THE TRUTH REVEALED
- Guest Post
from Kim Wheeler -
G'day folks,
Many of you might identify with my guest today. I certainly do. So, who is Kim Wheeler you ask? Kim is a published author, brilliant photographer and dog rescuer. He is also a good friend of mine. What he has to say today reminds me of my mother's search for her own mother for many years. Take it away, Kim ...
THE TRUTH REVEALED…
In
search of a birth mother…..
One
evening, bored and still looking for answers I decided that I would look for my
old children’s home/nursery. I remembered the name of the road was Ladywell
Road, but sadly not the number. So I used Google map and found myself looking
down a road that for some strange reason, thought that I might remember. I
didn’t, of course I didn’t. No signs of children’s home or nursery just rows
and rows of shops and three bed roomed semis. I googled for children’s homes
and soon found a number 82 Ladywell Road, Lewisham. I again searched Google
map, found number 80 and found 84, sadly no 82. ‘That’s odd.’
This
then took me to the national archives, unsure how but that’s where I ended up
and soon I was filling out forms to my many unanswered questions. I was
informed that the children’s home/nursery was once a workhouse but had since
been demolished but I could ask for some photos. ‘Yes,’ I asked and within a
few days my email had a letter with five photographs. I had found the nursery
and what a grim, cold, barren place it was. There were two photographs of the
exterior. It was huge and more than one building. One photo showed the toilets
with tiny sinks and toilets with no doors. One photo was of the dormitory and a
series of caste iron cots and one photo was of a playroom and all were beyond
depressing, I guess it didn’t help being in black and white but even so, what a
cold place to live. There were no pictures on the walls, no drawings drawn by
happy contented children. There was nothing, but cold, grim lifeless and
barren.
I was told I could purchase these photos, ‘No thanks,’
I whispered. I wanted to find out more, but not about this dump but more about
what happened to me while I was incaserated. I was directed with help from a
few phone calls and soon I was talking to Janice O’ Rorke who helped with all
my enquiries. I was told I would have to wait a few weeks to get all the
paperwork. Some weeks passed and I being ever so slightly impatient, rang
Janice up who explained that she had the documents and was about to send them
off to me. I really wanted to speak face to face so asked, ‘could I come up?’
and it was hastily arranged that I would drive up to the London archives in
EC1R, the very next day.
The journey was one I had driven many a time but not
for a very long time, same A40 and same Marylebone flyover, just alot more
traffic. I reached my destination just in time to the heavens to open with a
deluge of epic proportions and of course got soaked to the skin. I arrived and
met with Janice who still clutching a large brown envelope shook my hand and
made our way through the silent library of people tapping away while staring at
computer screen after computer screen in silence. We walked into a small office
where we began to open file after file.
What we saw, read and then discussed at some length
was far from what I was told as a child, and the story was not a good one. We
slowly but surely pieced the parts of this broken jigsaw together and what I
was told and what was told about me, was false.
I know my adopted Mother would have told almost anyone
who would listen all about my birth father. This of course had a serious and
detrimental effect on my life but remember she wanted to adopt a non white
child and as you are aware, she also changed my name to Kim from the book of
the same name by Rudyard Kipling. I, even at the young age I was didn’t believe
this story to be true. I didn’t care so much about the names called (though
when accompanied with aggression, clenched fists and the word fucking used
before tha racist rants, it did) but what it did do is made me feel different
to everyone else as all I wanted to do was fit in, not forgetting I had just
spent five years of my childhood in a very bleak, harsh and cold environment
where I was called some really horrible names, and had real issues with a fear
of strangers, institutionalisation and various other choice issues. So for the
entire time I was at school I was abused with racist name calling. I took it for
a while but when you are constantly provoked and already have a volatile nature
there was only going to be one outcome and I exploded time and time again,
which in turn caused only me more grief.
I was trapped. So what was the truth? My birth Mother
did get pregnant, obviously but used any means possible to get her out of the
mess she had found herself in, i.e. pregnant, single and now homeless. The man
she claimed to be the father was in fact living with another woman and all she
was doing was trying to put the blame firmly on his shoulders so he would pay
towards the child, simple really and my adopted Mother would have had access to
the same documents that I was now reading with Janice. It appears my birth
mother had lied a lot about marriage, fathers and boyfriends to anyone who she
felt would listen and perhaps help, and went from one bad relationship to
another and more unwanted children. I then began to feel real empathy/sympathy
but also extreme anger at my adopted Mother. ‘Why?’ was my initial reaction
when here it was in black and white that this man was not the father and birth
Mother had just tried in vain to get help. We read that my birth mother was
‘very attractive, with dark brown eyes, frizzy hair and a sallow complexion,’
(with the word Negro? in brackets) seems I shared something with my birth
Mother as I obviously had the same eyes, sallow complexion.
I felt sad as I drove home through the busy traffic of
London but I also felt anger and this is why. All my adopted mother had to do
was tell the truth as it was written, i.e. my mother had quite dark skin and my
father was unknown. I am English and born in London, that would have saved me
from years and years of abuse, fighting, arguing and rage that I really didn’t
need. By making me into this freak of her dreams, also made my life hell and
that made me seethe. I can’t change the past can I? But at least now I know the
truth.
So back to the computer and the search continued to
see if birth mother was alive or dead and if dead, where, when why etc etc.
I joined the online site Ancestry and started putting
in all I now knew, and with yet another married name for my birth mother a
picture began to unravel. I found I had a half brother, I already knew of a
half sister and I also found out that my half brother had died aged forty four
of cancer, my grandfather also died of cancer and my Mother had died aged forty
four of an overdose. I found out that my half sister had stated that, ‘the best
thing that ever happened to her was being abandoned by her mother,’ yes, my
mother. I found out that she was no stranger to the long arm of the law and
spent time in prisons. I found out that the Hunter clan were troubled not only
to others but also to themselves. Did I really want this search to continue? No
I did not. So I thanked my new found cousin Tracy for her help and honesty and
I decided that the end of this long arduous somewhat painful journey of
discovery would soon end. I will at some point go to my Mother’s grave and
purchase her a suitable headstone, lay some white flowers, say ‘hello and wave
goodbye.’
I then thought about the grim, grey unloved time spent
in the shithole of a nursery and how it had affected my early years, the fear
this child had to endure was undeserved and wrong. I thought about how I was
picked due to my adopted parents wanting a non white child and being unwanted
by so many because of my non white status. I am more than a colour, right?
I then thought about the massive change in my
situation, from the deprived life to a new one many miles away, with parents
and new siblings, the new schools and surroundings, it was heaven in comparison
and although overtly strict it was better than where I had been and better away
from birth Mother who only had time to have unwanted children and to cause
damage to not only herself but to those around her. I looked at my adoption and
life in a clearer light. I was and am a whole lot more appreciative of my life
and those around me who helped me grow, yes there were terrible times but
that’s life, isn’t it?
One thing that
I do find hard to understand is where I got life right and how I became this
person I am now, today, to me that's the miracle to endure all the aforementioned pain, abuse and sufferings to become somebody I like and also a man my
friends like. Would I change this life? I hear you ask, probably not because of
what I have become without really anyone I became a survivor of life and still
am. I have what I need, food, water and shelter and most importantly I am able
to forgive all the hurt and still be able to love. There is no one I would
rather be, so if your parents have somehow failed you by not giving enough
maybe not leaving you thousands of pounds in their will, or not spending enough
time and money on you and yours remember this, you were lucky to have them,
probably more lucky than you realise.
So before you enter into the search for lost family
remember it doesn’t always end up like it does on the TV series ‘Long Lost
Family’ with the patronising toothy grin and inane wittering of Davina Macall
as she asks sarcastically, ‘would you like to see a picture?’ No Davina I would
not.
I near my sixty-second birthday and at last I can be
free of the past and understand more about life than most people reading this.
The scars have finally healed.
.
I took a look at myself
What did I see?
Invincible and
vulnerable
The reality I feel
Is also the disease in
me.
Ah, well done, you didn't give up halfway,
thanks for staying the course. I was asked how I felt about all the above
1) Angry with birth
mother?? NO!
2) Angry with the lies
by adopted mother?? YES
3) Are you happy you
took this journey into the past?? YES
4) Were you sad?? A
little
5) How did you feel
when you found out your birth mother was a prostitute?? Nothing but pride, we
all have to survive, right?? I have seen bigger, uglier whores in government.
6) How does it feel to
have blood relatives after not knowing for almost 62 years?? Good
7) Are you angry or
upset in anyway?? NO...I have a life and irrespective of the trials and
tests, pains and misfortunes, I was given a life and for that gift I am happy,
perhaps it's why I am so humble and dislike the greed and self importance in
humans lately. We have life, food, water and shelter, believe me when I say,
everything else is a bonus including having parents, be grateful...
8) So where are we
now??...See below........
ENLIGHTENMENT...
The mark of a successful man is
one that has spent an entire day on the bank of a river without feeling guilty
about it.
This piece is for those
of us who have been plagued by suffering and have so often wondered, why me?
What did I ever do wrong? Why does my God hate me so?
Two years ago, I was
sitting next to a flowing river; the sun was shining on a beautiful English
summer’s day. I was with my two rescued dogs, Bigfoot and Little bear who were
busying themselves in play. I took my shirt and shoes off and then dangled my
aching feet into the cold flowing water. I had water to drink and fresh fruit
to eat. I smiled not just for a few moments but what seems ages, I just could
not stop smiling. I had in my eyes and after an extremely long journey of self
healing achieved what I had set out to become so many years before when I was a
broken shell of a man full of pain and anger. I had at last become a contented
man and a contented man with nothing and I mean nothing. No huge bank account,
no flashy car or many homes, no wardrobes full of unworn clothes and shoes to
adorn my body, Just me, my memories and my belief in a better self.
I reflected on the
abuses meted out during my formative years, on the anger and the volatile
nature of my soul. I thought about the amount of pain and suffering I had to
endure, all down to the hands of others. I wrote in my book Battle Scarred
Journey about just some of these abuses and the feelings of rage towards my
perpetrators. I also wrote about forgiveness, not because I was told to by God,
Jesus or any other wise prophet. I learnt to forgive as this was the only route
to enlightenment because to hold the pains inflicted by others means I was also
holding their pain, which I will not do. They were wrong to carry out such
heinous crimes, but it is they that have to live with themselves. I simply
refuse to and when I realised that I don’t have to carry the odious suitcase of
suffering forever, I began to feel better about myself and less concerned about
the illness in the perpetrators and believe me, being an abuser is an illness
and an illness that needs to be cured. There is no self loathing as some have
suggested.
I have never felt or
believed I was a victim; I refuse to be anyone’s victim. My book was about
life, my life and if you cared to read between the lines, it’s about how little
we care for each other and the gross neglect of a dreadful society and
government. I have never sought sympathy and dislike the reams of rhetoric that
spews forth from the mouths of the simple who want to justify an illness by
punishment. You don’t put an angry dog in a cage and expect the anger to
disappear, so why rather than help the sick do so many want to beat, stab,
castrate and hurt the mentally ill.
I recently had the
misfortune of making an honest comment on an idiot’s page (LinkedIn) who hated
my ability to see through the crime and instead of an eye for an eye mentality,
try to understand, help and learn to forgive. I forgave all my abusers and
there were many. Yes, my abusers were wrong to abuse me, but to be unforgiving
and spiteful did not help me become enlightened, because you will just become
part of the thug mentality of the baying crowd. So dislike me for saying a sick
man needs help but the truth is this, you will never reach any enlightenment
until you can be open minded and not negatively deformed like some of the
people and their vitriolic screaming of hate.
I have learnt many
important lessons in life and there in those few words are in truth, the crux
of the matter, is learning to forget and not be beaten down by the weakness or
sicknesses of others.
So hating my abusers
and wanting to hurt them back had in truth, only achieved one thing. I was
brought crashing down to the level of the sick and I, I am better than that.
I wrote a review for
Kim’s book, Battle Scarred Journey. Little did I know it would be printed on
the back of the book, and for that I’m grateful. Here is what I wrote:
‘Battle Scarred Journey’ by Kim Wheeler – A review
by Clancy Tucker.
I have not known Kim for long, but we have become very good mates, though we live 12,000 miles apart. We connected via social media and he became a guest on my daily blog; one of my better decisions as an author and blogger. His book, ‘Battle Scarred Journey’, is a powerful insight into one man’s life. It is sensitive, raw, passionate and courageous. This book should be mandatory reading for anyone who has had a precious childhood. And, it could easily be used as a text book for any students studying medicine, nursing, psychology and social work.
I have not known Kim for long, but we have become very good mates, though we live 12,000 miles apart. We connected via social media and he became a guest on my daily blog; one of my better decisions as an author and blogger. His book, ‘Battle Scarred Journey’, is a powerful insight into one man’s life. It is sensitive, raw, passionate and courageous. This book should be mandatory reading for anyone who has had a precious childhood. And, it could easily be used as a text book for any students studying medicine, nursing, psychology and social work.
What did I appreciate most about this
book? Well, it is well written and easy to follow, and I sensed his pain and
could feel the courage it took to write such a document. For that, I have
nothing but admiration. Kim has mastered my first rule in writing – retain your
own voice. Life can really suck sometimes, but we must not allow it to suck us
in. Kim has battled against the odds, climbed above the froth of life and done
himself proud. I sincerely hope his book hits the big time. It is certainly
worthy of recognition. Trust me. Kim Wheeler will become a household name. His
exceptional style of writing is up there with the biggies. Love ya work, Kim … Love
ya work!
Clancy Tucker - Storyteller, author, publisher, photographer, sometime poet, social justice activist and Human Rights campaigner.
Clancy Tucker - Storyteller, author, publisher, photographer, sometime poet, social justice activist and Human Rights campaigner.
Clancy's comment: Thank you. Love ya work, Kim!
I'm ...
No comments:
Post a Comment