told him I wanted to play football, not sit on the bench. I thought he would object and ask me to reconsider or give me more playing time. He didn't. I wasn't the only unhappy player. Other players quit too. The junior varsity coach was surprised that many of us requested to play on the JV team. When the JV coach watched me kick several consecutive field goals soccer style, something relatively new in 1970, he asked me if the head coach had seen me kick field goals.

The first week of JV practice, an unknown lineman spiked me in the back breaking a rib or two and bruising a couple of others. I was out for the season before even playing one game. I never played high school football again.

Perhaps if I would have had a dad - a normal dad - to talk things over with, things may have been different. No doubt things would have been different just having a dad around to look after my interests. Perhaps he would have even been a member of the Boosters Club. He may have even sat in the bleachers to watch his son play football.

One thing I knew for sure, I would not be like my father. With me, it wouldn’t be like father – like son. If I ever had kids, I would do my best to make things different for them.

I would be the dad to them that I never had.

About the author

Charles Fockaert is the father of four great children and was a foster parent to over a dozen children; he has a degree in economics, fought fires with the U.S Forest Service, started and for over 20 years ran his own real estate development and construction company; he is a private pilot and has traveled in over 20 countries and lived in Mexico, Nicaragua, Thailand, South Korea and Qatar. He has two blogs: and Deadbeat Dad is his first book. He can be contacted at

Deadbeat Dad


Saturday, February 10, 2007

Striking at the Root

"There are a thousand hacking at the branches of evil to one who is striking at the root," wrote Henry David Thoreau.

Before there is a "Men's Movement' a majority of us men are going to have to agree on what the root of our problem is. We need to agree exactly who or what our enemy is. A lot of effort is being expending hacking at the branches - sometimes between us and the trunk - but little, if any, striking at the root of what we, as a culture, are facing.

We live in an age of deception. Deceivers abound. Even the motto of the Israeli secret intelligence organization - the Mossad - is, "By deception that shalt make war." Our women have been deceived, deceived by the lie that is feminism. It is up to us men to get over our hurt feelings, our anger, our frustrations and realize that our women have been duped. And it is up to us men to do something about it, and not just complain about feminism, or liberals, or the right or the left, but to identify what the root - the source - the origen of the problem we face and start counter attacking, at that root.

An undeclared war has been waged against us and our families for neigh 40 years now. One tactic of our enemies in this war is to separate men from women, wives from husbands, fathers from their children and children from their fathers. When this objective - this separation - is accomplished, our house is spoiled.

"No man can enter into a strong man's house, and spoil his goods, except he will first bind the strong man; and then he will spoil his house." Mark 3:27

Our women are allowing our enemies into our house through the mechanism of divorce. When is the last time you've seen a survey that asked women if they were truly happy after being granted a divorce? If they were better off without their husband than with their husband? If they regret their actions? If they would do things differently? My guess is the vast majority of them would say, "I made a mistake," or "I would try harder next time to keep my marriage together."

More to come on this important topic.


Wednesday, January 31, 2007

The Founding Feminists

These four women help found the woman's movement. I let the reader discover the common trait among all of them.

Betty Friedan (February 4, 1921 – February 4, 2006) was an American feminist, activist and writer, best known for starting what is commonly known as the "Second Wave" of feminism through the writing of her book The Feminine Mystique.

Bella Savitsky Abzug (July 24, 1920 – March 31, 1998) was a well-known American political figure and a leader of the women's movement. She famously said, "This woman's place is in the House — the House of Representatives," in her successful 1970 campaign to join that body.

Gloria Steinem (b. March 25, 1934) is an American feminist icon, journalist, and women's rights advocate. She is the founder and original publisher of Ms. magazine.

Gloria Rachel Allred (born Gloria Rachel Bloom on July 3, 1941) is an American lawyer and radio talk show host. She is also the mother of Court TV hostess Lisa Bloom.

Anyone see the common trait among them all? Yes, we are afraid to state the facts, for fear of being labeled anti-Semitic. Or racist. But the facts are the facts. These women and the feminists groups they have formed and influenced have done more to harm the family structure in American culture than any other single group.

They promote lesbianism, homosexuality, divorce, abortion, leaving the home and dumping the children off at day care for a career and just about every activity that destroys the family structure of American culture.