Moms vs. Mothers

I’ve been working with Stuart Watson for a while now as he gets his memoir down on paper. It’s a cool feeling to be a writing coach for someone who has a line of Emmys in his office.

Actually, just because I can, I’m going to copy his LinkedIn profile here to show there are more than just Emmys in this guy’s bookcase. Stuart would hate that I’m about to do this, but luckily this is my blog and not his.

Stuart Watson is an award winning investigative reporter, with 30+ years of stellar experiences in journalism, non-fiction storytelling, media broadcasting, and journalism teaching. As a Nieman Fellow in Journalism from Harvard University, Stuart has fortified innovations in storytelling and news reporting. His journalism excellence has been consistently recognized with (3) Peabody awards, (2) DuPont Columbia Silver Baton awards (equivalent to the Pulitzer Prize), (5) National Headliner awards, (10) Regional Emmys, and (8) Regional Edward R. Murrow Awards. Stuart is a well known broadcasting professional with comprehensive experience in covering ground breaking stories and bringing forth the facts of corruption and power politics for public awareness. 

Stuart is about to release a podcast I think is a game changer, and so I asked him if we would be a guest blogger here and tell you a little about it and himself.

You’re welcome.

Here’s Stuart Watson:

I never told my adopted mom that I found my birth mother. I wanted to. I wanted to be able to share anything with her. But my sister Liz who’s adopted and my cousin Carol who’s adopted talked me out of it. They said it would have wrecked her, and looking back 15 years I think they were right. 

So when I recently sat at the kitchen table of a halfway house recording a conversation (for my new podcast) with a recovering crack addict who gave up custody of all three of her kids...I’m 60 years old and still just a little boy who misses his mommy. 

Now “journalists” will tell you they’re “neutral” or “objective” or some such shit. Let me tell you something. I’ve been a professional journalist for more than 35 years. A few days I actually did it well. And unless you’re talking to a robot...even then...if at least one of us is human, there’s no such thing as objectivity. Scientists know this. Why don’t reporters? 

Back to the ex-crackhead and the three lost children. 

She’s not just any ole ex-crackhead. She’s a friend of mine. I’ve grown to really admire her. The more I hear her story, the more in awe I am at resilience or redemption or grace, ever what you want to call it. She is transformed. She is a completely different human being from the woman who slept with man after man so she could keep smoking rock. And she was married to the father of her three kids. 

Her husband died in a WalMart bathroom huffing computer keyboard duster in a can. You know - the cans of air you’re supposed to use to spray out the dust and crumbs from a desktop keyboard? As she says, “Damned if somebody didn’t find a way to fuck that up.” 

But don’t lose track of the kids. Never lose track of the kids. Always keep both eyes on the kids. 

Now those two girls and a boy are scattered around the U.S, navigating adolescence without her. Her son is in the south with her mother. Gramma’s got legal custody of him. The daughters - one’s in California and one’s in Utah. They’ve been adopted by moms they call mom. At least one of these adopted moms is profoundly threatened by the presence of the birth mother. A Facebook friendship is not in the cards, let alone a reunion. My hot take: the adopted moms seem terrified of competing for affection. Just like my mom. 

So here are the mythical crack babies all grown up now. They seem to be doing well. But never forget:

1. Both their mother and father had a biological predisposition to a particularly nasty form of self-destruction which is hereditary and 

2. These kids have all been through the profound trauma of being separated from their biological mother at the most formative age

Should you wish to argue either a) or b), take it up with the scientists. I’m not one. Here’s what I am: 

1. Adopted after four months in foster care never knowing my mother until I had four kids pf my own

2. A recovering addict myself whose biological father, brother and sister were also addicts and

3. Aware of the full import of 1 and 2. 

Here’s the thing. I think my friend should be able to meet her children. Oh calm down. I didn’t say she should suddenly assume full custody. She doesn’t even want that. I just think those kids should be able to see for themselves someone who once was lost but now is found. That way when they smoke whatever it is they’ll inevitably smoke at least once, they’ll know there’s a way back. 

My mom’s long since dead and my mother is happy in a nursing home. Now I like to think they both understand. Adoptees grieve. And we grieve again. And we grieve some more. For a lifetime, we grieve. I missed my mother for all those years. And I’m still just a little boy trapped in an old man’s body, still just missing mommy. 

Final note from Stuart: THIS WEEK I launch a fresh, new podcast: ManListening (think the opposite of ManSplaining). Each week I practice listening to a different woman in a relaxed setting like a kitchen table. Sometimes I succeed. 

If you want to hear the whole conversation I reference in this blog post, just look for MANLISTENING (one word) at Apple Podcasts or YouTube or on your podcast app. You can also talk back to me @manlistening on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram.

If you want to do something to elevate the level of conversation between men and women, check out Patreon.com/ManListening.