From white to wheat.
Motherhood - It's Not Just About What V jay You Come From.
D.M.
The initial encounter with D.M unfolded when I was a sprightly 9-year-old, making my inaugural trip to CA to spend the summer with my father. This marked a peculiar odd phase in his life, where he delved into the realms of Christianity and had an unknown sun staying with him. D.M., a bright presence, worked at the church daycare where my father dropped off my brothers and me. On that memorable day, she exhibited a unique blend of humor, an attentive ear, and an uncommon treatment of kids as genuine beings rather than a lesser life form – an experience I wasn't accustomed to.
It wasn't until many decades later that I discovered the instrumental role D.M. played in steering me away from a future marked by stamping license plates for Wisconsin's correctional department or being someone's girlfriend for the sake of safety and cigarettes and persuaded my father to let me move to CA to live with them.
Describing the branches of my family tree stemming from my father's romantic escapades has always been a tricky task. I, you see, am a bastard. My parents never tied the knot, and I came into existence in the back of a steamy car on a chilly midwest February night — potential thought, When you stumble upon these lines, envision me as that resilient little sperm, bravely surviving against the odds and navigating upstream – a skill I honed in that first nanosecond and intend to showcase throughout my entire existence. It's not every day you come across a survivor from the very beginning.
The tale goes like this: my father, a connoisseur of the P O T, had a remarkably low sperm count, with slow, stoned-out sperm in no hurry to find a warm egg. However, during one random rendezvous with his high school sweetheart, things took an unexpected turn.
My father had undergone a lifestyle shift and embraced the ways of Transcendental Meditation (TM). Having abstained from the devil's lettuce for about six months, his sperm transformed into rocket ships, and, alas, his pull-out game was no match as they swam against the current. *Not sure if he tried to pull out but I would hope he was responsible, however the facts show he was not, here I am.
After escaping WI on a college field trip that he never returned from, He subsequently tied the knot with M.A., whom he met after gallivanting in CA and working for Mike Love of The Beach Boys. Together, they created two children: M.W (now M.A.) and C.W. At the time of my introduction to D.M., he was married to M.A. However, he eventually parted ways with M.A. and entered a new chapter with D.M., resulting in the birth of their child, K.M. Just for clarity, the last names in this intricate web are Mrotek, Wagner, Abbott, and Moyer. A bit of a soap opera, perhaps that’s how he landed in Santa Barbara. This shift in family dynamics took me from being a sole child in Wisconsin to sharing my life and space with this extended cast of characters.
Feral and fearful.
I was feral, devoid of any notion of what a positive female role model looked like. My only reference point was my mother, and I absolutely believed that most women in such roles shared the same woeful lack of compassion, empathy, and general apathy. When I arrived in CA, I brought along all my defensive walls, ready for a fight. As a white trash, angst-ridden teenager, I exuded an air of defiance. However, D.M. saw through it all and managed to tame me within three months. Her incredible talent lies in making kids feel heard and understood. Recognizing my artistic potential, she played a pivotal role in helping me realize and nurture those talents.
I distinctly remember one of the major transformations that occurred, and I had no control over it—my diet. I grew up on a staple of white bread, government cheese, and cans of Chef Boyardee. After just one week in D.M.'s house, that midwest trash diet received a hard NO. Predictably, I was a pain in the ass about it, with a few unfriendly words exchanged between D.M. and me.
D.M. was expecting my little sister, K.M., during the time I moved out there. Her pregnancy wasn't an easy journey, she was 4’9” and bursting at the seams or ready to fall forward from all the weight. We had to arrange for a hospital bed in the extra room to ensure her comfort. With my father occupied most days, it fell on me to assist with various duties. Through these shared responsibilities, our bond deepened. Similar to coaxing a wild cat from under a house, she skillfully navigated our relationship, breaking down walls to establish a foundation of trust.
D.M. was enduring an absolutely painful pregnancy, compounded by her partner's stage 4 cancer diagnosis with only months to live. Amidst this challenging time, there was an unhinged, feral, and untrusting kid now living with her—me. She demonstrated incredible selflessness and saintly patience. Over the years, she's opened her heart and home to numerous stray family members, offering a safe haven to navigate their challenging circumstances. On my recent visit, she was supporting a family member in getting her life back on track, graciously opening her house and business. Whenever I returned from my international adventures, she always ensured there was a place I could call home—a sanctuary where trust and understanding thrived.
Honestly, I'm not entirely sure how she's managed to put up with me all these years. The bond I share with D.M. feels stronger and truer to that of a mother and son than my relationship with my biological mother. I hold a profound space of gratitude towards D.M. for consistently being a positive force and a safe haven for me throughout my life. Thank You D.
LISTEN: As I go back and dig through old photos and memorabilia sparks of memories come to mind. Here is a soundtrack to those memories.
Thank you for reading and your support, it is greatly appreciated. In the next post I recollect the shift from living in a government assisted apartment with my mother to living on top of the hills in Montecito.