Wandering Adoption: I

Crackwhore


AdoptionLand loves myths, stereotypes and ripping yarns and has spawned a vast catalog of them. The bad seed, the saintly adoptor, the crackwhore *****mother. When AdoptionLand finds an individual gullible and needy enough who also fits the stereotype, that individual may find themselves the center of attention for a season. Which is, of course, the point. Even crackwhores deserve their fifteen minutes of fame.

The crackwhore *****mother is an aging piece of white trailer trash. She's unmarried (but of course!) and has a black tat on her upper arm. Four badly dressed kids cling to her dirty skirt. She dresses like Lucy without realizing the social context of Lucy's times. Her communications are screamed fishwife-style at the kids. She drops cigarette ashes into the baby's cereal, and drinks Schlitz.

She has the literacy of an elementary grade schooler; the intellectual sophistication of a can of premium sardines. Her psychological profile is written in terms of inferiority and compensation; in her day to day life she walks the ledge but never, ever recognizes the abyss that stretches below. She is Unskilled and Unaware Of It ; she sings her own praises in the most deprecating tones and thus earns the affection of the equally dim, the comparably affected.

And she loves -- loves -- the plantation.

She loves her Massa. She sleeps with Massa Wednesdays at 3 while the Lady Of The Manor is out playing bridge. If she's performed admirably well, Massah feeds her a plate of Blanquete du Veau and a glass of chardonnay from the $15 dollar bottle, then sends her on his way. She goes about his work, in his way, spreading the gospel of the love and largesse of the Massa.

Though she lives for the veal and not the trysts, she realizes it's good to be loved.


Barb