Why Do We Care?

OK, OK. Tiger Woods. Most of you (I assume) don't know him or his wife personally. So here is my question to all of us who are "keeping up" with this story: WHO CARES?

Since this story broke, I have been disgusted at the tales of his infidelity. I have read about it, seen it on TV, discussed it with my friends, given theories of why he might have done it and suggested that certainly she should leave him (like I have any business making that kind of judgement). In the end, why does it matter to me and on a bigger scale, what about our society has now made everyone's personal lives our business.

It is not secret that people (men and women) have been unfaithful since the beginning of time. There are many theories as to why--especially when women get together to talk about their unfaithful men. It's about finding something "better". It's because the wives don't understand them or have "let themselves go" after years of marriage. It's because men are just dogs, plain and simple. There are so many "reasons". But what is the reason for our obsession with it?

Have we, as a society, gotten so bored with our own tired little lives that this type of "news" (and I use that term loosely) has become important? It seems that we are always looking for that little tidbit that just came out or some new disgusting details of his extra curricular activities. For example, in Vanity Fair recently one of his mistresses gave the detail that she left her tampon in a church parking lot after sex with Woods in the back of his SUV. Seriously, who needed that little detail?!

There has always been a part of people, whether they want to admit it or not, that is voyeuristic. We like peeping in the windows of others' lives and snooping through their drawers. Agencies like TMZ have made this free and easy. They are hugely successful because WE want to know the nasty little tampon stories. But digging deeper than that, I wonder why we think its our business. Do we think that they owe us some type of backstage access to their lives because they are celebrities? Do we think if they are going to do it and get caught, that we deserve to hear all of the dirty little details? OK, I accept those as valid, but WHY DO WE CARE? Why do we care who he slept with, how much he paid for it, where they did it, if they used protection and (for God's sake) that he never bought his mistress more than a Subway sandwich.

So, as of today, I am off the Tiger trail. I am not going to read about it, talk about it, watch in on TV or write about it. I am a very analytical person...I make lists of pros and cons. To save my life, I cannot come up with one reason that this story interests me. Off I go to see what else there might be going on in the world. I hear there is a war going on somewhere.

Racism Today

I am a person who chooses my friends not by their skin color, sexuality, religion or political views but by criteria that actually matter like ethics and morals. I feel like the ideas and cultural differences that a diverse group of friends can share with me bring so much to my life. On top of that, truthfully, I believe that biggotry is ignorant. Plain and simple.

I live in the South. I am well aware of the prejudices that exist here and I try to ignore them. I was raised differently. My mom was a hippie in every sense of the word so I was raised in a very liberal house during the Civil Rights movement. So, imagine my surprise when someone I considered a friend used the "N" word when referring to President Obama. Now, to be clear, this is not a political issue for me. I knew long ago that she was very conservative and would never vote for a Democrat; however, it never occurred to me that she would never vote for an African-American. How could this be possible in this day and age? If Colin Powell was a candidate for the Republican party, I guess she would need to seek therapy to come to the decision to go to the polls.

She recently moved to Boston and was back in town for a visit. I was very anxious to see her and we ended up getting together at my favorite watering hole on a Saturday night. Within the first several minutes of being there, we were having a discussion about her trip and how long she would be staying in town. She looked at us and very casually said "I'll be here about three weeks. I am here on that nigger, Obama's, dime" meaning unelmployment. My jaw hit the floor. I know that people have these feelings, but do they really talk like this? The next thing she said sent me into a complete tailspin. "Oh blacks are ok-everybody should own one." She dropped the "N" word once more in the time it took me to pay my tab and get the hell out of there. I haven't bothered to tell her that our friendship is over. I think she will eventually figure it out. I consider myself a smart woman and want to surround myself with the same.

I am so disappointed in her, but more disappointed to be reminded of how far this country has to go when it comes to racism. I thought about it when I got home that night and I know that these types of people are great in number. We need to do better in America. We need to do better FOR America.

August 1990

I remember the day clearly. Sitting in the bathroom with the home pregnancy test...staring. Thinking if I just looked at it long enough, the pink plus sign would disappear as quickly as it appeared. It took about 5 seconds even thought the package said wait 3 full minutes for a result. I knew there was no doubt. The missed periods that I tried to talk myself out off actually did mean something. The fact that I only wanted McDonald's cheeseburgers, no pickles and Diet Coke was actually a clue as well. As they say, denial ain't just a river in Eqypt.

I was terrified, mortified, stupified...all of the "fieds" that I could possibly be. I was single, living in Los Angeles, partying and not at all thinking of being a parent. I was 24 and I knew how babies are made so the fact that I was pregnant should not have been a mystery, but still I sat there staring just wondering "how the hell did this happen"?

The decision to put him up for adoption was made immediately. His father and I barely spoke anymore and I could not imagine fighting for child support, arranging visits that would span 3000 miles-he lived in Atlanta and he traveled extensively. This was not the ideal way to start a child's life. Being a child of divorce, I wanted to give him the best opportunity at a fabulous life. The fact is, that from the moment I found out I was pregnant, I loved him. I loved him more than I could ever imagine possible. I was sad for him that I could not do better, so I made a choice to do something about that.

I went to a private adoption agency in Northern California. It was surreal. They sent me "profiles" of 5 families. There were pictures and bios and religious information. I was on complete overload. To be honest, at first I picked a family because they looked "nice" and they had a lot of money. He had been a co-producer on "Return Of The Jedi". I didn't grow up with money so I just thought I could at least give him that.

I met them, Jim and Melissa, at the Daily Grill in Los Angeles. I was the first birth mother they had met. I thought it went great and my thoughts on the way home were "where do I sign up"? Not so fast. I don't know if I didn't fit the bill or if she truly just wasn't ready for the final adoption step, but they turned me down. Can you imagine? They said they didn't want my baby. I was due in Novemeber. Yep. I had 2 months to find a family. I would take longer than 2 months to find a home for a puppy. I didn't really feel anything for the other 4 "finalists" so I asked my adoption counselor to send me a couple more. She told me that there was a couple she thought I'd love but wouldn't tell me which ones they were. I guess she can't promote one couple more than another so it was up to me to choose the right family even though I desparately wanted help. It was a monumental decision and I wanted it to be over.

I knew them right away. They were a beautiful couple, together many years and their "family" photo included a dog and cat. She looked a little like me, but that is where the similarities They were Jewish. I am not. They were vegitarians. I love a big slab of prime rib. But somehow, I knew these were the people who would raise my child. There was no doubt, no fear, no second thoughts. All I could think of was how great this was going to be.

He was born November 24, 1990. His new parents were there with me. I was induced so we had plently of notice and time to get them there. She stayed in the room the entire time. I could not imagine someone I had known 3 months being so wonderful. The day after he was born, I went home. They brought him to see me. I was living with 2 roommates at the time and his parents understood how strange it would be for them to never see him after they had gone though the pregnancy with me.

I never held him. I new that if I did, I would keep him. I could not do that to him or to them. This "thing" in my life was the saddest, happiest, hardest, easiest, scary, empowering thign I have ever done. I remember seeing him in the nursery and being heartbroken that I would not raise him, see his first steps, send him to kindergarden and high school. I would not be there to talk to him about girls and life and love. I could not have known at that time how wrong I was.

We chose an open adoption and open it is. He just graduated from high school and I received a full set of graduation pictures. He is going to college on a scholarship, has 3 sisters, has lived overseas, has fabulous parents and friends. He has had girlfriends and who could resist him? He is handsome, smart and plays in a band. He has always known he was adopted and exactly who his birth mother is. I have pictures from the time he was born all the way through this 19th year. He talks to me every now and then. He called me the day that he tried out for his school's drum line and found out that he was receiving a scholarship. I felt like I didn't deserve to be proud, but I was anyway.

Today, before I wrote this blog, I wrote to my adoption counselor a letter and told her thank you. I feel certain that those two words do not express what I truly feel about my experience and my gratefullness. Because of her agency, my child has lived the best life imaginable. He has experienced things that I can only dream of. He has become the adult that I have always wanted him to be. His life is only beginning. I cannot imagine what he will do in the future. He has so much ahead of him that would not be possible if I had made that selfish desicion to keep him with me.

If you know anyone who needs support when making a decision to place a child for adoption, support them, love them, be there for them. It is the hardest decision a woman could ever face. Love does not mean that you need to hold on to the child. Love means giving the child all of the advantages in life--even if you are not the one who can provide them.

Everything But The Shrimp Forks

Sometimes there is one moment in a relationship that is frozen in your memory. It is a small, seemingly insignificant second but somehow it summarizes your life. We were together for three years. We were even married. Somehow I don't remember the first time we met, kissed, had sex, fought or did anything else. I just remember the day he told me about the shrimp forks. At the time, I thought it was a story that I would love forever because it made him vulnerable to me. It's amazing how things can change. Now the shrimp fork story just makes him pathetic.

My ex travelled. The story goes that he came home early from the road and his live-in girlfriend had moved out. She had divided the CD's alphabetically. How do you choose? If you take Jimmy Buffett (which is essential), you can't have The Ramones or Sade or Pink Floyd. How you decide something like that? Apparently, it was an an easy task for her. The stranger, more important decision was made in the kitchen. She took half the dishes, the glasses, the cooking utensils. Then she got to the silverware drawer and she took everything except the shrimp forks. It devastated him. It wasn't that she left. It wasn't that she took her daughter (not his) with her. It wasn't the loss of the Scorpions or The Clash (I can't remember what end of the alphabet he got). It was that she only left the shrimp forks.

I don't own any shrimp forks; but if I did, I am sure I would look at them every day and never think of their importance. I think that's how he looked at me. He looked at all of the other things in the drawer and passed over me because I was small and could only be used for one purpose. What happens when everything else is gone and all you have is that one thing that you once thought so insignificant? That's a hypothetical question. I'm not really looking for an answer.

I think that the point of this whole story is that I don't want to be the shrimp fork ever again. I don't want to be the tiny little thing that someone looks at and makes a conscious decision to leave behind for someone less fortunate to find and use (or even worse, to find and throw away because it has no purpose). The question is "how do I avoid it"? That's a real question. I am looking for an answer.