A Rite of Passage

I have often wondered what exactly a "Rite of Passage" is. It's not something you think about every moment of every day, right? But it seems my whole life has been somewhat of  a rite of passage. From getting thrown into a "Children's Home" at sixteen back in the outskirts of London, to being thrown into single-mum-hood to two boys at the age of thirty-five in San Francisco. Was I prepared for either "rite"? I don't think so. But it wasn't a choice.



Back in the Children Home days I was always fighting for myself. Fighting for a place to gain a little bit of respect so I didn't get beaten up because I was the girl who didn't do anything wrong. The "Softie". For the British Children's home....Glenthorne, to be exact, was not a place for the faint of heart. Two Victorian houses joined together by a walkway...boys slept on one side...girls the other. When I first arrived it was the middle of the night due to the unfortunate circumstances of being taken away from my family home because I finally told the authorities that my dad was doing things to me that he shouldn't have. I got lumped into the place where Sandra had stabbed her mother, with Steven who had committed house burglaries, and Simon, who was in and out of homes because he liked smoking hash and stealing cars. All sorts of stories where the kids had done things against the law. I felt I didn't belong. Why would I? I didn't do anything wrong. I simply couldn't take it anymore and had to get out of my situation. But I was here, and how you got here didn't matter. Not to this lot. They of course weren't all in there for getting into trouble. Some kids were simply being abused, sexually or physically. Glenthorne was their "safe haven".

So it didn't matter what I did or I didn't. I was here. At Glenthorne. And I had to fight. Just to prove I was tough enough and to get in with the kids who mattered, because if I didn't, I was toast. I had to get around Sandra. She was the toughest. She hated and mistrusted everyone. Turns out she was a gymnast. I had been a bloody good one too before I did a backwards no handed somersault on the 4 inch beam and missed the landing when I was competing.  So I had a pretty bad injury which prevented me from competing after I turned 15. But I could still do some bad arse moves and tumbling and started to identify with Sandra and we somehow connected through our love of the craft of gymnastics and our competitiveness. It turned out everyone else was ok once they got to know you, but you were always watching your back, just in case. The conversation always started the same..."Why are you here?"

I was only there for what I thought was a temporary "interim" 28 day care order. But after the initial 28 day order imposed by the British county court at that time, there was a formal hearing where my mother was required to stand up for me. Oh yeah, then there was my mother.

And so we stood. In court. I had been in Glenthorne for almost a month. I had two changes of clothes. And I wore contact lenses that needed to be replaced and I didn't know how I would get any more without the help of my parents. I wore braces and the dentist was being paid by my parents too. I needed them. I had just turned 16.  I made it through a month, with curious cousins bringing me clothes and some of my things.

My father was in custody. And my mother was called to the stand. They recommended that until he had his proper trial, I should come home and live within the family unit with my mother and my little brother (who was my best friend). If she refused, I would become a ward of the state for the next 3 years, until age 19. To this day, I will never forget the scene...."Do you Mrs. T., object to your daughter becoming a ward of the state until she is age 19; or do you agree to keep her as a part of your family unit and not take in your husband, no matter the outcome of events?" I had hoped, of course, that my mother loved me enough to want me with her.  Sadly, Mother replied, "No, take her, you took my husband."

I stood there in disbelief. Wondering what I had done. "Take her? You took my husband?" ... Wondering why she didn't love me enough. Wondering why she abandoned me in favour of a man that committed atrocities against her own daughter; wondering what it was that I had done to make her hate me so. Tears fell against my will. My body became a wall of steel. I hated her. So much. I wanted to scream at her, I wanted to fling myself against her and beg her to keep me, to want me, to love me. But I only stared at her in disbelief and wondered when I would see my little brother again and what I would do about my contact lenses.

And there it was. The first of many rites of passage. From that moment of abandonment by my mother to being there out on my own at 16. Facing Glenthorne. To being a single mother twice.

Let's just say I am posting that memory as just a little part of my Rite of Passage. Since then there have been many. I will take you on this journey if you wanna come.

At 41, I look back on that and there have been so many stories. Broken relationships; drugs, alcohol, running away, attempted suicide...the sad stuff coupled with the joy of having my two beautiful boys; people in my life from best friends to boyfriends, places; living in London, Santa Cruz, Colorado, San Francisco; stories that might be crazy to believe for the people that know me, stories of love, hate, joy and pain; you name it. I am going to tell it. Bring it. Most people that know me, don't know the half of it. I used to need approval. I don't think I need it anymore. Now I just need you to know. Ultimately my story is one of survival, triumph and forgiveness. Mahatma Gandhi once said "The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is an attribute of the strong." I made my choices and forgave the ones that did me wrong. I couldn't have moved on with my life if I hadn't. Hate is toxic and builds up inside you like a cancerous beast and I had to let those demons go so I chose forgiveness as the vehicle to get it out of me.

With that I bring to you my Rite of Passage. I went to Burning Man last year. For me, a culmination of great happenings in my life. Not only did I have experiences that were beyond my expectations, but I experienced joy through art and passion.  This is what I call MY Rite of Passage.  I put it on my back.  I will explain. In the center, a belly dancer who represents dance and freedom...(and perhaps yours truly), she's flanked by two lions, one is older, representing my older son, with his name written in Punjabi script above him....I am Punjabi, and very proud of my culture...we will go into that later.....then there is another lion, a younger one, representing my younger son, also with his name written in Punjabi script above his head. All the elements are represented...so the flying birds with their wings spread represent the air that we breathe; there is a waterfall to represent water, there is fire, and there are mountains to represent the earth. The dancer is stepping on a snake, and that snake represents all the fear and sadness and anger that I have overcome. The snake is eating it's own tail. Take that, negativity!

This is a work in progress. The artist I have been working with is truly a brilliant and amazing man. I have a tremendous amount of respect and love for him. This man is a true artist in every sense of the word and I have never met anyone with so much passion for his craft. He is one of the few people on earth who believes that he has a responsibility to bring art to the people, and without people like him this world would be a colorless, dreary one. He can blow glass as well as blow you away with his paintings, drawings, and sculptures. Working on a piece like this requires dedication from both parties, and from the minute I walked into  Lyle Tuttle Tattoo on San Francisco's Columbus Street, Nakona and I collaborated on this. I painted a basic picture with words and he came back a week later with a whole piece of art....freehand. Nakona is my man. I would never consider going to anyone else for a tattoo. I will keep you updated as we progress.

It's a coincidence that this year's Burning Man theme is "Rites of Passage". I feel that I can now accept that everything you go through in life is a Rite of Passage. You cannot move onto the next without going through your challenges today, but you have to keep on going and never give up, no matter what life throws at you.

Let's go baby!