Someone asked me this past week why I chose to never have children, so many reasons really, of which the following is just a part of those,

As a Bastard child of Adoption. I wish my mother had been given all the options
women today have. Unwed, the father heading to Vietnam, 1969 in Kansas. Buckle
of the Bible Belt. I know very little of her story except she was sent away to
a small town in Kansas to have me, her family ashamed of her. Perhaps those
nine months spent alone on the wind swept prairie listening to the reports of a
war half a world away ate at her. Perhaps the violence made that much more real
due to her connection to someone there. Someone who maybe faced life or death
every day. Someone who may have died there.

< I only know a small bit of my mothers story… absolutely nothing of my
fathers but that he went to serve in Vietnam… I dont know if he came home..>

While she sat alone letting this seed grow within. Changing her life and for the
time branding her a loose woman. Did hate or sorrow fill her days? How often
did she look at her growing belly with despair? Was I a source of resentment or
anger or fear did she hate me ?

All these questions haunt me, all the time, and until I find her I will never

The search is not easy. I keep hitting emotional dead ends…

Of course I was always told to be grateful I could have ended up in an
orphanage, with no one. So I should be SOOOO thankful that I got adopted. Yeh
because I had such a great life. It was a dream let me tell you. From the
outside most people believed it was anyways. But to me it was not and many a
time I wished for my mother to have had an abortion. Thats Right I used to think
I would have been happier being aborted that having gone through all I did.

My life? not one I would wish on anyone. I grew up with rich parents, big fancy
house, horses, indoor swimming pool, nice cars, expensive clothes, the best
toys, everything a little girl could want.

But the actual acknowledgement that I was really wanted. I was nothing more
than a china doll to be dressed and shown off… children are to be seen and
not heard was the mantra in my house.

When my parents divorced, my mom remarried and I never saw my father again. My
mother eventually got pregnant and had a daughter and a son. The difference in
treatment was night and day, to the point when my friends would come over they
would comment on the lack of photos of me or my adopted older brother, and the
plethora of my younger siblings.

“years later my husband even noticed it… at the age of thirty I am still not
visible in my mothers home.”

I remember more abut my housekeeper and various baby sitters than I do about
time spent with my mom or dad.

Oh wait… my dad told me at 8 I was to ugly and
stupid to be his daughter. My mom told me at the amazingly fragile age of 13
that adopting me was the biggest mistake she ever made.

Harsh words and even harsher actions yet they still said ” I love you … ” as
if the money and lipservice were enough.

I have to clarify that I was not raised by “Mommy Dearest” there were not
terrifying scenes with wire hangers and bathroom cleanser… but the ridicule
and negative reinforcement as a way to raise a child has left some pretty deep

For those out there who have gone through adoption and had it be a wonderful experience, the adoption procedures of today are radically different then they were when I was born. Mothers have more of a say in where the baby is placed. There is more openess and honesty. I even know of adoptions that are people in my age group that went amazingly well and the adoptee never felt the need to research their birth.

I have decided I will never have children I am terrified at how I would treat them. Yet every
single friend I have who is a parent seems to think I would be an excellent mom.
I choose to believe; that I am not good mother material. It would be devastating
to find out that I was right. Devestating for both of us Me and the child who then had to deal
with an abusive mother.

I wonder when we are going to stop thinking that the moment women become
pregnant they are no longer in control of their bodies and should have no say in
what happens. Of course for some people in this world from the moment of birth
the female has no control over her body. It is abused, beaten and battered.
usually under the auspices of Religion.

hmmmm makes me think of Broodmares in the field. When did it become all about
the child in such a frenzy that people damn near foam at the mouth whenever
anything happens that might in anyway teach the child that

“life is not fair Princess and whoever told you differently is selling you
something ”

There is a happy balance to all of this, I just wonder if we as a society will
ever find it?
Before we are overwhelmed by the magnitude of self indulgence, that we have
brought about.

I worked for a credit card company doing customer service and I am amazed at how
many parents think the mere fact they hold DNA in common with the card holder
should be enough for me to not only tell them everything on their childs account
but make changes at their direction. I have been called every name in the book,
because I am following the policies and procedures of my job and not the ones outlined in the

“Super Parent my Child is the best in the World and I will always come to the
Rescue” Handbook.

Now I work on campus of one of the colleges here in town, in the advising office. The fact it is a college
and a place where that child is starting to make their way into the adult world is I think lost on some parents.
Everyday I field calls from parents upset that I cannot just tell them any and all information on their children.

One interaction stands out in particular.

We have late registration the first week of classes, once that week is over you
cannot register for that semester.
It was the Monday after that deadline when a young girl and her mother approached my desk wanting to speak to an advisor about spring classes. I explained that the deadline had already passed and she would have to wait for summer or Fall to register.

The mother then stated it was the ice storms fault ( first week of school got cancelled due to the storm ) Originally the last day to register would have been the 19th of January, it had been extended to the 26th of January.
I calmly explained this to the girl and her mom. Well that was not good enough, her daughter deserved the right to register no matter what. I stood firm in my denial that this would happen. I told them both the only way she could now be let into classes was by contacting the Deans/Department heads of each division and see if they would approve it.

That was too much work for either of them the mother told me and by Damn her daughter was going to get in and I was going to make it happen.
( mind you all I do is run the front desk setting appointments and the like I have no control in this area )
Luckily one of the advisors heard the upset parent and came out and set them straight on what was going to happen and not going to happen.
WHEW! ! !
But it is just another example of what I call OVER parenting, let the child grow and learn from their mistakes.
This world is not easy to make it in, the more parents hold the hands of their kids and step in fixing whatever issue the child has, the more of a disservice they are being to their children. I really think the skill of self reliance and of honesty is being lost and more kids need to learn it. We no longer allow them to learn on their own the
realities of life. Instead wrapping them in wool cotton and keeping them
protected from every little bit of dirt that might smear on the rosey vision of
the world we raise them to believe in.

The day Honey Bee’s Husband died is permenantly etched into my memory. I
remember every single thing about that day and probably will forever. One image
that stands out in my mind was that of her Little Man patting her on her face
and telling her it was ok. They were standing there at his bedside so that
Little Man could tell his Dad goodbye. He hugged his Dad, stroked his hair and
kissed him. Then turning to comfort his Mother in her time of sorrow.

More than once Honey Bee has been chastized for being so honest with him. People
felt she should have made up some euphemism to cover up the fact that his father
had died. She refused and her son is a thousand times better for knowing the
truth and never having it hidden from him.

We will someday soon, I hope, find the medium that needs to be between the
extremes that exist. If we dont, I fear that we will all suffer in one of our
most fragile states, that of old age.
And that is some Witty Bitchin…

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