I had a number of conversations with people I was never to meet in person. Some were suspicious, secretive, unwilling to talk. Others were helpful and talkative. They told their stories, and I took notes.

What began to emerge was a horrifying picture of member abuse, family destruction, child neglect, recrimination, and fear. I began to realize that Scientology is an organization that tries actively not only to silence criticism, but also to punish its critics.

So it became necessary to begin asking myself and my sweetie: What goals was I trying to attain, and what risks was I willing to take to attain them? The answers to those questions changed very little during the next two years or so.

My goals for you and Ben were to enable you to benefit from decent educations and adequate health, dental, and eye care. I also wanted to remove you from an environment in which family needs seemed not to have the highest priority, in which neglect of children was the norm. Finally, I wanted to preserve (or restore) your access to me.

I soon realized those goals were not attainable as long as you remained in the Sea Org, because it was organized according to the policies of L. Ron Hubbard. Those policies, along with his other writings, are the “sacred scripture” of Scientology and cannot be altered by anyone other than Hubbard, and he’s dead.

So my goal became easy to define: I wanted both you and Ben out of the Sea Org, out of Scientology altogether.

As far as risks were concerned, I felt few limitations. Materially, I supposed I had a lot to lose, but your welfare was more important to me than material concerns. Besides, having lost my home and nearly all its contents to fire, I was intimately acquainted with material loss. I knew I could lose possessions and survive, even grow from, such an experience. Emotionally, I felt strong, and my relationship with Linda was secure. She loved both of you kids, and was very supportive of my efforts and trustful of my judgment.

For years, I had tried to pretend your involvement in Scientology was not a serious problem. I had long hoped that my providing a secure, loving, fun environment for your visits would ultimately persuade you to leave Clearwater and move into my home. Now, I had to admit that approach, though fun and easy, hadn't worked, wouldn't work. I'd been horrified to observe the apparent ease with which the Sea Org had caused Ben to stop visiting.

Ben was slipping away from me and, despite your statements to the contrary, I perceived a real danger that you would follow him. It was time to act. My conscience demanded that.

You arrived for your Christmas visit in December, 1994. As during the early days of your previous visit, you seemed to lack animation and to be unable to express preferences. Of course, your being caught between me and your mom undoubtedly caused some strain on you emotionally; that might have had something to do with your listlessness.

I think Suzanne had been upset by my having invited you to move into my home the previous summer. I now realize she'd been especially upset by your having spent time with a mental health professional then; though that woman had a degree in social work, Suzanne probably considered her a "psych" anyway. (Scientologists consider themselves to be in competition with psychologists and psychiatrists. “Psychs” are seen as being responsible for many of humanity’s ills.)

Now, I was proposing that you be tested to determine your levels of academic achievement. Since I was not your custodial parent, I needed your mother's permission to have this done.

At first, it was like a re-play of events of the previous summer. Suzanne telephoned during your first night in Colorado and told me it was "up to Amanda" whether to undergo testing. However, that charade didn't last long. As she and I talked, she became increasingly hostile. She made it obvious that she felt she was doing the right thing by furthering your Scientology training, and my failure to understand that, and my continuing insistence that your needs for an academic education were not being met, were due to my "preconceived ideas." She then began attacking me, and said both our children had more skill in dealing with people, and at living in general, than I. Obviously, she wasn't going to give permission for the testing.

You and she spoke briefly after she had finished her verbal abuse of me. Whatever she said obviously upset you, and you went off by yourself for a while afterward.

Given the likelihood that your mother had subjected you to abundant ranting of a similar nature prior to your leaving Florida, I could readily understand why it took a few days for you to become comfortable in my home. Perhaps we were fortunate that you were able to feel easy with me as soon as you were.

The previous autumn, after our camping trip in Florida, a friend had recommended a novel about the history of white settlement of that state, and I had acquired a copy. We proceeded to read it aloud, talk about it, and allow it to kindle our imaginations. Before your visit ended, we'd read it all.

Thus did our time together grow more comfortable for you. Visits to family and friends, and just settling into easy but rewarding routines, like shopping, cooking, watching movies, etc., also helped. I remember hours spent helping both you and Sarah to memorize the times tables. Our time together passed all too rapidly.

That was the year you, Sarah, Linda, and I went to Denver for a performance of "The Nutcracker."

Of course, you girls couldn't attend in ordinary clothes, so new outfits were in order. You soon discovered my inadequacies as an advisor in your pursuit of clothes; fortunately, Linda came to my rescue. Ravishing beauties were you and Sarah the day of the ballet!

After you returned to Florida, Linda and I drove to Mexico and Guatemala for a long vacation. We returned by way of Los Angeles, where we met a couple who did "exit counseling" (a non-coercive form of intervention on cult members that evolved from so-called "de-programming") from Scientology. I had introduced myself to them previously on the phone.

We spent most of each of the next two days talking with them. Linda and I concluded they were heartful, sincere, capable people, and we resolved to pursue the possibility of an intervention on Ben's behalf. It was then that I decided I had to pursue legal means of obtaining custody of you.

Although Linda, the exit counselors, and I ultimately laid plans for an intervention on Ben’s behalf, they never came to fruition, because he was only to visit me on one other occasion, when he came unannounced.

After we returned home, I interviewed two lawyers, then I chose one to represent me. The wrong one, as things turned out. I was relieved to learn that my case would be heard by courts in Colorado, because that was where Suzanne and I had divorced, and nothing had occurred to cause the case to be moved to a different jurisdiction.

In meetings with the lawyer to decide on a strategy for my custody suit, we decided to concentrate on the issues of inadequacies and injustices inherent in your life-style instead of arguing that your and your mother’s practice of Scientology was the root cause of your problems. If we didn’t directly confront the “church” by putting its practices on trial, we thought, we might face a lesser legal battle and run less risk of the harassment for which it is notorious. As events were to unfold, that decision might have been unwise.

The lawyer pointed out that the divorce decree was unspecific about visitation, and we concluded that I would need court orders to prevent your ceasing to visit me, as Ben had done. We decided to go before the judge during your next summer visit, because I feared that, if I showed my hand before you arrived, you wouldn't be allowed to come. About that time, I learned you mom was planning to come to Colorado that summer, her first return in many years. Perfect!

You arrived in May, and we soon embarked on a trip down the Dolores River with several friends and family members, including your buddy Sarah, a trip of about five days' duration. To our surprise, we encountered one of your uncles from your mother’s side at the mouth of Coyote Wash. He then worked for the Colorado Department of Fish and Game, and he was on the river to do some survey work. You had never met him.

Because access to the Dolores requires no permit, there were lots of people on the river, and we soon learned it was necessary to find a place to camp early if we wanted a good one. Since we'd heard Coyote Wash was one of the better campsites, we arrived there early and spent two nights there. It was truly a wonderful place: great camping and good hiking up the wash and onto the canyon rim.

I remember, toward the end of that trip, rowing the raft through a rapid that, though not dangerous, had some large waves. You and our friend David were behind me, paddling an inflatable canoe. Since neither of you had much white water experience, I decided to pull into an eddy just below the rapid, in case anything went wrong. Down you came, into the waves, and immediately got turned sideways. But you didn't have a problem, and the two of you laughed and hollered with glee as you rode out the waves.

That was an outstanding trip; I'll bet you remember it well.

The court hearing on my request for visitation orders was scheduled for July. By the time you mother arrived in Colorado, she'd received notice of it. She was very upset. She came to my house and demanded to know why I insisted on hauling her into court. I never found a way to explain that her history of not attempting to influence Ben to continue visiting me, and my growing body of knowledge about the workings of Scientology and Scientologists, made her untrustworthy in my eyes. She offered to sign an agreement that you would visit me for a month and a half every summer and a month every Christmas, but I held out for two months in the summers, and continued to insist on the hearing.

I'll never forget how desperately you tried to convince your mom that my actions did not indicate I was opposed to your practicing Scientology. You were obviously aware that your continuing access to me depended on my not being seen as an enemy of the “church.”

The hearing went as planned, with one exception. Although the lawyer had said he would try to prevent your being interviewed by the judge to determine your preferences regarding lengths of visits, he said nothing when the judge invited your input. I should have concluded at that moment that he wasn't the man for the job I needed done.

We came away from the hearing with orders for visitation of a month and a half in the summers and a month at Christmas. Your mom left for the Western Slope.

We went there too, with Sarah. We spent some time with your Aunt Nancy and Uncle Mark, who were gracious and hospitable as ever. We were able to spend time with most of our many friends there on Redlands Mesa.

You and Sarah had each said you wanted a kitty, so with Nancy's help, you perused the classifieds. We set out to find the kittens of your dreams.

We found them, at a house we came to know as "The Kitty Factory." There were more kittens than children in that household, and that was saying something! I think there were three litters (of kittens) when we visited there, and the kids loved them all. There was no question that every kitten was accustomed to being handled by people!

You and Sarah made your selections, and we returned the next morning on our way home. With blankets and patience, we set out ever so slowly, so the kittens wouldn't become too alarmed by their first ride in a car. It worked; after about 15 minutes of gentle driving, comforting voices, and loving caresses, both kittens overcame their apprehension, and we brought them home without incident.

I was very glad, during those years, for your friendship with Sarah. Less than a year older than you, she was a bright, mostly level-headed kid. She filled a gap in your life that I obviously couldn't. Although you two would occasionally quarrel and part company for a time, she was our frequent companion during your time in Colorado. I continue my friendship with Sarah to this day, and I'm happy to report she's made some very good decisions and is doing very well.

Of course, you left your kitty in my care when you went back to Florida. For some time thereafter, our phone calls began with a detailed account of her growth and her adventures.

Since your teeth were crooked, you and I had begun, some years earlier, to discuss orthodontia. I knew you wanted it, and your mother had long ago agreed to begin the process. When some problems with your dental hygiene had been discovered, orthodontia had been postponed, but the years had passed, and my occasional entreaties to your mom had produced no action despite her promises.

When she and I talked on the phone during November, 1995, to work out some details about your coming Christmas visit, I blew up at her. Once again, I reiterated my old complaints: you weren't receiving a proper education, and no attention was being paid to getting your teeth straightened. Whatever she may have said about your education I can't recall, probably because it was the same old nonsense. About your teeth, she surprised me by saying that, if it were left to her, it would probably never happen. (I was getting a taste of the delaying tactics that were to become characteristic of her behavior toward me.)

I was not proud of having lost my temper, and in an attempt to mollify her, I soon wrote her a letter explaining my concerns and offering to become more directly involved in your orthodontia. Inwardly I was shocked that she was reneging on her promise about your teeth, after years of delay. By then, I hardly expected her to keep any commitment she'd made to me, but I still hoped she'd keep her promises to you.

Then I got a letter from you, which said, in essence, that if I felt free to "bicker" with your mom about your education and your teeth, you didn't want to come for Christmas.

I was horrified. In no way had I intended that you be a party to any part of my conversation with your mother; I felt her sharing information about that call with you was utterly inappropriate. I felt betrayed. How could Suzanne, in conscience, use you to try to coerce me into silence?

But it didn't stop there. A few days later, you phoned me. Although I tried to keep the call easy, you had an agenda, and it was hardly an easy one. You hammered on me for about 45 minutes, trying to get me to agree to disassociate myself from Bob, the man who had initially recruited your mother into Scientology, the man with whom I'd been friends since we were in high school, the man who, as noted above, had not only ceased to be a Scientologist but had also become a vocal critic of it. I, of course, refused to do as you asked, but you kept insisting that my refusing to continue my friendship with him was a condition for your Christmas visit. Finally, I reminded you of the court order that required your visiting. You told me you would go to the judge and get it changed, and I assured you you had that right, but, until you did so, the order stood. During the call, I observed inappropriate delays in your answering some of my questions, delays that caused me to wonder whether there was someone coaching you.

It didn't take me long to realize that your mother, or someone else in the Sea Org, had decided that my complaints about deficiencies in your up-bringing were evidence of my being manipulated by Bob. With growing outrage, I wondered what sort of parent, what sort of organization, would use a child to do its dirty work. I now realize I was getting an introduction to Scientology "ethics."

Although you never indicated anyone else had helped you to compose the demands you were expressing, I never for a moment believed they were yours alone. The only question was whether it was just your mother who was coaching you, or whether there were others involved. I strongly suspect the latter. Someone was guilty of manipulation, but it wasn't Bob; someone was being manipulated, but it wasn't I.

I also had a new clue about where your education was headed, for I felt I'd just seen in action one of those wonderful Scientology tools for running one's life that so impressed your mother. Apparently the fine art of manipulation, Scientology-style, was not an area in which your education was being neglected.

There was no further friction between us until you arrived for your Christmas visit, though we talked on the phone at least once more.

On the agreed upon afternoon in mid-December, I went to the airport to pick you up. We met at the gate, then picked up your luggage. Then, you told me some story about having to go to the baggage claim area of another airline, and there, to my immense surprise, was Ben!

I was overjoyed. We hadn't seen each other for over a year. As we shared a welcoming hug, I actually cried a little.

What followed was the best time he and I ever spent together. I soon realized he'd been sent to look out for you, because someone in the Sea Org feared I'd try to abduct or de-program you, and I told him as much. But, I said, that didn't matter to me; what mattered was that he had come.

I had purchased an old car some months earlier with the intention that it become his. It was in good order, so I insured it, installed snow tires, and made it available to him. On a couple of occasions, you and he used it to go snowboarding at a nearby ski area while I remained at home, anxiously hoping he could cope with icy roads and bad weather. As far as I know, he did well.

It didn't take me long to realize the lad was in love. He'd disappear into the garage to use the phone there to call his girl-friend, often talking with her for over an hour. This he did more nights than not.

On at least one occasion, I saw him crying during one of those calls. He must have missed her terribly. I wondered whether he would have come to Colorado had the choice been his.

Before Christmas, you arranged to spend a day at Boulder High School with Sarah. You and I had discussed that possibility on the phone before your visit; you'd said you wanted some sort of "reality check" on the insane, drug-crazed world of public schools, to see whether you could use your Scientology skills to help deal with the many problems in such a place. When you and I went to the school to arrange your visit, you expressed fear that you could get lost there. No kidding! But we were able to arrange your visit with the authorities; it came off as planned, and it was a success.

We talked about it afterward, of course. Not only had you not gotten lost, but you'd gotten a reality check of a somewhat different sort from that which we'd discussed. You had been fairly comfortable in the classrooms, had understood a lot of what was being discussed in them, and had made some new friends. You seemed relieved to have discovered you could fit into the scene at Boulder High, both academically and socially.

We did the usual Christmas stuff and had a good time with that. Once the holiday had passed, we moved on to other things.

We shopped for and bought a new computer, then Ben and I designed and built a desk for it. Late in the visit, he and I overhauled his car's engine. (Incidentally, he left his car behind when he returned to Florida. He had to be back on a specific date, he explained, and his time in Colorado would have to be curtailed if he were to drive back.)

That was a wonderful time. He and I were able to do some of the things teen-aged boys do with their fathers, things for which time had previously been denied us. We worked easily together, with respect for one another, and we had fun.

We also talked. Boy, did we talk! He had come with a pile of Scientology propaganda for my inspection. I pored through it.

Some of the material was glossy, colorful, and lavish in its praise of Scientology; I didn’t bore myself long with that stuff and could think of little to say about it. Other documents were strident attacks on Scientology's critics; I commented on the distasteful nature of that material but didn't dwell on it. However, I found one document particularly interesting.

It was a booklet entitled, "The Cult Awareness Network: Anatomy of a Hate Group."

I had, in fact, been in contact with C.A.N. I'd bought some books from them, and had spoken with, and received advice from, some of its members. I read the booklet cover-to-cover.

Among other things, it said C.A.N. was an organization that existed for the purpose of interfering with people's rights to practice their chosen religions. It claimed some of C.A.N.'s directors, past and present, were criminals; that C.A.N. had been largely responsible for the Branch Davidian tragedy at Waco, Texas; that C.A.N. had erroneously caused the public to believe that most of the deaths at Jonestown, Guyana in 1978 had been suicides. Frankly, its presentation was so strident, so accusatory, so full of innuendo, and so contrary to the facts as I understood them, that my hackles went up immediately. But, realizing Ben probably hadn’t been taught to recognize prevaricators by the noises they make, I pretended to take it seriously.

One of the many claims in the booklet was that a Christian woman had been abducted and deprogrammed, then taken to Wellspring, "...a concentration camp for profit,...to insure that the deprogramming had been 'successful.'" (Wellspring was already known to me as the country’s only facility for assisting former cult members in their efforts to recover from their involvements.) The woman had “escaped,” and she and her husband had subsequently filed suit against Wellspring, its director, and others for false imprisonment, emotional distress, etc. The booklet referred readers to a copy of the legal complaint in its appendix. I dutifully read it.

I shared what I had read with Ben. Then I told him, since the complaint was dated January, 1992, it had probably been resolved much earlier. The copy of the complaint indicated both the name of the court in which it had been filed and its docket number. It took only two phone calls and a few minutes to learn the case had been dismissed.

We talked about that. Wasn't the booklet deliberately slanting information by omitting a vital fact? How much faith could be placed in "documentation" that was obviously incomplete? What could be said about the viciously negative information about opponents presented in the booklet? I compared that tactic to dirty politics, in which a candidate tries to convince voters that his opponent is unworthy of their votes instead of entering into open debate about the issues. We talked, and we talked some more.

The booklet, by the way, was published by "Freedom Magazine." Nowhere does it say "Freedom" is a Scientology organ, nor does it have a date of publication. Though I did not point these facts out to Ben, I have since come to recognize this as a common tactic of Scientology, a tactic not unlike an anonymous threatening letter.

I shared my impressions of the Cult Awareness Network with Ben. I told him about the Moonies and their deceptive recruiting practices, how their real purpose is to bilk members of money and turn them into slaves. I conjured up a picture of concerned family members who were losing children to this unscrupulous group, and desperately needed information and support. I suggested C.A.N. was a place where they could look for what they needed, that maybe it was, in fact, a bunch of grandmothers doing what grandmothers so often do: looking out for the children. Watching his reactions, I was reminded of the concept of "preconceived ideas" that Suzanne had expressed to me. It looked as though he knew C.A.N. was the enemy; he had to maintain that belief, no matter what. That was not the last time I was to see Scientologists behaving exactly as they accused outsiders of behaving.

Since "Anatomy of a Hate Group" had raised some questions about the Jonestown tragedy, I felt free to delve further into that subject, in the company of you and Ben.

The three of us had spent many happy hours reading aloud the works of Tim Cahill. He's an adventurer, and his writing is interesting and funny. As it happened, he'd gone to Jonestown after the tragedy, and had written an article about what he'd learned in a book called A Wolverine is Eating My Leg. I already had a copy; indeed, we had read most of it. I read his Jonestown piece to you two.

Later, we watched a video copy of "Guyana Tragedy," a film about how Jim Jones began as a sincere, optimistic preacher and evolved into a megalomaniacal cult leader, and the horror that ended so many lives.

I wasn't able to elicit much conversation about Jonestown from you two; perhaps I'd pushed the envelope a bit too far. Perhaps you'd felt too threatened.

On the other hand, the subject had, after all, been raised in the very material Ben had brought me to read, and it seemed right to me to show him there was another side to the story. He'd invited dialog, and I was more than equal to the task.

In retrospect I realized that, although his words made it sound otherwise, dialog is not really what he sought: from his point of view, we could not resolve* (his word) the differences between us in any way other than my capitulating, my agreeing wholeheartedly with his committing his life to Scientology.

[*resolve: Ben and I were not using the same definitions for this word. The closest definition in my dictionary to that he was apparently using is: “to remove or dispel (doubt, etc.).” The definition I was using is: “to find a solution or answer to (a problem).” To me, the word implies a mutual effort between equals to settle a disagreement; to him, the implication is that one viewpoint prevails.
Thus is a profound hazard in communications with Scientologists demonstrated: When people using the same words have different meanings for those words, communication becomes difficult if not impossible. Scientologists’ abundant use of coined words, shortened words, and acronyms, most of which are meaningless to all but the best informed outsiders, further hampers communication.]

I experienced another example of that when Ben began insisting I sever my ties to Bob, as you had insisted during our phone conversation the previous month. In support of his position, and true to the teachings* of his "church,” Ben told me Bob was a criminal. "Since he's an old friend of mine," I told him, "you'd better be prepared to prove that accusation." He agreed to do so.

[*I had been told by several ex-Scientologists that the organization regards its critics as enemies and teaches that its enemies are usually, if not always, criminals. I felt great sadness as my son’s accusation about a man who had befriended him for many years seemed to demonstrate the proof of the ex-Scientologists’ statements.]

Ben had already told me, in response to my question, that if the situation between us didn't resolve, he might have to "disconnect"* from me. Those were his words: he might have to disconnect from me. On a couple of occasions, after he'd told me that, I had asked him whether he really thought that would happen. He'd looked sheepish and told me that was "not likely."

[*Disconnection is the action demanded of Scientologists, as a matter of policy, to end a relationship with an outsider who continues to question, or express criticism of, Scientology after attempts have been made to “handle” (silence) him. As the name of the action would indicate, it is the severing of communication of any sort with the doubter by the Scientologist.]

I felt sorry for him as he went to great efforts to obtain the Scientology file on Bob, including a wild goose chase to Denver. Finally, he arranged to have the file sent from Clearwater.

We picked it up at the post office and took it home. We then read it together, all three of us. It contained nothing of substance, we agreed, except for an affidavit from a former business associate who claimed that Bob, after having been diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis and having become unable to work, had simultaneously been drawing paychecks from the software company he'd founded and disability checks from his insurance company. Such double dipping would be fraudulent.

After reading the affidavit and discussing it with you and Ben, I phoned the woman who had assumed control of the software company after Bob had left. As I made the call, you both remained nearby. I asked her whether there was any truth in the allegation.

She said there was not. She told me the insurance company had been slow to issue Bob's disability checks, so the software company had continued to issue his paychecks. Once the disability checks began arriving, she said, the paychecks had ceased.

I asked why Bob's former associate had written the affidavit. She replied that the woman was a Scientologist; she kept the books for the Boulder "Mission," and had most likely written the affidavit because she'd been asked to do so. She added that the insurance company, after receiving the affidavit, had re-opened its investigation, but had found nothing to substantiate the allegation, and the disability checks had continued uninterrupted.

She gave me one final bit of information: Bob had recently had a seizure and had been taken to the hospital. The doctors had concluded his main problem had been lack of nourishment. Recalling that Bob usually ate well when in my company, I asked how that could be. The problem was, she said, that he didn't eat at all when no one was with him.

I thanked her for her information and ended the call.

With rising emotions, I made sure you and Ben understood all of what had been said in the conversation, then I said, "Look at what's happening here: Bob and I have been friends for twice as long as Ben's been alive. He's ill; he's probably dying, and he's suffering from a lack of nourishment. I cook; I feed people; it's part of what I do. Now you want me to cut him loose, because you and your 'church' don't like his opinions. Fat chance! Not only am I unwilling to abandon him, I'm going to assume greater responsibility for his well-being." I was teary-eyed with emotion. So was Ben; he came to me and hugged me and said, "I understand, Dad." You burst into tears and left the room; I suspect you and Ben had been told you'd have to win me over to your point of view or lose me, and you saw the possibilities for the former outcome slipping away.

We were all shaken by that encounter, Ben especially. I doubt he’d been warned that I might have a valid point of view; now he realized I did. What a conflict he must have felt as he came to realize that I was opposing the will of his “church” because of my sense of decency, loyalty, and honor!

I’m sure you didn't perceive those events in the same way as did Ben, but you well understood that our relationship could never be the same as it had been, and you didn't like that idea.

I knew what was happening between Ben and me was serious. A crack had appeared in his armor. I fervently wish I'd then had a way to begin an intervention on him.

But I had no way to make that happen. Instead, you and he had to return to Clearwater, and I was pretty sure whatever you had to face after you arrived would be ugly and difficult.

I had a phone number for Ben in Clearwater, but I had none for you. At my request, you had earlier adopted the habit of calling me collect a couple of times a week. Before you left Colorado, I asked you to continue to phone me as usual, and you agreed.

Because Ben's flights had been arranged separately from yours, his plane departed a couple of hours before yours. I took Ben to the airport to see him off. We were both animated and emotional when Ben got on the plane; on several levels, we had really connected. We were truly father and son, and I think he was more surprised than I to realize that Scientology had not killed that completely, though efforts had undoubtedly been made.

As I saw him off, I resolved to try to contact him soon, because I wanted him to feel my love and support after he had begun to face the music, back in the Sea Org.

I waited at the airport for you and Linda. After you arrived, we visited for a few minutes before you boarded your plane. I'm afraid our parting was not as spirited as mine with Ben had been, because I was somewhat drained emotionally.

The next day, I began trying to telephone Ben. It took over 3 days, about 30 calls, to reach him, and when I did, he was obviously not the same person I had put on the plane. His voice was entirely without animation, he was not forthcoming with information, and it seemed as though he couldn't wait to end the call. When I told him I loved him, he didn't reciprocate.

Eagerly, I waited for you to call. You didn't. Two weeks passed with no word from you.

Then, I received a letter from Ben. It said, in part: "I understand and respect your desire for information on [Scientology] and understand that it may take some time for you to draw your own conclusion on the matter...I do not, however, wish to remain in communication with you until you have reached a conclusion ... Your association with individuals actively opposing Scientology is detrimental to my own progress on the path that I have...chosen."

Soon after that, I called Ben's girlfriend's parents and learned that she and Ben had married!

Ben had disconnected from me with his letter, and you were doing the same by not phoning me. The battle had escalated, and the stakes were plainly very high.

In retrospect, I believe Ben would not have come to Colorado that Christmas had someone in the Sea Org not been suspicious of my intentions toward you. Our time together had been intense but thoroughly rewarding, and my love and respect for my son had grown considerably. My time with both of you was the only positive aspect in a chain of events that was otherwise bleak.

My relationships with you and Ben were being destroyed; indeed, you two were actively participating in the destruction.

There could be no doubt that you were being scarred emotionally as a result. How could you not be?

I perceived evidence of emotional damage in your lack of spirit at the beginnings of your two most recent visits and, occasionally, after a phone conversation with your mother. What’s more, the schizophrenia that had become charateristic of your interactions with me, evidenced by your being friendly and open one day and hostile and manipulative the next, I considered symptomatic of your emotional ill health.

Apparently, the harm you were suffering was less important to your mother and to your “church” than the enforcement of the “church’s” will. I was refusing to cut my ties to one of its critics, so I had to go, no matter what harm you suffered as a result.

Neither did it matter that my position in this contrived dispute was grounded in my sense of honor and loyalty. If my ethical considerations put me at odds with the policies of the organization, that was my tough luck.

As though the destruction of our relationships, your emotional damage, and my punishment for acting ethically weren’t enough, I had manipulation and deceit to add to the list of evils Scientology had brought into our lives.

I had witnessed your attempt to manipulate your mother’s perceptions during her angry visit to my home before the court hearing, when you insisted I wasn’t opposed to your practicing Scientology. I could only conclude that your efforts resulted from your having been made to understand that you couldn’t continue a relationship with me if I were found to be an “enemy,” a highly manipulative tactic in its own right. “Multi-level manipulation,” you might call it.

That phenomenon was also apparent when both you and Ben, separately and together, blatantly tried to use the threat of damage to your relationships with me to try to force me to sever my ties to Bob. It took little imagination to realize that your attempts to manipulate me resulted from the manipulation to which you had both been subjected.

And your mother had once again pulled her little trick, that of pretending a decision was “up to Amanda”; this time, the issue had been educational testing. But she hadn’t been able to control her temper long enough to maintain that fantasy.

She had been guilty of deceit when she deliberately stalled having your orthodontia begun, deceit of which you in particular had been the victim.

Deceit was also to be seen in the statements made, and the documentation provided, in the booklet “Anatomy of a Hate Group” that Ben had given me.

There could be little doubt that outright lies were being told to support Scientology’s having declared Bob an enemy. Poor Ben had been caught red-handed when he gullibly, willingly, circulated those lies.

You and Ben had not only been taught to use manipulation and deceit, at least on me, but those tactics had also apparently been presented to you as techniques for attaining success in your lives!

Detail by detail, my picture of Scientology was becoming more complete; it was hardly a pretty one. The more I understood, the less this organization had in common with any church of which I had knowledge.

I had to get you out of that evil organization!