‘ALL I KNOW IS I AM THE FATHER’
The state took a child he didn’t know he had. He spent 5 years getting her back
He did nothing wrong.
When he learned of the girl’s birth, Donald Williams took a paternity test that confirmed he was the father. He said he wanted to raise her.
But it would not be that simple.
The baby was in Arizona’s child-welfare system, born substance-exposed to a mother who had chronic drug problems. He lived 600 miles away, in Sacramento, California; he had little money; and the Arizona Department of Child Safety did little to help him bond with his child.
After 31⁄2 years of missed visits, reports and evaluations, the Juvenile Court in Maricopa County severed his parental rights. It was the second time DCS had moved to do so; the first attempt failed because, the judge said, “You shouldn’t lose your child because you are poor.”
But being poor complicated things. After the ruling that said he was no longer the little girl’s dad, he vowed to keep fighting.
A foster mom dares to hope
She did everything right.
As a foster parent, Jacque Watley cared for the little substance-exposed baby girl she brought home the day after the baby’s birth. She nurtured her through ear infections and asthma attacks, taught her her numbers and signed her up for swim lessons. She made sure the little girl knew her daddy, showing her the videos he sent to the toddler, then later connecting the two on Skype.
A veteran foster parent, she knew the rule: You are only temporary. The child will leave someday.
But as months turned into years, as the child’s DCS case teetered on the verge of severance (the birth mother’s parental rights had been terminated years earlier), she let herself hope that she could adopt.
But hope doesn’t go far in the world of child welfare. There are policies to be followed and laws to be interpreted. It takes time and patience and court hearings.
All the while, a buoyant doe-eyed little girl had no idea of the choice her situation forced: Did her father’s right to parent justify removing her from the only home she had ever known? Was he too late to the game? Or did her best interests outweigh his right to parent? What were her best interests?
It would take more than five years to sort it out.
‘All I know is I am the father’
Donald suspected he was the father of the little girl born in Phoenix in December 2015.
He had met the girl’s mother when she was on the street in Sacramento with her young son. They hooked up for a while, but she eventually left for Phoenix in October 2014. He was aware of her pregnancy, but uncertain if he was the father.
Months later, she called Donald and told him she had given birth to a little girl. Now married, she said her husband was the baby’s father. He had named their child “Melody,” she said, and the baby carried his last name.
What she didn’t tell Donald was that the child was in a foster home. He learned that from the husband in early January, when Melody was almost 1 month old. After the two men talked, something didn’t quite add up.
The next day, Donald called Arizona DCS to say he might be the father. He wanted a paternity test. You’re going to have to get the Maricopa County Juvenile Court to order it, he was told.
So he did. The test results came back three months later, proving Donald’s paternity. He enrolled in a parenting class to show he was serious about raising the little girl. By then, DCS had filed court papers alleging he had abandoned his daughter and asking the judge to recognize the mother’s husband as the girl’s father.
Donald told his public defender he wanted to fight. He would go it alone, as a single father. There really wasn’t a relationship with the mother, he said.
“I told her from the beginning that if the baby’s mine, I’m going to fight and get her,” Donald said. “I personally felt I was the better parent at the time.
“All I know is I am the father of this baby and I should be able to get this baby. I’m the next of kin.”
‘She’s been with no one else’
Jacque was on her way to pick up a foster baby at Abrazo Hospital in early December 2014 when DCS called. There was a change of plans: DCS had found a family placement for that child, but could she go to Banner Thunderbird and pick up an infant?
An experienced foster parent, she turned her Kia Sorento around and headed to Banner.
It wasn’t a pretty scene.
She tried to reassure the mother. “I told her, ‘I’m not here to take your baby, I just want you to get better so you can have her,’” Jacque recalled. “She wasn’t that interested.”
The mother’s husband, believing he was the father, was furious. It took two security guards and two security dogs to escort Jacque and little Melody out of the hospital.
This foster placement should be a short stay, Jacque figured. Mom needed time to get clean.
When she learned that a man named Donald Williams was the child’s father and seeking custody, she again thought Melody would move on soon. Dad just needed time to get his affairs in order. Foster kids come — and they usually go.
But, after 41⁄2 years of fostering Melody, Jacque said, “She’s been with no one else.”
‘Whether I’m working or not, I’m stable’
DCS cases can last up to two years. Donald’s took five.
Bridging the distance between Sacramento and Phoenix was difficult. He couldn’t afford trips to Phoenix to visit his child. Visits are critical to establishing
Melody Williams now lives with her father, Donald, in Sacramento, California, after five years of court battles.
and maintaining a bond between parent and child, especially in the early years.
DCS didn’t help, according to court documents. The agency denied his early requests for the foster mother’s email address so they could share photos and observations. Melody was nearly 1 year old before Donald was able to see pictures of his baby.
He met her for the first time when she was 13 months old. By then, California child-welfare officials had approved a plan to send Melody to Sacramento to be with her father.
But little changed. DCS said he was not following a transition plan which called for twice-monthly visits to Phoenix and regular phone calls. When Melody was 19 months old, DCS asked the Juvenile Court to terminate his parental rights, citing abandonment and failure to meet a legal requirement of “reasonable progress” over 15 months out of 22 months in foster care.
Donald had made only two trips to Phoenix during that time. Money was a problem: His job history was patchy, and he was caring for two other children with an ex.
“It’s not like I’m being paid $100,000 a year,” he said. “I’m barely scratching $25K, and that’s with two jobs.”
His court-appointed attorney encouraged him to give up, to surrender his rights and let Melody be adopted.
The suggestion that he couldn’t be a good parent rankled him. He lost four jobs while his case dragged on, he said, due to absenteeism stemming from the demands of his DCS case.
“They said I was unfit, that I was poor and unfit to take care of this baby,” Donald said. “Regardless of whether I’m working or not, I’m stable.” In his defense, he points out that he has lived in the same public housing for 14 years.
By June 2017, a new judge was on the case. He rejected the petition to cut off Donald’s rights.
“I cannot, in good conscience, say, ‘You’re too poor, so we’re going to sever you,’” Judge Bill Brotherton said.
‘It’s his kid, and I get that’
When Melody joined her household, Jacque has been a foster parent for eight years. She knew DCS: She’d worked as a supervisor in its Office of Licensing and Regulation.
She lavished attention on Melody: Toys and playtime with Jacque’s young grandkids. Birthday celebrations and presents and Peppa Pig shows.
“Here is Melody, from day one,” Jacque said as she flipped open one of many photo albums in summer 2019. Smiling out from the pages is a baby in her Supergirl Halloween costume, a little girl in pigtails at a playground, a tot caught in the act of trying to climb onto the fireplace mantle.
“That first tooth, that first … everything,” Jacque said, looking at pictures of Melody over the years.
Still, she knew she was a holding place. She shared photos of Melody with Donald, then short video messages he sent through a cell-phone app so Melody would recognize his voice. Early on, she asked Donald to send a picture of himself. She hung it on a wall near Melody’s crib, pointing to it and calling him “daddy.”
She took Melody to her first meeting with her dad, at a McDonald’s restaurant at 27th Avenue and Thunderbird.
But there was a growing uneasiness. The video messages were repetitive and brief. The in-person visits weren’t happening like the court said they should. Three visits in three months and the case would be closed, Jacque said, repeating the criteria he had to meet to get custody of Melody.
She started to question why he couldn’t save money for a bargain airfare to Phoenix, or a bus ticket. Make it a turn-around trip to avoid hotel costs.
“I’ve worked with him, I’ve tried to give him better methods to deal with this,” she said of closing the long-distance divide. “Nothing.”
She knew this sounded critical. “Yet, I’m on his side too. It’s his kid, and I get that.”
‘A realistic chance of being successful’
Judge Brotherton had a plan. If Donald
couldn’t afford to come to Phoenix, then the state should help him. He ordered DCS to pay for his flights, which he increased to every weekend.
“He’s caring for kids already, and working in a tire shop,” Brotherton, now retired from the bench, recalled of Donald’s circumstances. “He was poor.”
He remembered asking the case manager if she could afford to travel back and forth to another state to visit a child if she also had children in her home state. The answer: No.
“I just don’t feel the father was ever given a realistic chance of being successful,” Brotherton said, adding he was sensitive to the cost constraints not only of travel but of time away from work.
The state’s position, he said, was there was a better alternative for Melody than sending her to California to live with a father whom DCS felt wasn’t able or willing to care for her.
“That’s not the law,” Brotherton said. “The preference is (to keep) children with family, and he is the family.”
Besides, he added, the argument for “better” parents could apply to anyone.
“There’s a lot of kids, I’m sure, that you can find better parents for. But that isn’t the law.”
Brotherton’s order to have the state pay for travel costs didn’t last long.
He resigned from the bench Oct. 31, 2017, to seek a seat in the state Legislature. The next day, court records show, DCS filed a motion to have Donald reimbursed for flights, rather than paid upfront.
But the state was slow to process the reimbursements, and the visits stopped. In February 2018, a month after Melody turned 3, DCS again moved to sever his rights. The new judge on the case, Karen Mullins, granted that request five months later.
Donald was in the courtroom on Durango Street in southwest Phoenix for the decision in July 2018. He turned to his attorney.
“I looked right at him and told him to put in an appeal,” he said.
‘Mommy’
Judge Mullins’ ruling bolstered Jacque’s hope that she could soon adopt Melody. Months earlier, Melody had started calling her “Mommy.” Jacque didn’t correct her: After 31⁄2 years, “Miss Jacque” just didn’t feel right.
So many people, especially Melody’s best-interest attorney, had told her that severance of the dad’s rights was “cut and dried.” Adoption would be a slam dunk. Jacque had an adoption petition drawn up, notarized and ready for a signature.
At 50 years old, with two grown children, she was ready to raise another child. She and Melody had long established a routine, a predictable rhythm to their days. The early years gave them a lot of time together, while Jacque stayed home to complete her psychology degree.
And then in May 2019, a blistering opinion from the Arizona Court of Appeals reversed the severance.
“(A)ny perceived lack of a bond between Melody and Father was not because of Father’s lack of effort, but because of DCS’ delay, contact restrictions, and substantial failure to try to unify Melody with Father,” Judge Paul McMurdie wrote for the unanimous three-judge panel.
The ruling stunned Jacque. All the resentment that she had tamped down to keep good relations with Donald came spilling out.
“What do you do? I can’t say he’s an unfit parent,” she said shortly after the appeals court ruled.
“I can say that he’s not put in a whole lot of effort. I’ve put more effort in her life than he has. I’m the one who had her tested for kindergarten. I’ve put her in HeadStart. I took her to swim classes. And you’ve done nothing. He bought her one gift so far, it was one Paw Patrol puppy.”
The finding that Donald wasn’t given enough chances to prove his fitness to parent? A joke.
The state paid hundreds of taxpayer dollars for airfare, Jacque said. If he so wanted to see his child, she questioned, why didn’t he save and pick up a bargain fare?
Jacque was straightforward about her intentions. She told Donald she believed it was in Melody’s best interest to stay with her. She’d fight to keep the little girl, no ill will intended toward him.
“It’s been proven time and time again that if you take a child away from everything they know, they’re crushed,” she said.
She paused to examine the Play-Doh cakes Melody was making, and sighed.
“There’s no winners.”
‘Proud of myself for staying with it’
Donald, 600 miles away, learned of the verdict from his attorney. He felt vindicated.
“I’m very proud of myself for staying with it,” he said. Many times, he felt the system wanted him to give up, to sign his parental rights over to the foster parent. But he kept pushing.
So did DCS. The agency’s attorneys asked the state Supreme Court to review the case, but the court, without comment, declined.
The case went back to the Juvenile Court, basically starting all over again.
Familiar problems cropped up: In late 2019, Donald missed three monthly visits, after making two in a row. The state was slow to reimburse him for travel and he couldn’t afford to buy a ticket.
Judge Mullins was skeptical: If Donald can’t afford a $250 plane ticket from Sacramento, how will he provide for Melody? But she directed DCS to not let cost be a barrier.
The state’s attorney explained that procurement rules block DCS from taking advantage of low-cost fares, leaving only the priciest. It’s a strain on the state budget.
Melody’s guardian ad litem, whose job is to represent the child’s best interests, called her “a lucky little girl” because she has a caring foster mother who makes sure the child interacts with dad and provides for all her needs.
“It will be devastating for this child to be separated from her,” Pam Saint told Judge Mullins, noting Melody had been with Jacque for nearly five years.
Mullins also worried about the trauma of a move, and the ability of father and child to form a bond.
Yet, Donald made the rest of his required visits, California social workers again cleared him as a fit placement and Donald’s new attorney, Patrick Waltz, argued there was no factual basis for a case, as the state never alleged abuse or neglect.
This time around, it seemed, the case was going to turn out differently.
‘A hard balancing act’
There is no bright line that defines when a parent’s rights prevail over a child’s best interest, or vice versa. These decisions are driven by the specifics of a case, say child-welfare officials.
“It’s a hard balancing act,” said Elissa Hyne, a senior policy analyst with Children’s Rights, a national organization that battles governments on behalf of children. “There’s no ‘if this, then that.’”
In many cases, reasonable people could argue that a foster or adoptive home is the better placement for a child, Hyne said.
“But that doesn’t mean the child’s home of origin is not the place to be, even if it’s not ideal,” she said.
The U.S. Supreme Court in 1982 called parents’ rights to raise their child a fundamental right guaranteed by the 14th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution.
“It does not evaporate simply because they have not been model parents or have lost temporary custody of their child to the state,” the court wrote in Santosky v. Kramer, a case often cited in severance matters.
But a child’s best interests are also a factor. Arizona law recognizes that, saying before a court can cut off a parent’s rights, it must consider the child’s best interest as well as determine if a parent has met at least one of 11 standards that merit severance.
The see-saw debate of parent’s rights versus child’s best interests might be avoided if states worked quickly on their duty to try and reunify a family once a child is removed, said Vivek Sankaran, who heads the child-advocacy law clinic at the University of Michigan Law College. But state child-welfare agencies move slowly, which can harm a parent’s ability to get the help needed to improve their parenting, he said.
Why not make it a sprint to provide the tools a parent needs to make the “reasonable progress” called for in federal law, he asked. Tools such as a thorough investigation into a family’s circumstances, high-quality legal representation for parents and timely services.
“If we don’t provide the right supports, how can we justify terminating the (parental) rights based on those supports,” Sankaran asked.
Federal funding is part of the problem, he said. It provides services after a child has been removed rather than when the problems might have been prevented. That equation is starting to change, he said, as agencies increasingly recognize children do best when they stay with their family of origin.
‘I’m not taking her from you’
The call came in mid-January. Come
get your daughter.
Donald’s attorney told him Judge Mullins had approved moving Melody to Sacramento. Donald rented a car, brought along a friend to share in the 14hour driving marathon, slept in the car overnight and met Jacque and Melody at a local McDonald’s.
It was brief. Jacque handed over two totes brimming with clothes and toys. She included Melody’s medications and her shot records. Melody hopped in the car and headed west to her new life.
“She had a blast,” Donald said of his daughter’s nonstop trip to Sacramento. “She didn’t cry.” Melody marveled at the mountains and the roller coasters she saw as they drove through the Grapevine along California’s Interstate 5.
“It was a very great experience: To embrace her, to take her home,” Donald said.
He knew it was tough on Jacque, whom he refers to as “placement,” the formal term used in DCS cases for the foster parent. He knew how much she had done for his kid, how she had mothered Melody for five years.
“I’m not taking her from you,” he told Jacque. His words were a distant echo of what Jacque had told Melody’s mother in the hospital five years earlier.
But now, it was his turn to say them. “I’m taking her home,” he said. “She has family she needs to get to know. We need to get to know her.”
If you need anything, call
The sudden move stunned Jacque, but deep down she knew it was coming. A year earlier, she had signed up Melody for play therapy so there would be a healthy way for Melody to work through her emotions if she moved to Sacramento.
Now that move was happening. The frustrations, the criticisms kept bubbling up. Yes, she knew foster care is not a pathway to adoption.
“I made that speech,” she said. “I get it.” But this case was different.
“It’s inhuman to believe you can have someone in your home 24/7 for five years and not feel anything,” she said.
She couldn’t shake the feeling that Donald’s relationship with Melody was more play date than parent. Was he set up to care for a little girl? He had a onebedroom apartment: Where will Melody sleep? As a foster parent, she was required to provide a separate bedroom for Melody. But there’s no such rule for a biological parent.
Jacque spent the days before Donald’s arrival snuggled up with Melody, watching their favorite movies. She talked about the trip to California as an adventure.
While she worried about what was to come, she didn’t want Melody to worry.
Along with the totes and the snacks she packed for the trip to Sacramento, Jacque tucked in a letter for Donald.
“Please don’t hurt her,” she wrote, concerned Melody may lack for basic provisions. If you need anything, call. She would help.
“I hope he’s as selfless about this as I have been toward him,” Jacque said.
‘It’s like a culture shock to her’
In Sacramento, a new world opened up. Not only was there daddy, but Melody now had a brother and sister, a grandmother and a great-grandmother, uncles and cousins — lots of little cousins. Melody made an immediate connection, Donald said.
“It was the first time she saw a kid that looked like her,” Donald, 36, said. “Our family has strong features.”
She lives with her dad but spends a lot of time with Wanda Green, her paternal grandmother. Donald works nights and can’t be home.
His apartment is busy, with friends and relatives coming and going at all hours. Donald enrolled Melody in preschool, but coronavirus safety precautions have kept her home.
The restrictions mean Melody hasn’t made new friends at school or settled into a routine. She’s home with her dad and his friends a lot, working on lessons sent by the school, or shuttling between his home and grandma’s. Donald said she’s doing fine, although she’s a picky eater.
She asks when she is going back to Phoenix, but Donald reminds her home is now in Sacramento. She talks to Jacque occasionally, when Jacque can catch Donald on the phone.
“It’s like a culture shock to her,” Donald says. “But she’s doing OK.”
‘Thank you GOD !!!!! ’
On April 2, a four-minute court hearing ended Donald’s five-year odyssey in the child-welfare system.
DCS reported that it received a favorable review of Melody’s situation from California social workers. But there’s only been one in-person visit in two months; more are needed to ensure things are going well, DCS said.
Judge Mullins wasn’t buying it. “I am not seeing any safety findings,” she said. She dismissed the case but noted the state’s objection that more checks are needed.
She congratulated Donald, who attended the hearing via teleconference from Sacramento.
In a text message, he celebrated the end of his DCS case. “Great to know that all my work payed off,” he wrote. “Thank you GOD !!!!! ”
‘I’m tired of being quiet’
The coronavirus pandemic sidelined Jacque’s plans to visit Melody. She had a trip lined up for early April, to coincide with her 51st birthday.
It’s getting harder to catch Donald on the phone. There was no call on Mother’s
Day, a crushing silence.
“I can’t be mad at him for wanting his child,” she said. But she can be mad about the situation — and she is.
She’s perplexed how Judge Mullins could change course and send Melody to Donald after ruling 21 months earlier that he wasn’t fit to be her parent. Mullins is on the ballot for retention this year, and Jacque said she will urge people to vote “no.”
Mullins declined to comment for this story, saying through an aide her decision speaks for itself.
After the appeals court ruling, Jacque decided to let her foster license lapse after 10 years. The system is broken, she said, and it’s broken her.
“I’m tired of being quiet about it,” she said. “I’m tired of just being ‘placement.’ I’m tired of people saying, ‘Well, it’s a case.’ No, it’s not a case. It’s a real person. And this little girl is going to represent foster care for the rest of her life.”
‘Melody deserves a mom and a dad’
The legal world has taken note of Melody’s foster case. Since the appeals court ruling in May 2019, Donald W. vs. DCS has been cited in various appeals and rulings, underscoring the primacy of parental rights.
Donald’s not done with DCS. He intends to file a civil-rights complaint against the state in U.S. District Court, alleging deprivation of his parental rights.
“They took away precious time from me and my daughter,” he said. “They need to do a better job of what they’re doing. They need a reality check.”
Jacque is aware of his plans. It fuels her belief that he sees Melody as a paycheck, a way out of the low-income world he lives in.
Deep down, she hopes if he gets a substantial settlement, Donald will agree to co-parent with her.
“Melody deserves a mom and a dad,” Jacque said. And she’s the little girl’s mom no matter what a court says. “I will be there no matter what.”
About this report
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