KINDRED #72

Now I understand why the post production process can be so enigmatic. Filming is straightforward but this forest of little, essential elements that go into completing a production is easy to feel lost in. Especially if you are primarily creative and have a vast imagination. Hopefully one day that will pay off in lives improved and my acceptance as an important, passionate woman in film.

KINDRED has begun to take on a life of it’s own. Every single time we get a like or a follower or a message from someone who is grateful for the site it astonishes me. It means that someone believes Rachel and I can accomplish our goals. Maybe our bad timing this year with her folks passing and my health wavering wasn’t bad as far as KINDRED goes. We weren’t ready. A year from now we will be more than ready for our cry of concern and independence on behalf of the kids previously or now in foster.

I’m giving the editing responsibility to the west coast. Sending it to Rachel and I’ll come as needed and able. In the most sincerest way, if you need to make sure a task gets completed; asking a lesbian is a pretty safe bet. I trust her, period. No matter what she will do the right thing. Plus finally she has something just for her she has been deserving for a long time. Her lesbian partner, the other one, that she is basically married to already got her a beautiful, sparkly but subtle diamond ring. Congratulations! Finally! That woman deserves good things. I am truly happy for the both of them and the force of love itself. That is, after all, what it all comes down to. Love is love.

I too have given myself over to the trust-fall of love. I believe that if I follow this calling; my mission will help to make a difference. That it’s my job to be a whistle-blower. But the idea alone in my head for hours is  difficult at times. I have a low frustration threshold, and missions from greater callings happen in their time, not mine. During this process, some of my own experience with adoption is coming up and starting to bother me. I DON’T WANT THAT! So it’s time to get brave. One of my monsters is off it’s leash and wants to play rough, planting ideas in my head that make me hate myself. Yep, I beat the shit out of myself because I’m jumping in late and not accomplishing enough. That line of thought will self-sabotage me and must be severed. Silenced and disproven by the way I choose to live.

The surest way to exorcize a demon is to capture it in writing. I was adopted when I was four by my mom’s second husband Roger, my sister’s dad, and emancipated during his divorce proceedings with my mother when I was seventeen. In the actual, physical sense of the terms; I was not abandoned. I was lied to and walked away from at a dangerous, medical junction for me is a better way to put it. Who reverses the adoption of a child your raised all of it’s formative live? Honestly why is that even legal?

We collectively freak if that gets done to a dog but it’s allowed with your adopted children, or even possibly real ones depending upon labeled mental status. He petitioned for custody of my sister but not of me. I remember my mom briefly explaining that this had to be the work of his attorneys; that he had loved me. But eventually I accepted the rejection and signed my emaciation papers. It was in name only. It only terminated my relationship with Roger. I continued to have my mother for another almost ten years before she died.

I was afraid to face this issue because, well damn, it hurts. I have so many sortid dominos that have fallen in my life, I guess sometimes it just gets to be too much. It hurts that I didn’t get to know my real father and was discarded by the man who offered to take his place. No child should feel so rejected. Again, it was better than it could have been but much less than it should have been. I never felt secure or loved.

Looking back, it’s the first true heartbreak I ever experienced. I mean it was no secret that my mother was in charge of my discipline and freedoms, but he was my dad. He taught me to drive and parallel park on his 1990 Lincoln Continental(I have game). And all the while I write this and grieve the protection and parenting I feel that I missed, I keep hearing this whisper in the back of my head saying, “At least he didn’t touch you.” It’s a true shame that I missed out on all the daddy/daughter stuff that comes from a consistent, loving male influence. And it’s not my fault.  But the mere presence of this pervasive thought illustrates how inducted child abuse, especially sexual abuse, is in our culture. While I grew into a woman and had to deal with sexual assaults I had suffered, that thought was never far from mind…at least Roger didn’t screw me. Not physically.

Is that the best out little girls can hope for? I may have looked like I had grown up much like a princess, but it was in a castle made of sand. No child should be homeless and I mean homeless as in each deserve a place where they are wanted, appreciated and loved. A place they feel safe. We can all identify with that. And we can teach kids to empower themselves, gain self-esteem and open their prospects in life. Help us develop the path to their freedom.

Check out kindredmovie.wix.com/kindred for more info.

 

 

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