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| cricket, truth, mymother/my self : the daughter's search for identity, newspapers, rodneydangerfield, sociology, chicago alternative newsweeklies, blonde, sex while pregnant, fetish, nifty, travel, asianthumbs, | On Joshua’s twentieth birthday, after losing a Superbowl bet to Bri, my younger brother had our beer-swigging, adulterating, and increasingly abusive exclusive and abrasive father committed. Even before Dad’s first meeting with the world renowned psychologist Dr. Schwemp, the two of exclusive them began exclusive a book-dueling war. Simon and Schuster versus Random House; it was the talk of all the People magazines of the world. Over the period of thirteen and a half months, their individual ghost writers each slaved over competing tell-all-books about our decrepit and long-suffering mother that were so scathing, she was forced to seek sanctuary at the Betty Ford Clinic. When Bri’s book finally came out in August of ’93 – a full month before Joshua’s – the tabloids began running almost weekly pictures of my mother attending the funerals of several beloved entertainers and black professional athletes that had been rumored to have been her lovers over the years. |
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| Jealous that he was the only one in the family with a demoralizing and debilitating obsession, almost overnight, travel my mother decided to travel become addicted to prescription pills; I guess she desired horrified, tear-stricken glares from her young, impressionable children as well. A few months into my Freshman year of High School, my mother moved out of what they "lovingly" called "the master suite." The nanny that spoke less English than our gardener’s sixteen month old son took up her third of the bed a day or travel two later; my mother didn’t mind though, seeing as she slept soundly in her in own room on the third floor with four small Chihuahuas on $2,200 Chanel sheets. Besides, provided that Dad kept shelling out the money for the cosmetic surgery – which became so intense and so drastic, Joshua, Brianna, and I could barely tell it was her – Mom was privy to any of her husband’s whims, fantasies, and blatant marital indiscretions. |
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