In the 1960s, a relentless school bully makes Catherine’s life a living hell. She retreats inward, relying on a rich fantasy life––swinging through the jungle wrapped in Tarzan’s protective arms––and fervent prayers to a God she does not trust. She fasts until she feels faint, she ties a rough rope around her waist as penance, hoping God will see her worthy of His help. As the second of eight children, Catherine is Mommy’s little helper, and like Mommy, Catherine is overwhelmed. The bullying and the adult responsibilities together foment her anger. She starts smacking her siblings and becomes her younger sister’s nemesis. Spooked by who she is becoming, Catherine vows to escape for real, before she hurts someone—or herself. Catherine finds salvation in a high school exchange program: new town, new school, new family, new persona. A passport celebrity. In New Zealand, nobody knows her history or her fears. Except for her Kiwi “mum,” who sees through Catherine’s façade and pulls her out from her inner safe house. Exposed, her sense of self implodes. Catherine must finally rethink who she is.
Mother-Daughter Relationships, It’s Tricky!
Ah, mothers and daughters. It’s complicated. We are attached through an umbilical cord and something much stronger once that cord is cut: the push and pull of emotional connection, sometimes bouncing back and forth at the high speed of a ping pong ball in competitive play, and at other times detached, as if the ball was wacked right out into outer space. We mirror our mothers when we are young, trying to be like them, thinking that is what a woman, a mother, a wife should be. But we are not them. Tension, separation, misunderstandings, dislike, even hate vacillates under the surface when daughters seek to become who they are meant to be, and mothers hold ever tighter, fearing the loss of their child. It is a different kind of separation than with mothers and sons––a decoupling that is expected.
I am the second of eight children and the eldest daughter. I was Mommy’s little helper by the age of four, and an expert diaper changer by the time I turned six. Two years later, I no longer appreciated the title, as I had become my mother’s go-to housekeeper and babysitter. Probably she thought I was a good helper, but I felt used. Those early years marked the beginning of our discord, a never-overt conflict. As I began writing ChasingTarzan, I had no idea that my relationship with my mother would become central to the story, or that I would go on to explore two mother-daughter relationships: one with the mother who raised me, the other with a surrogate mother who saved me.
My own mother depended on me, yet she wasn’t there for me. She didn’t do what I wanted her to do. She didn’t release me from my duties so that I could go out and play, nor did she intervene to protect me from the bullies I faced both at school and at home (a cruel school bully and my sadistic older brother). There were many who let me down, but it was my mother who I blamed. She was the one who sent me off to school every day, year after year, promising that if I ignored my tormentors, they would get bored and leave me alone. They did not. Without recourse for my pain, anger welled up inside me and I turned it on my mother, refusing to let her get close to me. I did this purposefully––making her pay––but I didn't fully comprehend why at the time.
I turned on my siblings, too. Being bullied is supposed to build character, or so I was told––but I didn’t like the character I was becoming. Not even Tarzan, my imaginary friend and confidant, could rescue me from myself. I had to escape, and I did, becoming an exchange student to New Zealand, seven thousand miles away. A new beginning for me; no one knew my fears, my foibles, or my history, but by this time, I had completely shut down.
My New Zealand host mother was a different kind of mother. She was strong, assertive and a bit of a sleuth; she saw through my aloofness and did not stand for it. By gradually eroding my defenses, she helped me look beyond my own fears and trust people, including my own mother. For the first time, I saw my mother in all her complexities and limitations, some of which she had no control over. I learned that she did her best, which is all any of us can do. I learned I loved her more than I knew. I learned that her love was important to me, that I didn’t want to be her, would never be her, and that that didn’t matter. It was no longer scary that we would always be bound together in many ways.
Chasing Tarzan is about the ripple effects of bullying, how it shapes who we become, and impacts our closest relationships. I invite my readers to grasp a vine and fly through the jungle, drop to the ground and advance forward beyond the baobab trees, advancing through the clearing, finding their way home, as I did.
About the Author: Catherine Forster is an artist, filmmaker, and writer living in the Pacific Northwest … at the moment. Her work and love of travel have led her to six continents, including Sub-Saharan African, the source of her childhood fantasies. She still holds a fondness for Tarzan, but when trekking in the bush, hiking mountain trails, or exploring a new city, she prefers the company of her beloved husband Kevin.
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