“You might not remember me, but I’m the mother of the boy who said ‘I’ve never seen a brown Witch before. You must be powerful. If I could do magic I would get a really nice tan too.’ My Dark Elf and I need your help.”
I’m not going to paste the entire email, but the lines above made me laugh so hard that I had to share them. Of course I remember the little Dark Elf all dressed up in full Marine Corps digital camouflaged uniform and combat boots. I even remember his smiling little face the evening I met his family at a Morrigan Circle, held in Chesapeake Bay, Maryland a few years ago.
It was during a difficult period for Marines and their families; a lot of service members were being killed. A fellow Pagan had recently loss one of his sons to the war, and was extra afraid for the one who remained deployed. His wife, and mother of the deceased Marine, was a Morrigan worshiper; she wanted to quench the Crow Goddess’s thirst with a ritual, to see if her offering kept her from claiming the blood of her other child.
The mother wanted to form a circle of 13 Witches, and gather as many people as possible under the Blood Moon. I volunteered as one of the 13 who would dance for the Morrigan. It was a powerful event. And if someone had seen it from afar, they would have probably run for dear life. We wore white raggedy skirts and handmade camouflaged tops, which were donated by Pagan families with children fighting in Iraq. The youngsters, who attended the circle, joined their mothers, grandmothers, aunts, sisters… and together they crushed hundreds of berries that stained their feet black, blue, purple and red. The fathers and other grownup male relatives pelted the crushed results at the dancers while we twirled, chanted and raised energy for the Morrigan.
The results of our combined efforts: 13 Witches covered in a fruity gooey substance that resembled blood and gore, surrounded by dozens of energy-high Pagan families.
And what does this have to do with a funny boy who thought brown Witches were cool? Well, the boy’s parents are no longer married. They went their separate ways a year after the Morrigan ritual, and were awarded shared custody of their son. The boy is now a 14-year-old teenage Witch with excellent grades, the mother and her boyfriend own a specialty shop, the dad got out of the Marine Corps, remarried and converted to Christianity. He also took the mother to court for full custody of their child. His reasoning? “The woman who is now my ex-wife is raising my son in an environment full of sex, darkness and gods of blood.” He offered the court pictures of the Morrigan ritual as proof of the mother’s unfitness to raise a healthy child.
Can you believe that conniving piece of shit?
I won’t waste my time telling you what I think of him and his methods, but I do want to say that I’m glad the court saw through his newly found stupidity. I feel sorry for the son because he had to sit in front of strangers, and watch his mother cry, while his then 12-year-old crackling voice explained “Mom is a good person. Her magic sucks. She can’t dance and I think the gods grant her wishes so she’ll stop singing for them, but she doesn’t kill things. She doesn’t even eat meat, but she is okay when I do. She makes faces when I eat burgers, but that’s because it grosses her out.”
I remember sitting in court, in uniform, listening to the boy’s statement and trying my best to look like the lean, mean, fighting witchy machine I’ve always been. But yes, I giggled under my breath and my eyes were shiny.
The custody case has been finalized. I got an email yesterday morning that made me grin with delight. It began like this, “It seems that Witches of sex, darkness and gods of blood make good mamas too.”
I don’t have all the details, but I know the witchy mother has full custody of her boy, and the father only gets to see him under supervision and ONLY if the boy wants to. I’m not sure how things got so complicated for the dad, but I can’t say that I feel sorry for him. I do feel bad for a boy who has to grow up without his biological father. However, when a parent is as worthless as that lying heap of dung has proven to be, then Fate and the courts know best.