Defending Deadbeat Dads
Attorney seeks to help divorced parents be more stable for their families
by Tamara Fynaardt
 | | | As a Washington, D.C., law student, Serena Holthe became family to Belinda and Martha. Belinda’s family lives off her mother’s $700-per-month disability check, and Martha’s apartment building is roach- and rat-infested. Holthe’s home was their “safe place.” | |
Robert and his wife separated nearly a year ago. A construction worker, he makes $6.50 per hour and often works overtime. His wife has custody of their three children. Robert’s child support settlement was recently set at $510 per month, and he was ordered to pay $1,250 in arrears (dating back to when his wife filed for support).
Because he’s already behind, the child support enforcement agency is threatening to take away his driver’s license. Without his car, Robert might lose his job. His last paycheck already was lower than usual because he had to take several days off for court proceedings. Now he’s behind on his rent.*
Deadbeat dad?
“More like dead broke,” says Serena Holthe ’00, a Maryland Legal Aid Bureau lawyer who represents low-income, noncustodial parents whose child support obligations are overwhelming and hindering their ability to be a stable presence in their children’s lives.
Holthe, who was born and raised in Logan, Iowa, graduated at the top of her class from the Catholic University of America’s law school in May 2004. In December she was admitted to the bar.
Her earning potential as a top new lawyer is about $125,000 per year, which would enable her to quickly pay off her loans and live in an upscale suburb. Instead her new salary is less than a third of that, and she purposely lives in a small upstairs apartment in a poor, multiracial neighborhood of Baltimore.
Holthe’s journey from small-town Iowan to East Coast urbanite began at Northwestern under the mentorship of Dr. Bret Kincaid, a former political science professor who now works with the American Studies Program of the Council for Christian Colleges & Universities in Washington, D.C.
“When I came to Northwestern, I was typical,” says Holthe, “not interested in poverty or the city. I wanted to go to law school and become a Supreme Court justice. Dr. Kincaid never pushed me, but he asked all the right questions. I learned I had the ‘right and wrong’ part of justice, but not the ‘compassion and mercy’ part.”
After graduation Holthe spent a mission year with City Youth Ministries, an extension of her Summer of Service experience in Jonesboro, Ark. “That year made what I’d learned about the systematic oppression of the poor extremely real,” explains Holthe, adding that the experience reinforced her plans to attend law school. “Speaking up for those who don’t have a voice—that’s become the purpose of my life,” she says.
While in law school, Holthe lived in Esther House in a poor, oftentimes dangerous neighborhood of Washington, D.C. Esther House is a home for Christian women who invest themselves in the surrounding community. Between classes, studying and law internships, Holthe also served as the volunteer youth director at her mostly black church, growing the youth group from a handful of kids to over 30 regular attendees.
This past May, she moved to Baltimore and the Maryland Legal Aid Bureau, which takes an innovative approach to low-income, noncustodial parents.
“Child support needs to be a support, not a sword,” says Holthe, who, with her colleagues, is trying to combat the assumption that every noncustodial parent who’s not paying child support is a deadbeat dad. “Many are trying to support their families,” she says, adding that sometimes it’s at the expense of meeting their own basic needs like housing and food.
“We’re talking about people who are trying to make their payments,” says Holthe, “but their child support requirements—and sanctions when payments aren’t made—are overwhelming.” And ultimately causing more harm than good for their families.
In addition to representing clients in court, Holthe’s job also includes child support research, advocacy, outreach and education with community groups, homeless shelters, legislators and others.
With her spare time, Holthe will continue her passion for urban youth ministry. In June she started as part-time youth director at a church across the street from her apartment. Building on the current youth group of five girls, Holthe talks excitedly about using the church’s large building and grounds as a Saturday gathering place—with sports, activities and gospel hip-hop—for the community’s many young people.
Extraordinary woman?
Not really, Holthe would say. “At Northwestern, my eyes were opened more to understand God’s heart—especially for the poor,” she says. “I think all Christians are called to serve the poor. If God blesses you, you’ve got to turn around and bless someone else.”
*Robert is a fictional character, but the details of his story were drawn from the cases of real clients Holthe and the Legal Aid Bureau represent.
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