A Life Wasted?

The first three cases I worked this morning all involved the same mother of four children by three men (I guess she liked the one guy enough to let him impregnate her twice). She’s the same age as Rebecca and claimed to know nothing more about the fathers of her children (ranging in age from two to nine) than their names. Through the research that is what I do to earn a living, I was able to come up with at least nominal identifying information on two of the guys, leaving number three (yeah, you guessed it, he’s the father of two) as a complete mystery. Our division has an entire unit dedicated to nothing more than trying to locate unidentified non-custodial parents. The remaining three cases I assessed before lunch didn’t get any better: infants born to child mothers with no idea who the father is. This is what I’ve been doing for the last eleven-and-a-half years, and quite frankly, I’m looking forward to retirement. Six years as a cop, fifteen as a preacher, time served as a child support enforcement agent, and, as far as I can tell, it hasn’t meant a damned thing. There’s still crime, sin, and more little bastards running around than you can shake a stick at. I was raised to believe that life has meaning and a purpose. At this point, I’d like to know what that is.