Publication Foreword

The letter is written to the chief editor of the “Woman” magazine in response to the article “Could You Throw Out Your Child?” by Jane Bidder. Jessica Rhodin, 28, is a famous theater actress, who had a similar experience of being turned out of her house by her mother. She shares her story and views on the problem.

5079 Apache Trail

Las Cruces, NM 88012-9762

[phone]

[e-mail]

September 20, 2003

“WOMAN”

Room 53, 850 Third Avenue

New York, NY 10022

Attention: Chief Editor

Dear Chief Editor:

My heart literally stopped when I read the article “Can You Throw Out Your Child?” by Jane Bidder in your August issue. It kept me restless for weeks. Thank you so much for it! It helped me realize once more that I am not the only one having gone through major trauma. I can totally relate to the situations discussed and hopefully, one would care to hear my own story and reflections, which are the ones of soaring hardship and struggle.

Now, that I am a happy mother to two sweet kids and a loving wife to a godsend of a husband, I dare to talk out some things that have made my mind dismal and emotionally vulnerable for years, and I am 28 at the moment. I come from a small suburban town in the state of New Mexico, a real god-forsaken spot in the middle of the desert. My father was a truck-driver, who never managed to make a go of his own life. He was killed in a harsh accident, when I was 6 and logically, I didn't get to know him really well. It might have been a heaven-sent gift if he had survived, but I was clubbed to sharing my mother’s accommodation.

Mother was cohabiting with a man of a much younger age, sort of a permanent partner. It kept her thinking younger, trying to keep up, as she would put it. To be absolutely fair, I never got a beat from her, but that would be less suicidal, I guess. She gave me a rough time quite often, though; I depended on her for everything on Earth: housing, views, dress code and dating. She never offered me love or understanding, those were abstract bookish notions for me. Thus, I grew up as a lonely child, who had never felt on an equal footing with anyone but her toys and pets, whose separate identity was conditioned and established by outer circumstances and who was bogged down with responsibilities and chores.

I was already a commuting college sophomore with rather an impressive GPA and a part-time job, when the nightmare came true. I just got the Best Works Ethics Award and it was actually the first time I went out for a social drink with my Ethics class. Then we had parties once in a while at the local dorms and I came home really late. Once my mother smelled me smoking marijuana. The hassle that followed just triggered her temper and she drew the line and cut me off the same night. She screamed abuse and roared that I forced her into debt (I was gradually paying off the college loan on my own) and admitted to expensive tastes (while Target was the best place I’d ever shopped at then and I never dropped a single word about a car). I challenged her authority, talked back and sneaked around; I was a strain emotionally and financially; I was a waste and a burden. She ruthlessly swept aside my excuses and the idea of a cooling-off period. In order to show proper respect for adults I had to try and stand on my own two feet, she pinpointed. So I was pushed out on the front steps with barely a third of my belongings and a stoned heart.

She met me intermittently somewhere about the town during the first 2 years of my forced independence, unkempt and worn out. Then I left for the better not to see her or let her meddle in my affairs, which she was trying to do from a distance for the sake of the public image. It took me years and a million of detrimental deeds and “done” things to survive. I lost my rose-colored glasses on the first step of my Mom’s condominium. I felt a useless waste, just like Kaylie Wilding. It was a positive experience in a way, however. Being thrown out brought me to my senses, I learned to conduct my life in my own fashion and sort myself out; I learned to be competitive and cutthroat; it took almost all my guts at times to meet the ups and downs of life. I took all the chances, good or evil, and I scraped through. I took a crack at a theater career and got it right into my hands, I’ve got all the amenities of my own home life now. Deep in my heart, though, the image of my Mom carries on nagging me, but I’ll return the ball. I hope she’s gone through a much worse patch than I did.

Sometimes I wonder why she did it, because she was terribly scared of loneliness (as far as I know, her live-in relationships were all spontaneous and brief). Mother hated to be economically pressed, but I was no robber, either. Had she ever explained to me, that she wanted a different kind of personality in her household, I would have honestly tried to change! I found my wings fully clipped instead. Parents do not realize sometimes, that the worst shame and break of confidence their child can experience is basically not the fact that they are turned out, but the unbearable thought that they cannot come back, that they are not wanted back. Homecoming means refuge, security and support. Fortunately (or unfortunately, for some parents), children are not pets, they should be nor domestified, nor experimented on.

A lack of a shelter is a dreadful awareness, trust me. What makes it still worse, is that such situations make it impossible to talk about growing integration of the family unit, since child psychic is highly vulnerable and parents really never know what they are condemning their kids to. Evidently, what is a good life-school for one child is a kill for another, likely to influence all his/her life. Furthermore, how can a child receive proper guidance and approval, when he/she is physically and morally separated from parents? Other adults may fill in the gap, one would remark, but I’m not absolutely positive whether a particular child wouldn’t get in with the wrong crowd and aggravate the conflict.

High divorce rates and growing career instability make adults move back in with their elderly parents and negotiate a new “parent-child” test. Now think of a psychologically unstable young individual, whose prospects and brain go to pieces just because the compromise failed. I can give a small recommendation, especially now that I’m authorized in a way being a mother myself, – talk to your offspring, offer them assistance and try to be tolerant! There are totally unruly kids, I wouldn’t deny, but at least you tried to be positive and that keeps you light-hearted. Listen to your children, let them talk things out, which is healthy for preserving a good atmosphere at home. Keep them involved in household activities and decision-making, let them make a difference; provide a freedom of choice and selection; spend time with them, but don't be nosy. In the worst possible case don’t be laid sacrifice to your “monster” child, just step aside and take your own life, but don’t throw your son or daughter out without a chance of later reunion! It’s a double-load – in most cases you won’t be forgiven by your kid and practically always you’ll be sick with guilt and moral sufferings, unlike Janice Wilding, who will never cry with relief, but who is right in her own individual way. The article is depressive, but I’m very glad I’ve read it. Otherwise my confession wouldn’t have been possible.

…Mom, perhaps you’ll be reading this some day. There are too many ruined kids with similar daunting experiences, so most likely you won’t be able to recognize me. God forgive you then, for I haven’t so far. Moreover, I’ve gone as far as to change my name due to the shameful things I was forced into by a careless will of yours.

I’m a theater performer and I believe, you could be proud of me now, but you’ve deserved no share of my success, either professional or personal. You haven’t been there for me. I want you, thoughtless mothers, to face it, that kicked-out and wing-clipped kids are not battered or by any means homesick. We are reveling in the idea of your loneliness, frailty and financial insecurity. We don’t expect you to seek our company after all this time, as well as we’ll never put out a welcome mat on our front porch for you. You never wanted us back, so you’ve concurred to a childless life and an empty nest. Bitter remorse and exorbitant pangs of an irretrievable loss are by far the most generous things we could wish you. Good luck and take care. Sincerely not yours, Bum Children.

That’s the way it happened to me. I don’t insist on claiming that mine is a typical situation. Reasons and consequences differ from family to family, and that is the main reason why there is actually no universal antidote. Whoever takes interest in my story or feels like sharing his/her problem is welcome to contact me any time.

Sincerely yours,

Mrs. Jessica Rhodin

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