Lived Experience: Mike Johnson


Read Mike's Story

We’re supposed to go see my dad next week. We’re supposed to have some kind of weekend visit at his apartment, and we’re supposed to sleep over. The whole thing is so whack. He told Kimmy on the phone that we’ll have to share a room for now, like little kids. I mean, he’s a grown-up and he has a job. And we’re teenagers. We should have our own rooms. And—even more crazy—what kind of court would take a dad who tried to kill his kids and let the kids have a visit with him? I told that lame counselor that I wouldn’t see him, but she didn’t listen, and the judge said my dad could have rights to see us. That’s why I’ve got to get my grades up. I’ve gotta get into a good school, so I can be a lawyer and put some other crappy fathers into jail. Or I’ll be an investigative reporter, and find all kinds of domestic violence jerks and expose them in the New York Times.