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Why Daddy he not comes

Nowadays science-fiction

Richard Trigaux

A young french lady just went 18. Others would celebrate, but her is going to the court house, to ask why her father stopped coming to see her at home. In the meanwhile, in Montana, a scientist is preparing a strange exprience on consciousness... based on electronic circuits?

Science Fiction in the way of Jules Verne: with up to date scientifical data, and generous characters.

Cover of the book 'Why daddy he no more comes'

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Why Daddy he no more comes

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(By the author, first person)


This story is first and foremost a science fiction story, opening fantastic opportunities in the domain of consciousness and survival in the afterlife. However it is not some past twentieth century space opera science fiction: it is rooted in the most extraordinary science discoveries of this early twenty-first Century.

It is not either some transhumanist nightmare: it speaks of consciousness, of real consciousness, this thing which experiences awareness, sensations, feelings, happiness, hopes, emotions and human warmth. And without which nothing makes any sense.

But how can I call «science» things which for millennia were considered to be of the domain of religions? Because this book is based on the modern 21st century science, not the old 20th century materialistic science. Especially on NDE, the Dutch Study cleared this domain of all the suspicions and counter-arguments, while complying on all the standard science methodologies.

That this fantastic knowledge is still considered of the «religious» domain however poses a problem, that I address in my book «General Epistemology», proposing a scientifically acceptable frame for the study of consciousness.

This story you are to read is just a more human-friendly way to present this knowledge, which is still somewhat abstract.



The second aspect of the present story is that, just like Jules Verne did, I set my science fiction into a humanly warm story, with nice characters showing moral value and high ideals. This is not a simple presentation trick to make my thesis more attractive: the serious scientific study of consciousness inevitably leads to discover the purpose of life: to be happy. And this is precisely what happens to whoever becomes better, whoever gets more control on the imperfect brain that the unconscious amoral Darwinian evolution brought to us. Thus the main purpose of all my stories is precisely to arise the desire of a better world, and of a better life.



Third, the «adventure» plot line of this novel evokes malfunctions of institutions and characters in which we should be especially confident. The purpose is not to despise these institutions themselves, which are performing an incredibly difficult task. Actually I saw some of these people or centers doing fantastic things, like saving children from dereliction and even from death. But inadmissible and unpardonable problems happen when some of these persons use their functions to terrorize and destroy children, from sexism or from religious disagreements with their parents.

However I could not base such severe accusations on vague second-hand reports: it is things which are well documented by psychologists, specialists, and enquirers on large well known abuses in this domain, like the Outreau scandal in France, or the incredible Dade County forfeits in Florida. In more, I saw myself things like that, which gives me the authority of a witness to denounce these criminal acts.

But, from respect for the victims I knew, I could not tell their real story in a novel. I could not either exaggerate or pose false claims. The solution is this fiction story, where I present facts of equal seriousness than I directly witnessed, or which were pregnant in the news.

In these affairs, children always are treated like furniture, possessions. Nobody seems to bother about their suffering and disorientation in life, from losing their parents, and especially from hearing them defamed everywhere. Especially in large scandals like the Outreau affair or the Dade county affair, no justice was ever given, and the children victims are still seeing their tormentors free and not bothered, see honored.

This is also problematic for the artists and thinkers: nearby all the possible suffering and causes on Earth were described and advocated in numerous novels and art creations, while every artist supported at least one cause dear to him. Even children mistreated by their family have their defenders, like Jules Renard or Hervé Bazin in France. Yet I know few novels or artist presenting and defending children crushed by the heartlessness of the divorce laws and courts. That this was done to children I knew was a personal invitation do do so.



This story also partly takes place in virtual worlds.

Virtual worlds are expected to have a great future for social interaction, training, learning, meeting people. Yet they are still ignored and denigrated. Even the covid epidemics did not increased the attendance! It seems that way too few understood their fantastic potential for freedom and social evolution, leaving the free virtual worlds vegetating without any support.

At the time this novel took place, several collective virtual worlds were operating, like second Life, and Inworldz. The science fiction part was created in Inworldz, for the winter gala 2016. For this reason I claim precedence of the proposed science ideas for this date. The great adventure in the chapter 10 is supposed to take place in 2018. It was unfortunately the last year of Inworldz, which was lost mainly to denigration.



At last, this story also partly takes place in the afterlife.

When we speak of the afterlife, the traditional «happy end» cannot happen, because we all depart to the Great Beyond one day or another. In this domain let us speak instead of happy eternity. Which is much more optimistic than any traditional novel.

There is no final justice either in this book, where the good guys would be rewarded and the bad guys punished, as in movies. Because this is like that in reality: the problem has not been solved. But in the story we see the victims rebuilding themselves and moving forward, which is the ultimate victory.

And the real victims I knew also rebuilt themselves.

All of them.

So that there is nothing to add.

Chapter 1 Christine

(By Christine, first person)


I so much remember this day in April 2018, my 18 birthday.


For most, this is a day of celebration, of enjoying their new freedom.


Not for me.


I was going to the court house.


Because I desperately needed to know.


I needed to know why, one day, my dear Daddy stopped coming at home.


My beloved, my sweet Daddy, who was taking me one weekend on two, bringing me in his country house, where we always had fantastic things to do: exploring the forest, gardening, or by bad weather playing at games, doing models, or looking at science or hearing music on the Internet.


When I was very young, he was at home every day, the evening. He played with me, or took me in his car for wandering.

Not all the time, because he had to go to work.

Also he always had to ask permission to my mother, to bring me somewhere. In this time I thought it was normal, and that men were another kind of children having to obey to women, just as I had to obey to my mother.

As far as I remember, my mother was always stern with him.

In the beginning, she smiled to me. But when I was telling my good moments with Dad, she frowned. So, I soon learned not to tell. Then she became stern all the time, just speaking of school work, washing myself and such.


What more unwelcoming than a courthouse. Supermarkets at least try to lure us with their sticky music, warm colors and fake neon lights. Courts don't need to attract people to fill their jails. They are dreary, cold and sad. The motto «Liberté Egalité Fraternité» engraved in hard stone seems so far away, like a promise from ancient times which was never made true.

First, who to ask? There was no welcome desk. Ah, «greffe» (registry), it must be that. Okay, there was a kind of waiting room with some people waiting. I needed to wait for my turn. A bad lamp, and the usual meaningless reviews «Paris Match», «Elle», etc. so boring that nobody is able to read them, even after several hours of waiting.


Daddy used to live at home. But one day he was no more here. Why I was never told. I remember my mother stuffing his clothes in a bag. The next day when I went back from school, nothing remained.

I asked my mother why he was gone.

«Shut up» was her answer. And I knew that when she was angry, I had better to keep silent and especially not to cry. If I cried she started to say very unpleasant things, that I had psychology problems and I would go to the hospital.

So that I went straight into my bedroom, and I cried... wiping my tears as they were coming, so that she could not see them while suddenly opening the door as she often did. Then I started to do my school work.

Doing our school work when we lose our only loving support is very hard. However it was the only remaining thing I had to grasp at, like a drowning person clinging at a straw. But My mother never helped me in my school work, as my dear Dad did. So I worked, because my Dad said school was important. It was my only remaining contact with him.


The person before me seemed to have tons of things to discuss. We were waiting since a full hour, and several persons had arrived in the meanwhile. How can people have such complex and difficult affairs that they need so many time to untangle them. Oh well, I heard them laughing, like old buddies together. I understood why this interview was taking so long. I started being afraid that the court closes before I was allowed in this room. Without money for an hotel, I could not afford to wait for another day.



The first and only dispute I remember, was my mother wanting me to learn to read with the «méthode globale» (Whole language method): reading words on cards without learning the letters. I was able to recognize several words. They disputed, Dad saying that this method was useless, while my mother was saying that I learned to read very fast. Indeed I remember I was recognizing the cards that my mother was showing me. For some time I was angry with my dad and my mother was saying me to stay in my bedroom instead of speaking with him.

But once at school, I was ridiculed: I was unable to recognize a single word, even those which were on my mother's cards. I needed weeks to understand that Daddy was right: if we read letter per letter we can recognize any word, even unknown ones, while with the cards we recognize only the cards we learned! Finally my mother did not liked to help me in my school work, so that my dad could help me again to understand the letters and other things.


I was finally admitted in a bureau, where was sitting a lady looking at me with a professional smile. This was not a nice place, with shelves full of limp files and paperwork. The furniture was of chrome tubes and gray-green leatherette, while worn chairs. The walls were painted of this urine color which seems the standard for all the French administrations. There was not a single object intended to be pleasant. I always wonder how people can force themselves in living into such ugly and dreary places. Working in this bureau was probably a worse punishment than all the jails they were sending people in.

I had prepared my identity card, because I thought that this lady would check my identity first. But she did nothing such, just asking my name. I first found this strange: anybody could pretend to be me, and learn everything from me. But I was wrong, you will see why.


Sometimes my mother received a group of friend ladies. Usually they were speaking loudly for hours, and I could not do my homework these days. If Daddy was here, he also had to keep in the couple chamber. Sometimes the ladies invited me, screaming how a beautiful girl I was, wanting me to smile, pawing my cheeks, and after drop me, speak again of their adult things I was not understanding.


But I remember some weeks after Daddy was gone, came another strange lady.

She asked me if I was missing «Daddy». Whoever will read this story will find this incredible: we never used the words «Daddy» or «Mommy» at home. I learned these words later, with the school. At home, Dad was «Léo» and my mother was «Francine». This is a classic trap, often set with «questioning social norms» as a bait. But the true purpose is that the child is unaware that his parents are special to him. And social services often activate this trap, out of ignorance or of malice.

So that when this lady asked me if I remembered «Daddy» I just replied «no». At once I felt it was a bad reply, without knowing why: my mother and the lady took a sinister look, but without telling me what I did wrong. Then the lady asked me several questions, if I was working well at school, if I had buddies, and so on. I replied that I liked «Léo» and if I could see him again. The lady replied:

«Yes of course you can see your friend.

-When? I inquired, with a bit of hope.

-Oh, ask your mother for this» and it was all. They started again speaking their adult things, that I understood nothing, just that it was about me, and they looked at me with worried faces. I felt as if I was just a dog poop, and did not dared to ask anything again.

The impolite lady came again several times, and I preferred to hide in my bedroom. But once she insisted to visit my bedroom. I refused, but she replied that she was obliged, to «check» things. She opened my drawers and looked at drawings I did not wanted her to see. Another time, I found that my toys had been displaced during the day. This was clear, as I used to arrange them in a specific way, for my games.


Baloo was missing, the teddy bear my Dad had offered me, and my only memory of him. I never saw him again.


I did not cried. I was starting to get accustomed to see bits of my life going away one per one.


When I requested access to the files about me, the professional smile turned into an angry face.

«We cannot give you such details, Miss. the files and social inquiry reports are secret»

I stared at her with disbelief.

I waited for years to know the truth.

I did an expensive travel.

I waited again for hours in this ugly anti-life place.

Just to hear this skinny bug reply me that I was not allowed to know?


I whispered, in a trembling voice:

«But... but... I am the victim

-Miss, I know pretty well that you are the victim. Everything was made to protect you and your interest.

-But my interest was trampled on... why I was deprived of my father?»

The stern face turned into a merrily sadistic grin:

«Miss, it was for your protection. There has been three procedures against your father. One in May 2010 for mistreatment to children. Since it is the children judge, everything is secret. Second, there was in January 2011 a family affairs judgment fixing the right of your father to visit you or take you in his home. But this right was suspended, when started the third procedure in September 2011: a complain against your father for sexual contacts on you. I am sorry to remind you of this» she uttered with a total lack of compassion, showing instead a strange smile and gleaming eyes at the evocation of child sex. «This procedure did not went to its conclusion, since your father died of a bone cancer in December 2011. So that there are no reports or conclusions at all.»


I was flabbergasted. That he died, I knew, although I was never told any details. But for the pedophilia... This was not connecting to anything I remember or experienced with him. He never touched me, and he never had any remark of this kind. He was the kindest and most respectful of all the Daddies, and the fondest memory of my childhood. The only worthy person I had ever met in this time.


Just as when, child, I realized that I would never more see my Dad, my lips started to wriggle... it was as if my Dad was stolen to me a second time... I was frustrated of the truth, I would never know what really happened, who accused him of such a horrible thing, and why these persons wanted so hard to separate us, to deprive me of his love, smile and education.

What was meaning being 18? For these people I was still a minor, even not a person, just a file, an object not allowed to any feeling.


This woman was manipulating a 12cms thick file, with plenty of papers and sub-files: my «dossier». It contained all the accusations, judgments and «social inquiries» which, I know, were detailing all the lies and sadistic acts against me and my Dad. More the names of all these unknown blokes who worked for years for the sole purpose of ruining my life, cowardly protected from my children sobs in their warm bureaus and mind-numbing ideologies. The truth was here, at 30cms in front of me. But more inaccessible than if it was separated from me by light years of bad will, hypocrisy and pigheadedness.

«May I at least have... a copy of these files? I tried.

-Miss, you do not have the right», she replied angrily, as if I was asking something dishonest.


-The only public document here is the family affairs judgment fixing the rights of your father toward you.

-But it is not his rights... it was MY rights to see my father!

-This is a philosophical debate I shall not enter in. Feel free to have your opinions, but the law is clear, and it fixes the rights of the parents, not of the children» I had studied a bit of philosophy at school... I knew some basic, especially that philosophy builds the law, not the contrary. Not only this woman was insolent and evil, but she also was a sophist and a manipulator.


Oh, well I expected all this a bit. I had prepared a last cartridge:

«Well, miss, anyway I need this family affair judgment, for my scholarship funding. My mother cannot help me much, you know, since she lost her job and is unemployed...

-If you want a copy of this judgment, you need to write a registered letter to the court registry. If I can be of any help for you, just ask, I will do it with pleasure, she concluded in a tone which was expressing the exact contrary.


I finally went outside of this place, which was supposed to protect me, but which grossly failed to do so, instead torturing me and breaking my life. Even the warmth of the spring sun and the merriness of flowers seemed in vain. So I had to continue living with half of myself missing. Continue to reply hello to people as if everything was right.


But nothing is right when such incredible abuses are possible.

Chapter 2: The experiment

(About Joan, third person)


A wooden lodge, somewhere in Montana, outside of a small western town, amid a fantastic scenery of forested mountains.

It was looking like a trekker's lodge, with planks walls and fiberglass roof. On a side was a shed for a worn out car, more a garden, a firewood pile, and a birds feeding station. It was even looking a bit messy, as many lonely living places in the forest.

However there was a large Internet satellite dish hidden in the low attic, more radars and cameras warning from unexpected visitors.


Joan was living here most of the time. When she was out, she was wearing boots and rugged clothes, making her look like a local. Often, trekkers could be seen around, and even at times some spent a night or two in Joan's lodge. But they not really were trekkers.


Joan was not some tourist or retired nature lover. Of course she fondly loved this place and often wandered in the surrounding majestic forest. In facts she was a scientist, an university doctor. Nothing remarkable yet, many trekkers too had high professional profiles. But she was not just an ordinary scientist either: she was a SETI scientist. And, while the main room and bedrooms of the lodge were looking quite rustic, there was, hidden behind the planking, a concrete safe room with a steel door, filled with computers and other electronic devices.


And Joan was preparing an experiment.


She had received the whole package for the experiment, including the money. First of all, she opened the source code files of the main software. She startled: it was regular C language, but with currency signs ¤ instead of dollar signs $. That an old Soviet compiler was still able to issue code working in Windows 10 amazed her. It had to be still actively maintained. Ah, Russians...


The funds had finally arrived too, in a totally improbable and romantic way. Like many rich Russian entrepreneurs, Vassiliev had to lick President Putin's boots, so that his company received lucrative public contracts. He was still under scrutiny, because they probably suspected something. Or simply because in this paranoid system, everybody was suspect. He had to use contorted means to transfer the funds, and Joan just received her credentials, coded in a .png file, on the site of a flowers retailer in Portugal. Joan did not liked this aspect of things, but on the other hand she did not wanted Vassiliev to have any trouble. She too needed to be discreet, although none of them was doing anything remotely dishonest or even illegal.


The hardware, Joan already had it. It was a collection of REGs, Random Numbers Generators, of the Araneus type, encased in an USB stick. Not sure the reverse biased semiconductor junction was the best method, but to have better they needed to build their own REG. This is what Vassiliev's money was for. Joan had to forward it to Anzu «Apricot», as a private order for her company in Honshu, Japan. Waiting for Anzu's solution, Joan could start tests with a bank of Araneus, each ordered under a different name. At least with all this electronic she would not need extra heating in her cold Montana winter. Indeed she used the warm air exhaust from her computer room to warm her living room, with its bank of powerful machines running SETI@home 24/7.

Electronic analog true random generators were already the base of the Global Consciousness Project experiment and of the PEAR experiment. These experiments demonstrated the influence of consciousness over true random material systems, at the cost however of a massive use of statistics, to detect very weak effects with a large number of chance drawings.

The principle is that, when we do random drawings, the accuracy increases with the square root of the total number of drawings. For instance political polls usually question a thousand of persons, for a (theoretical) accuracy of 1%. The PEAR experiments performed tens of millions of drawings, resulting in an accuracy better than 0.01%. In this way it was able to detect a small effect of the will of the operator, between 0.1% to 1%, with many kinds of random systems: mechanical, hydraulic, electronic, quantum. This was precise enough to show that, contrarily to analog generators, numerical pseudo-random generator show no effect ((Note of the author: I theorized this as soon as 2000)). The Global Consciousness Project performed billions of automated random drawings using electronic generators like the Araneus, which made it able to detect a very significant reactivity to a hundred of large emotional world events. After reaching their intended purpose, both experiments are now stopped, waiting for progresses on the theoretical side.

Sadly, these results, despite their incredible philosophical significance, were totally ignored by the mainstream science community. In some instances, they even were «disputed», using bizarre ad-hoc statistical arguments, psychological accusations, or by saying that a result without a theory is «not significant». Especially, the results of the PEAR experiment were removed from the Princeton University site. But they are still visible on the site of the ICRL (


Vassiliev's idea was to multiply the number of random generators, in order to increase these small statistical deviations to usable real time signals, instead of accumulating data over years. Of course they would use several random generators, but instead of statistically averaging their results, they would place them in an electronic neural network. In this way, he hoped, they would multiply each other, instead of just adding together. Anzu would create such an integrated circuit containing several layers of artificial neurons, and train it to each of the desired outputs, mostly the alphabet. But instead of being fed pictures of letters, it would receive random «noise», each on a supplementary «Upsilon» input. In this way, this artificial network would work like a natural brain network does, when we perform a free will choice, as explained in the chapter V-3 of «General Epistemology».

Further, as explained in the chapter V-18 of the same book, in order to emulate the properties of biological neurons, it had to be an analog network, with fully analog signals, where the random generators would inject carefully dosed analog noise. This smart combination of signals in a trained neural network was expected to be much more sensitive than the mere statistical averaging of many random signals. They hoped to increase detection a thousand times in this way.


But this was not enough: they needed a much more powerful boost of the signal itself, consciousness side, before it entered the REG. This was the job of Namgyal, «the Tibetan».


Namgyal was a tulkou. He was born in China, from a Tibetan family. He lived in Shanghai, in an ordinary worker's apartment, and the abundance of ear plugs in his trash was the only way to recognize that he was meditating on a daily basis. Namgyal requested the secret emissaries of Dharamsala not to publicly let know that he was a tulkou. He knew that he was in a dangerous position, but he needed to be safe from his government's suspicion, for his specific purposes in China. Namgyal brilliantly completed high university science studies, and started to work in astronomy. He occasionally worked for the SETI, which in China was much more in favor than spirituality. But he was still a real tulkou and a high level spiritual person, just waiting for his time to act. While waiting, he helped other positive projects, like the one of Vassiliev, or he trained in secret a selected group of students into special spiritual methods. China would need them a lot, when their time would come.


Vassiliev, Joan, Namgyal, Anzu and some others had met in a SETI Breakthrough Initiative Congress. Since SETI was now well accepted in each of their countries, it was giving them a safe cover for a much deeper research: how a consciousness could directly control a material device! When you hear of such researches, you are shown images of skulls covered with electrodes. But this only connects the brain, and its neural impulses, not the consciousness itself. Vassiliev's idea was to connect the very consciousness, which is a totally different endeavor. So that they decided to have no brain involved at all. This was radically removing all the brain activity, which until now plagued such kind of researches with random neural pulses. The ego activity, they used to say.


What they wanted to test was to allow a DEAD person to use their detector, from the Great Beyond.


Precisely, Namgyal had access to one of such places, where he used to take some rest between two of his busy incarnations. This offered him very special opportunities. What they were preparing was one of these great science experiment, of the kind science produces only one per generation. But this time it would be the science of the 21st Century!

Chapter 3: Conditional happiness

(By Christine, first person)


Of course the very next day of this meeting in the court, I wrote the letter for getting the judgment.


Two days later I got the receipt.






Weeks, then months passed without getting any news.


In the meanwhile, I tried several other tracks, like the social services. But wherever I was going, I was always getting the same reply: they all had thick files on me, but no way to only let me look at them, even not have a slight idea of what they contained. In several instances I was proposed «psychological help», to «overcome my trauma». These sickly people were always bringing back the discussion on the fake pedophilia accusations, that they all considered as real. For them, my search for the documents was a disguised demand for obtaining their «help». I could tell them twenty time that nothing sexual happened, they were always saying that I was in negation, suppressed memories, or seeking for help for my trauma. For them, I still was a 10 years old girl.


I also tried the associations for helping single fathers victims of court abuses. But most were closed, save one which turned to be a mere front face for an extreme right political party. Of course they would «help» me... if I agreed with their dark objectives. This was really scary, and I left the representative dangling with just a cold good bye.


I tried some lawyers too. The replies were more nuanced, but no more useful. Of course they all said me that they could help me. But not for getting the documents! It was the law, and I had to «understand» that I had to abide to it. Of course it was still possible to reopen the files... but for this I had to prove that some irregularity had happened. Which of course needed to know what was in the files! I understood that they just wanted my money. Or not, since I still was depending on my mother for my studies, so that I could just bring them the basic legal aid. For them I was just a too little fish, that they rejected in the water, without worrying if I was still alive or not.


Nearby one year after Daddy disappeared from home, I had started to redo my life otherwise. Although nothing could really replace his kindness and support. I also avoided to love objects like toys, as several others also disappeared. Once I complained to my mother: as I expected, she just replied that I was paranoid. In her mouth, this was a serious implicit threat, to send me in psychiatry. So that I avoided this discussion. Anyway, she had become Miss Silence, never speaking of anything with me, save trite life things. Happily, she stopped receiving friends and making noisy party with them. But at times the impolite lady was showing up, and they whispered conspiracy words in the living room, while I was in my bedroom. I could not understand what they were saying, save my name from times to times.

This usually ended by the impolite lady showing up in my bedroom, speaking to me like to a baby, making great smiles and pawing my cheeks. She complimented me for being a nice girl and asking me if I needed something. The sadistic wreck knew it very well, what I painfully needed above all, that every child in the world needs exactly in the same way. Only once I replied «my dad» (I had learned this word at school). I never did it again. The impolite lady had a step backward, taking a stern and threatening look. Then she made again her hypocritical smile, saying that I could ask for psychological help if I wanted. This was again a new word, but I was now wary of anything coming from this person, as of a new threat or torture. I just made a shy no, and never replied her again. She looked pleased with this.


One day, my mother went all angry and excited, scolding me and prodding me to «do my luggage». She had bought a travel bag, and I had to fob in all my tooth brushes, socks, many undies an especially a lot of warm clothes as if I had to go to Siberia. This was the very first time ever I did such a thing, I needed some time to understand what I needed to bring, and first of all what all this was this meaning.


Then the door bell rang... and I heard a voice...




First I could not believe... he was not smiling, and clothed all in gray like the impolite lady. He had the cold of the winter air on his cheeks. But it really was him! Silently, he took my hand, and my bag with his other hand. My mother did some angry remarks, that he did not replied. While we were climbing down the stair we could hear her, yelling loud in front of all the neighbors that Dad would have to check that I was properly washed and my undies clean. We were still hearing her voice fading as he started to drive his car.


Dad drove me silently to his little home. He just asked me general questions, but was not smiling as before. Later I understood that he had been broken in some way, and he was now unable to smile. But he still was my loving dad!


He had prepared a little bedroom for me, still smelling the paint. There even were some of my ancient toys, but they looked too childish now.


Then we spoke.


For hours.


Until past 1 am.


He explained me.


My mother had stopped loving him.


He was so sad saying this.


For some years, they could do as if they had a normal life. But it became too difficult for her to hide her hatred.


«Why she stopped loving you?» I asked.

He just had a sad look. There is no conceivable reply to this.


So my mother asked for separation (not divorce, as they never were married).


Starting for this point, a lot of characters stepped in the story: the social workers, the enquirers, the lawyers, and finally the judge. All the grave diggers who only come to dissect families, instead of helping to solve the issues. Each time Dad introduced a new word, I imagined a new one of these gray impolite ladies, which only purpose in life seemed to make children unhappy and lonely.


It took all these people more than one year to figure out that I needed my father. And still, they granted me this right in a very reluctant and skinflint way: only one weekend on two, and half of the holidays. As if I really not deserved such a favor.


This is how I started a double life. The week, a silent life in the gray world of my mother, where the only thing I could do was homework, or reading (school was a good pretext for this). In more, she started to order me to do housekeeping, often interrupting me angrily in my bedroom when I was in the middle of an exercise. And of course no Internet or anything like this, we even not had a computer. Happily the impolite gray lady was no more showing.

On the bad weekends, I was bored, not allowed to go out, save for the «sport» like playing badminton, another of those lifetime-wasting non-activities invented by wacko life-hating adults. So I was reading a lot. Happily my mother did not checked my readings, as I was not «disturbing her» while reading. I never understood in what she spent all her time. I suspect she was looking at porn movies in her bedroom (strictly off limits for me), and this is the only reason why I was not submitted to the torture of hearing her TV all the time. Still I had to bear some series, during which I could not read and had to wait that it ended.

The good weekends, I was happy with my dad, thinking of games, nature, wandering in the forest. At home, he was inexhaustible on science and geography. My mother wanted me to bring my homework here, but I much preferred to be with my father, so I arranged to do all my homework while I was with my mother (since I had nothing else to do there). Well, I often asked him to explain some points I was not understanding, especially in mathematics. Maths are so hard for children. Especially for children deprived of the loving support of their parents.

Daddy still had his computer, and Internet. He never let me alone in front of it, as, he said, there were «bad sites» harmful to children, which may pop up unexpectedly. But there were a lot of fantastic things, like Google Earth where we can literally fly above far away countries. This was 1000 times better than school, where we just speak. He allowed me here for hours. We could even explore Mars as if we were astronauts!

There were also virtual worlds, like Second Life, and especially Inworldz. Sometimes he was showing me the fantastic landscapes in this place. There especially was one called «Eire», in Inworldz. I felt an intense desire to also have an «avatar» and explore these places, meeting the Elves and Fairies I was seeing on the screen, and speaking with them of beautiful and magical things. It was as if the whole world of the tales was becoming real, the world of our games and imagination becoming visible and permanent. I understood that virtual world have this fantastic power, but Dad was saying that they also are useful for his work.

But when I asked Dad how to create my character, he replied that children were not allowed in Inworldz, and barely in Second Life.

«But why?» I asked, facing again the absurd adult rules, the anti-children racism. He hesitated, and took a sad look to reply at low voice:

«Because these people think that sex is more important than children».

Sex, I learned this word recently, at school, with sexual education. Once, despite Dad's caution we stumbled on a strange image of a stark naked lady looking goofy, her waist bizarrely bent, and big red lips making a O. If adults were hiding of children just for looking at boobies, they had to be really idiot. And no, sorry, I was not shocked of seeing boobies. All the children see boobies, when they are breast fed. If this was so deadly, then there would be no children at all.

What put me not at ease were not the boobies, but this image of a bizarrely distorted, unreal body. This left me in a state of diffuse discomfort, that I could not identify at this time. Today I understand that it stole some part of my desire to love a man. Pornography, this corrupted caricature of love, has this dreadful power, and this is why it must be forbidden everywhere as of a crime, and Internet must be accessible to everybody, just like the streets are.

The fact that children were not allowed in virtual worlds, just for the sexual fantasies of a small minority, hit me like a huge injustice. It is from this kind of discrimination that arises this pervading feeling in many children, that they are rejected by the society. Feeling which continues where they are adult: fear of being inadequate, more the terrible fear of failing, engraved in the brain as with a red hot iron, by all these years of threats and guilt at school.


I was happy with my Daddy for some months, including for a fantastic summer holiday where we lived in nature, with even a journey to the sea. We could stay here only three days, because it was «expensive». But I keep a fantastic memory of the summer warmth on my skin, with the freshness of the ocean water. The smell of the wind, the sand sticking on my skin, all remains as fond memories. I could go to the sea again since, but when we lost the original happiness, we never really find it back again.


When the holidays were over, Dad brought me back to my mother's home, saying good bye for the next weekend.


This was the very last time I ever saw him.





(La suite dans le livre)(Continuation in the book)








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