Old Bags in Denial

By Gail Cammero Reilly
Do I need a facelife or are we becoming a nation of old bags in denial?

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Unwed Mothers & Giveaway Bastards: Surrendering the 70s

By Gail Cammero Reilly
Image
It wasn't fashionable to be unmarried and pregnant in 1971. A "baby bump" was something to be hidden like an oozing pimple slathered with Clearasil. Unwed mothers were "loose" - wanton women best hidden in special "homes for the unwed mothers". It was probably a row home away from Leper Island. Rose, 19 years old, didn't think about it much, not that day. It was late spring and she was walking down Park Avenue in New York City. About 10 weeks into her pregnancy, she wore a blue belted shirt dress and black high heels. Her chestnut hair was swept into a chignon, her bangs nearly brushing her eyes. Well-read and under-educated, she imagined her life in literature – stories ending with tragic women and flawed men. Sister Carrie, Madame Bovary and Blanche Dubois were her companions. In 1971, America's culture seemed to be changing. The Viet Nam War continued while "flower-power" had withered into what was left of memory. The fi...
Read more

Around the Kitchen Table

By Gail Cammero Reilly
Image
Bull's Head Creek was in Staten Island, New York,  Port Richmond, across the street from Pop's house where my Dad grew up.  I wasn't allowed to play in the creek because it was "swimming in leeches",  my Dad said. But Pop's insisted the leeches had "medicinal " use for all sorts of ailments. The murky creek ran through a wooded area that disappeared when the Verrazano Bridge was built. The leeches were gone, too. After that, a lot of things changed at Pop's house. What remained at Pop's house was the big kitchen table.  The big kitchen table was the centerpiece of the home where my Dad grew up. It's where my Grandma  made homemade ravioli and spaghetti sauce from tomatoes Pop grew in his backyard garden. Sunday dinners brought people from around the neighorhood to the table. Pop would go to the cellar and draw a bottle of wine from one of the huge barrels and sit down - "Salud!" I wasn't born nor live...
Read more

Birthmother’s Day: Grief Takes A Holiday

By Gail Cammero Reilly
Image
Birthmother’s Day, the Saturday before Mother’s Day, is one of few occasions that recognize women who have surrendered their children for adoption. We are the outliers of motherhood.  Created with good intentions, Birthmother’s Day segregates us as the “other” mothers, continuing a tradition of shame and stigma attached to adoption - for birth mothers and adoptees. It legitimizes shame while elevating adoptive mothers - the next day.  Our society cannot seem to idealize mothers without disparaging birthmothers.  Adoptees, under the guise of protection, suffer this bias through their mothers. Many adoptees still can’t get a copy of their original birth certificates in most states. (Imagine knowing there’s someone who looks like you - someone you’ll never meet.)  Birth mothers are not always  welcometo mingle with family members. After all, when I learned my birth daughter was about to be married, I wasn’t invited to the wedding. I didn’t flinch - I joked ab...
Read more