A Letter To My Mother

Dear Mother, 

My family and I have lived in a house in Los Angeles for about ten years. Tomorrow is the day that we first moved in together. We met each other while we were filming on the same movie set. He was playing a stubborn action hero that used a sword to fight off his enemies and I played an equally as stubborn female that fought along the side of him. We aren’t anything like our characters. Even though we are both strong minded at times, we are pretty easy going. At first, we didn’t plan on falling for each other, but we did. It took a while for us to admit our feelings for each other since we wanted to remain professionals on and off set, but we realized that our feelings for each other were too strong to ignore and we were a lot alike. We have similar values, interests, and likes. Not everything is perfect because I’m still adjusting to living in the real world (even after escaping home twenty-two years ago at eighteen). 

The movie was a blockbuster hit and we filmed 3 sequels. There’s going to be a fourth sequel out this summer. We will have our red carpet premiere next month. This is the franchise that I’ve grown to love so much. 

However, don’t bother showing up to my movie premiere. If this letter gets to you, just remember that I have security and they know why I don’t want you around me or my family. I’ve told very few people about my life growing up because it’s hard to get over my anger towards you.

I’m writing this letter to you on one of the few rainy days that we get around LA. I’m currently sitting in my home office as I write this and my door is cracked open just enough to see my two daughters playing in the living room with two of their friends. My daughters are seven and eight and their friends are around their age too. They are playing with toys from a book series about a princess that also comes from a long line of wizards and witches. I didn’t understand it at first, but it’s age appropriate, my kids love it, and they love reading books now. Unlike you, I don’t see a problem with that.

You never trusted what you couldn’t explain. When I was a teen, the same books that my children love came out. You loathed the idea of that book series because of the church. The church told you that wizards are a product of the devil and would corrupt our children into worshiping some sort of false idol. 

I remember the first week that the second book came out. I was fourteen. The books came out on a Tuesday and there was a lot of hype surrounding the first sequel. That Saturday, we went to the book store in the city and set up a table outside to pass out bible tracts to anyone who had the books. We could identify which ones had the books because they were giving away limited edition bags to anyone who purchased the book that weekend. The store didn’t know that we would be setting a table up, so we had to hand out our church tracts as fast as possible. 

It was raining lightly outside and you brought a couple of umbrellas for us to hold to keep us dry. I was extremely sick that day and had a high fever, but you still forced me to help you pass out tracts that day. When you took my temperature that morning, it was 100 degrees. You didn’t seem to care. You said to me, “You’re just lying. Do you know how many times I lied to my mom to get out of work?” Then you hesitated. “Plus, you’re the only one who isn’t helping your dad at church. You were the first child I saw who could help me.” It took a minute, but the truth came out.

I was on the verge of vomiting and passing out. As we passed out tracts, I could feel my fever worsen. I kept dry heaving when you harassed other people to join the church. My job was to watch our table to make sure management didn’t come to take away our table and to hand out tracts to people who passed by. My dry heaving grossed some people out and they would immediately drop it back on the table and leave. Others would just take the tracts and leave quickly.

You were ruthless with the ones you hounded. One girl, who was a college student, walked out with her four of her friends and each had a copy of the new book. Before you walked up to them, we overheard them talking about going out that night because it was one of their birthdays. A blond girl named Cindy was the last to turn 21 in their group and they were excited that everyone in their friend group could go out drinking legally now. I didn’t understand what any of that meant because you sheltered me. I was 14 and didn’t know that people were allowed to drink at all when they turned 21 or that people under 21 got fake I.D.s to drink with their friends at bars. You had me convinced that most people lived like us and the rest were going to a place you didn’t like anyone saying out loud (you’d hum loudly if anyone but our church leaders said it). 

“Girls, girls!” you said excitedly as you ran up to them. “Do you want to know which book you should be reading? It can get you into a place that is so much better than any bar your friends can take you to, Cindy!” 

“How do you know my name, creep?” Cindy asked. She was a girl who wasn’t afraid of confronting an adult. This was news to me. I was never allowed to say no to an adult, even when that creepy family friend of yours made me do unspeakable things to him when I was eight and he was in his twenties. You blamed me for what happened when I told you because I said “no” to him and you said I shouldn’t have put myself in that situation anyway. It’s been a couple of decades and I still cry about it to my therapist. 

“You shouldn’t talk like that to an adult, young lady!” you screamed at Cindy. 

“Yeah? Well, maybe you shouldn’t harass people with things outside of a book store! Let them live their lives, lady!” Cindy screamed back.

“You watch your mouth!” you snapped back

“First of all, I was going to swear, but then I saw your daughter and wanted to have some sort of decency towards her since I also have a young sister about her age. Second of all, have you not noticed how sick she is? She’s been dry heaving since we got here and we’ve been here for about two hours!” Cindy said.

“May daughter, my business!” you snapped again.

Then the manager came out and threatened to call the cops if we didn’t move our table and leave. He thanked Cindy and her friends for informing them of what we were doing. You didn’t want to the cops involved. You immediately made me help you pack up our stuff and leave. It took about twenty five minutes to drive back home. 

We always went to the city to talk to other people about the church you and dad went to because people from our rural town already believed in the same thing. They were “saved” already. People in the city weren’t “saved” yet.

I never liked rainy days like today. When I was a small child, around 7 years old, I would go outside when it rained and play in the mud puddles. I would put on my old clothes and play outside in the mud puddles with my brothers and sisters. You would forcefully grab my sisters and I by our ears one at a time and then yell at us. You’d tell us that it wasn’t lady like to play out in the rain. We were the older sisters and had to set an example for any younger sister God would bless our family with in the future. It was okay for boys to play outside and get dirty, but not girls. Even today, I still feel a little guilty going outside when it rains because I fear being yelled at by you.

My girls love rainy days like these. Sometimes they stay inside and play (like today) or they put on some old clothes and hop around in mud puddles. My husband and I established some rules we think are reasonable for times like these. First rule: Finish your homework. School is important. Even if you decide not to go to college, getting through grade school is important to learn basic knowledge and skills. (Although, we do highly encourage getting a college education.) Second: Practice your sport(s). They both wanted to take dance classes and love it. They practice all of the time. Sometimes, I can’t get them to stop twirling around the dining room table before dinner! Third: Do any chores that you need to do. They are seven and eight, so they can’t mow the lawn or anything like that yet, but they can do things such as make their beds, help set up the table, wash the dishes, etc. Fourth: Wear your “outdoor” clothes. We have clothes that we wear specifically for playing outside and doing outdoor work (such as gardening). We don’t want to get our normal clothes dirty, so we make sure to have outdoor clothes.  

Unlike you, we don’t expect our kids to run an entire house. You had sixteen kids (including me). I was the third oldest. I was the fourth kid you had and you didn’t stop. My older brothers and sister and I all had to raise our younger siblings. When a few of the younger ones got older, they had to help too. I was eight years old when I had to feed my younger siblings, bathe them, change their diapers, and do chores around the house. You and dad hardly did anything but try to make sure my siblings did our chores. You two couldn’t even be bothered to spend time with us most of the time. Sometimes you did, but it was always seemed to be some sort of chore. I wasn’t even double digits and I had to be a full time mom.

Sorry to unload all of this on you, but I had to do it. There’s a lot more I could write about, but the paper is getting a little wet from few rogue tears that are escaping my eyes. I don’t want my children to worry about their mother crying.

My therapist said I should do this as an exercise and only keep it for myself, but I’m going to mail it to you instead. Maybe you changed, maybe you didn’t.

I never understood things my children liked, but I tried. I try not to see things as “evil.” It took me a while to get over that series my kids wanted to read because you raised me to think that anything to do with wizards and witches were evil. Well, it’s actually a good series and it was written by a Christian. Not all Christians follow your sect of extreme Christianity. 

All I want right now is for my daughters to be safe and happy. We don’t lie to them and say that everyone lives like us. We try to tell them in an age appropriate way that people have different lives and that’s fine. What matters most, is that you live yours and you don’t stop people from living theirs.

Sincerely, 

Your Daughter