Olivia Newton-John: Her Inspiration To Me & Our Meeting

It all started when I was 6 years old. My Uncle is actually the one who introduced me to her, her music and movies. When I was a little kid visiting my Grandparents, I would go upstairs to his room and sit on the floor listening to all his vinyl records with these big ass headphones on (I have that photo somewhere; I desparately need to find it). Among the records were Sheena Easton and Olivia Newton-John. The moment I heard Olivia's voice, I was immediately in love. I honestly can't even put into words the effect she had on me. He had a poster of her up on his wall (which he gave me many years later and it's now proudly framed and hanging in my bedroom); an original poster from 1974. I would sit and stare at the poster thinking how pretty she was, while being swept away by her voice. Soon there after, I was introduced to Grease (which I know every single word to lol - it's my most favorite movie EVER) and Xanadu. I didn't realize what vital role she would play in my life as a child and still today.

I have Cerebral Palsy. It's only in my legs. Thankfully, I'm able to walk and get around just fine without any kind of assistance. The only time I need to use a wheelchair, is when there is excessive walking and/or standing involved. I've had 9 operations on my legs throughout my life; the first when I was 3 and the last when I was 15 (although, I don't remember my very first one). Whenever I needed to have an operation, my Uncle Vern would make me a cassette tape filled with all my favorite Olivia songs, so that I could listen to it on the long drive to Rochester (MN); which is approx a 1 1/2 hours south of where I live. I would listen to her on the drive down, I'd listen to her the night before trying to calm my nerves. I'd listen to her the morning of the surgery. I'd listen to her during my physical therapy. Every moment I had, I would listen to her. And if I couldn't listen to her music, then I would watch Grease, Xanadu or her 1982 Physical Tour VHS tape of my Uncle's (which incidently, my cousin Danielle and I wore out because we played it so much, so when I was 16, he bought me my own copy). It was Olivia that would keep me calm. She would keep me sane, be my company and give me strength. I remember when my mom and I would be in my bedroom doing my at home physical therapy. I would be laying on the floor and I would just stare at the pictures I had of her on my wall and I'd always say to my mom, "Someday I'm going to meet her, so I can tell her thank you for everything she's done for me". It took 21 years, but it finally happened on September 14th, 2001.

My cousin DeeAnn and I had been to a few Olivia concerts together. She's a huge Olivia fan too (and is Danielle's older sister) and obviously she knew how important it was for me to meet Olivia. That year, we drove to Wisconsin to see her and I knew that if I was ever going to meet her, this was going to be it. I had come close about 3 times from the late 80's till 2001, but it would be taken away just as quickly. So I knew it was basically now or never and DeeAnn was determined to make it happen.

When we got to the theater (which was SOLD OUT - we had 11th row) and to our seats, DeeAnn told me to stay put and that she was going to try talking to some people. I had no idea what she was going to say or who she was going to talk to, but I knew she was on a mission. Once she gets started on something, there is no stopping her. I watched her walk up the asile and saw her immediately talking to an usher and then they went walking up the asile and out of the showroom. It was about 15 minutes later when she finally came back. She was oddly quiet, but had this funny grin on her face. She sat down next to me and got comfortable, not saying a word. I just stared at her thinking, "Um, HELLO!?". She then leaned in and whispered "I just talked to her tour manager and at the end of the show, we are supposed to wait until the crowd empties and then head over to the side door over there. You're going to meet her." I COULD NOT BELIEVE IT. She didn't have time to tell me how she did it, because the show was just about to start and let me tell ya, that was the weirdest feeling. As much as I couldn't wait for her to get onstage and not have the show end; I also couldn't wait for it to be over, so we could walk over to that side door!!

When the show ended (she puts on an AMAZING 2 hour show, btw), DeeAnn and I waited for the crowd to empty and during that time she started to explain what happened. Basically, she just talked to anyone she could, who looked official and who dealt with the theater. The entire time, she told them about her "cousin who has Cerebral Palsy and it's been her dream since she was 6 years old to meet her", which eventually lead her to Olivia's tour manager. DeeAnn then told me that she had to kind of embelish with my CP a bit and told them that I can walk, but that I need to hang on to her for assistance. I said, "That won't be embelishing! My legs are going to be like jello, so I'll need to hang on to you!!". Finally we slowly made our way over to the small crowd of fans that had gathered. Most were contest winners who obviously knew they would be meeting her. They had backstage passes around their necks, flowers, gift bags, etc. Thankfully I brought my most special Olivia CD for her to sign (I brought it with me to every Olivia concert, just in case), called "Gaia - One Woman's Journey". Suddenly, this MASSIVELY HUGE man came out and said "Anyone who doesn't have a backstage pass, must leave now" and he immediately looked at us. I thought, "NOOOOOOO!!!!" I was terrified. DeeAnn was just about to start explaining the situation, when her tour manager came running out and said, "They're fine! I've given them my personal authorization". PHEW! I just smiled at the man and nodded and he smiled and winked back.

Soon it was time to go into the backstage area. There was probably about 30 people total, waiting to see her. We were told that the meeting had to be quick and that she was only allowed to sign one item, as they had to start driving out to the next gig in about 2 hours. I was a little disappointed when I heard that, BUT I didn't care because I was going to finally be meeting my "idol" since I was a little girl. DeeAnn suggested that we wait to be the last in line, that way I could sit on the steps and wait (which was a great idea). But before you know it, it was time for us to start walking up the steps, towards her dressing room. There were about 6 people ahead of us and suddenly I saw her walk in front of the step area. I immediately squeezed the life out of poor DeeAnn's arm, because I had just seen her and it was really her. Olivia Newton-John was less than a foot away from me.

Finally, my turn had come. I stood there at the top step and just stared at her and could NOT stop smiling. She smiled at me and said, "Hi!! How are you?" and she held out her hand. I took her hand and said, "I'm very good now!" and everyone in the room laughed (it was her management team and that same bodyguard). I asked if she would sign my CD and as she asked my name, I was so happy that she spelled it right without even having to ask. She told me I had a beautiful name and proceeded to ask where I was from, how old I was, if I liked the show, etc. She was SO incrediably nice and I was surprisingly very relaxed. When we posed for our picture, she bent her knees just a bit, so we would be kind of close in height (she's actually only like 5'4") - so cute. After that, I told her that our birthday's are only 2 days apart and since hers is on the 26th of September (mine is on the 28th), I wanted to wish her a very happy early birthday. She thought that was very sweet and then wished me a happy birthday too. I said thank you and gave her a big hug (she gives amazing hugs).

I started to walk away and immediately thought to myself, "What are you doing?!?! Tell her everything!" So, I turned around and walked back over to her, she was looking at me and smiling. I proceeded to tell her about having CP, that she's been such an inspiration to me since I was 6 years old and told her all about how she would help me through surgery, therapy and everything else that happens in my life. While I was telling her everything, that's when the magnitude of the moment hit me and I started to cry. I couldn't believe that after 21 years, I was finally meeting her and telling her thank you face to face. As I was telling her everything, she was holding both of my hands and looking deep into my eyes with a smile on her face, and tears filling up her eyes. When I finally finished talking, she said to me "Tamara, you are the reason why I do what I do. Thank YOU for sharing your life with me, thank you for letting me be a part of your life. It was MY pleasure to meet YOU" and then she pulled me to her, giving me the most gentle and secure hug I have ever recieved. She gentlely pressed my face against her chest and just slowly rocked back and forth, like a mother does her child. I could hear her heart beating. And as always, she made me relax. I will remember that moment and feeling for the rest of my life. It was at that moment where I knew her and I formed a different kind of "bond" and ever since then, I was thought of her more as a mother figure, than my favorite singer. After standing there for a couple minutes, holding each other, she then took my face in her hands, smiled and said, "I hope those are happy tears?", to which I laughed and responded, "Yes they are happy tears!!" She laughed and said good and then it was DeeAnn's turn to meet her. But Olivia held onto my hand, as I walked over to lean against the wall. :) As DeeAnn was talking to Olivia, I was standing next to that MASSIVELY HUGE bodyguard. He looked down at me, grinned and said, "That was pretty cool huh?" and I looked up him and said, "Oh you have NO idea!!!".

Soon, DeeAnn's moment with her was done and it was time to leave. Olivia walked over to me, told me she loved me, gave me another big hug and squeezed my hand and we walked out of the room. As we were walking to the car, DeeAnn told me that when I was telling Olivia about my life, I had everyone in tears - including that bodyguard. When we got in the parking lot and knew no one was around, THAT was when we let it ALLLLLL OUT!!!! We hugged each other, hung on to each other and jumped up and down, screamed, cried... everything.

If I think about it hard enough, I can still feel her hand on my shoulder as we had our picture taken, when she held my hands and every time we hugged. I will treasure that moment for the rest of my life and will always be forever grateful to Olivia. She has always been and always will continue to be a very important and inspirational person in my life.

Adorable little tidbit: DeeAnn's then 7 year old daughter is a HUGE Grease fan and is named Olivia (after Olivia, actually). DeeAnn told Olivia about her and brought along Libby's Grease CD. Olivia signed it: "To Little Olivia, Love Big Olivia". I LOVE that. She is simply the sweetest person EVER.

I'm a UCPerson

On October 21st, 2008 I was finally able to meet the New Kids on the Block after 20 years and personally tell them thank you for everything they did for United Cerebral Palsy.

I never thought it could get any better.

I was wrong.

I have UCP's official MySpace page on my friend list (and also now on Facebook) and have corresponded with Will Hull, who runs both pages. He is the eCommunications/eDevelopment Specialist and eAdvocacy/eCommunications Coordinator for United Cerebral Palsy. So, shortly after I posted my blog on MySpace in October about my meeting with NKOTB and the whole history behind that, it was only natural for me to want him to read it.

However, his response was beyond anything I expected. He was so touched by my story, that he asked permission to "publish" it on their online journal, "UCPeople". I could not believe it... and I still can't. Next to meeting the New Kids and having that dream come true, this for me, is seriously just as important and special... if not more so. Being acknowledged by them like this, I can't even begin to express what I felt at that moment... and what I still feel.

I have been blessed in so many ways and once again, the New Kids on the Block have enriched my life. I am extremely grateful.

Since November, my story is now up at UCPeople - Journal for the UCP Community .

Will and I have continued to remain in touch and I am honored to call him my friend.

The Days of Yesterday

Last night my friend Kris and I were reminiscing about our high school teachers; those we liked and those we didn't (she and I went to junior high and high school together). Two of my favorites were my English Lit and American Lit and one I disliked was my Humanities instructor (all during my Senior year).

Soon my thoughts drifted back to what is probably my favorite school year: 8th grade. I went to Trinity Lutheran School in Faribault (MN) from K-8th grade. Trinity only goes up to 8th grade, then you're in the public school system. Now, just because it was a Lutheran school, doesn't mean we didn't do our share of pranks. Later we were told, we were one of the worst 8th grade classes ever (Is it wrong I feel a certain pride about that? Hmmm...)?

Let me shed a little light on my class. There were approximately 22 of us from kindergarten till our last year, so we really grew up with each other. We really were like a family. During our 8th grade year, we got a few new boys who transferred over from Peace Lutheran School (also in Faribault). I think a lot of us were nervous about the new kids on the block (no pun intended). We weren't sure if we'd like them, all that. You know how kids are. But really, they were great guys. One in particular was the main 'troublemaker/jokester': Jeremiah. And we all loved him. I think almost every girl in class had a crush on him at some point during the school year.

Anyways, once they joined, our class changed. Not just in class size. Not just in the ratio of boys vs. girls. But more importantly, we changed how we acted. Now, we didn't do things to every teacher we had. Only two: Mr. and Mrs. Phiffer. Well, we really didn't "do" anything to Mr. Phiffer, but we were always laughing at him during class. He made it so easy.

Mr. Phiffer was our school Principal and he sometimes would fill in and substitute. Mr. Phiffer (or "Cleatus Ruppert" as the boys so ‘lovingly’ called him - yes, that was his first and middle name) was rather short for a guy - maybe 5'6"-5'7", somewhere around there - and he had this weird habit of standing against the corner of the desk and well, "bouncing" (for lack of a better term and trust me, I don't like the visual either) up and down. His pants fit perfectly against the corner. He was just the right height. You get the picture. We don't know if he enjoyed it. We don't know if he even realized what he was doing. All we did know was there was know way we could concentrate and take him seriously. And we didn't. He never really taught us anything anyway; just "bounced" against the corner of the desk (which no one ever wanted to touch afterwards). I still laugh at the thought (and cringe at the same time).

His wife, on the other hand… oh the torment that woman would go through. She wasn’t a very nice woman and a horrible teacher. To this day I don’t understand how she got her “teaching” degree (or if she even had one). Anyways, I won’t get into all the things our class did - particularly the boys, us girls would sit back, laugh and enjoy the show. However, I will share this one time. In the corner of the back of the classroom were a couple baseball bats. One kid, Scott Rickels (a very tall and big guy, who was HILARIOUS), loved to torment her. She wouldn’t be paying any attention to what was going on by him, so he’d pick up the bat and “tiptoe” behind her, holding the bat above his head as if he was getting ready to just wail on her. We would just start lauuuuughing. She’d turn around and yell at him and he’d abruptly put the bat down and stand there looking “innocent”. The minute she turned the other direction, he’d be at it again. It was a daily occurrence and she fell for it every. single. time.

I could go on and on about those days. And not just my 8th grade year, but being at Trinity in general. Those were some of the best times of my life and I will never forget them.

"Searching For Myself"

I recently posted this on Facebook, but wanted to put it here on my new blog page because not everyone was able to read it there (due to not having Facebook, etc). This was originally posted on my MySpace blog in March of 2008.

Some of you may already know this about me, while many probably do not. I am adopted and was very fortunate to have met my birth mom Carla and her family in 1993. Being adopted isn't something I've ever been ashamed of; in fact I'm very open about it and answer any questions people may have if/when they find out.

Recently, people have been asking me questions about my adoption: how it came to be, why I was given up for adoption, how I met my birth mom, etc. Instead of typing it all out, I decided to post a story I wrote for my high school art and literary magazine called "Visions" (which I was also on the staff of) in 1993.

At the time of the printing, Carla and I had not met face-to-face yet. So, at the end of the story, I will post a bit of an update.

Here is the story from "Visions":

"Searching For MySelf"

I was in 9th grade when I decided to search for my birth mom. I remember it was a beautiful spring day in 1990. Although my mom was supportive of searching for my birth mom, we didn't know how cooperative my dad would be. We decided to deal with him after we found out what they had to say at Faribault Rice County Social Services.

My mom picked me up from school that day, and we headed for Social Services. We drove in silence the entire way, but I'm sure we were both thinking the same thing: What is going to happen? I was eager to find out.

When we finally got there, which seemed like an eternity, we nervously walked into the large, red brick building.

"Can we speak to someone in charge of adoption, please?" I asked the receptionist behind the counter. "That would be Phyllis Freeman. Is she expecting you?" I explained to her that my mother and I decided to do this at the last minute and that we had come straight from school. After the receptionist checked to make sure Phyllis was in, she told us to wait a few minutes. Those few minutes turned out to be closer to a half hour. We finally met Phyllis, and I thought she was a very nice woman; I could tell she was very caring and would help me.

After our introductions to each other, we walked into her office which was painted in soft pastel colors. She had an adorable painting of a newborn baby on the wall. After I explained to her that I was in search of my birth mom, she asked my age. I knew that I was underage; I was only 15 and the legal age is 18. She explained to me that since I was only 15, I would need written permission from both of my parents. Again, I began to worry about my dad.

After Phyllis answered some of my questions and we discussed the information I already knew from my biological fact sheet given to my parents from the adoption social worker in 1975, Phyllis explained the lengthy procedure adoption searches have to go through. It could take from three months to three years. And my birth mom might not want to have contact with me at all or may not even be alive; but I knew deep down inside she was alive and would not reject me.

At 5:30 p.m. that night, my dad came home from work. Both my mom and I were nervous about talking to him and getting his permission for my search. I knew this would be hard for him since I am "daddy's little girl," and the only child. We asked him to come downstairs with us where he sat in his favorite recliner. "Jim," my mom began, "Tamara and I went over to Social Services today after school."

My dad asked why we went over to Social Services, showing no interest. I looked nervously into his eyes but immediately looked down when I began to speak.

"I want to find my birth mom," I said quietly. "We went to Social Services to see if they can help me find her." I looked at my dad quickly and noticed he was staring blankly down at my feet.

The silence was unbearable. I was sure my parents could hear my heart pounding against my chest. My mom and I shifted in our seats as we waited for his response. He spoke in a shaky voice that I had only heard once before, and that was when he told me my grandpa had died. "Why do you want to find her? Is there a reason?" he asked.

Is there a reason?! I began to get angry with him as I spoke. "Yes, there's a reason! I want to find her. I want my questions answered. I need to do this, don't you understand?" Couldn't he see how important this was for me? This was my life we were talking about. My roots.

"No, I don't understand. Don't you love us anymore? You're not happy with us, and you're not happy living here, and you want to go live with her, is that it?" "No, Dad! I love you and Mom." By this time I was crying. "I just want to learn about myself. I have to do this." I looked at my did and saw a tear on his cheek. I went over and hugged him. "I love you, Dad. Please support me on this."

Finally, my dad cleared his throat. "Well, if this is what you want to do, I guess there' s nothing I can say about it. It looks like you've got your mind made up. What do I have to do?" My mom had the form there for him to sign. As he put his signature on the paper, I began to get very excited. I knew because of their signatures my life would change forever.

Three weeks later, I went out to the mailbox to get the mail like I usually did. After I opened the mailbox, I found a business-sized envelope addressed to me. My eyes immediately shifted to the return address on the envelope, and my heart started pounding against my chest. I stared at the return address and read it over and over in my mind. It was from Social Services. I walked slowly into the house and sat down at the kitchen table. I was in a daze. This was it, the information about my birth mom. My head began to spin, and my pulse raced as I nervously ripped open the envelope. I quickly read the memo written by Phyllis: "Dear Tamara, here is the letter and pictures of your birth mom. If you have any questions, you can contact me at..."

I couldn't believe it! My birth mom was alive and wrote to me! The first thing I did was take the pictures out and place them face down on the table; I wanted to save the best for last. My hands were cold and clammy and began to shake uncontrollably as I opened the letter. I began to cry as I read the opening, "My dear daughter...". It was strange reading the word "daughter." I began to realize how lucky I was. Most people have one mother to love and care for them; I have two.

As I read the letter, I began to see what a loving, caring woman she was and that she went through so much at a young age. After she gave birth to me, just two weeks before her 14th birthday (yes, she was 13 when she had me), she went to court several times to try and get full custody of me, but that didn' t work out because both the courts and her parents were completely against her keeping me. After that rejection, her life went to hell. A year after I was born she quit school, broke up with my birth father who was 19 at the time and moved away from home. Although she went through a lot of hard times, she kept telling me throughout the letter that she loved me very much and never regretted having me. One thing that surprised me as I read the letter was information about two half sisters and a half brother. I laughed as I read that because I'm an only child and never thought I'd have siblings; but always wanted them. The letter was signed, "With love and very special thoughts, Carla." Her name is Carla! As I carefully folded the letter wink dabbing my eyes with tissue, I glanced at the pictures lying face down on the table. I slowly turned over the Polaroid photographs, and then I stared at them in disbelief and began to cry all over again. She looked exactly like me! It was almost like looking in a mirror.

Carla and I have been writing to each other ever since. I've gotten more pictures of her and also of her parents, sisters, and my three half siblings. Our relationship is not the mother-daughter type really. Whenever I write to her, it's like sending a letter to friend—a pen-pal. Although we haven't met yet, we are in the process of scheduling a date through our social workers. I want her to come to my graduation, and both my social worker and parents think that would be very special for Carla.

When I think about meeting her, I'm excited, nervous and scared all rolled into one. I spent most of my first 15 years wondering about unanswered questions, and it took three weeks to get the answers. Not only was I searching for my birth mom, but I was also searching for myself. I know now that search hasn't ended; it is just beginning.

-----------

Now for the update:

Carla and I finally did meet on Nov. 12th, 1993 at Rice County Services - the same building that found her for me. My parents were there, along with her mother Jan and our social workers. My parents got along with Carla and her family very well; especially my mom. Carla and I spent a lot of time together getting to know each other, spent weekends together, etc. It was a very special time and one I will never take for granted.

This is the part I normally don't share with people (only a very select few), but I feel strong enough where I can now...

As you may (or may not) have noticed, my last paragraph was written in past tense. The reason for that is because Carla and I are no longer in contact. 3 1/2 years ago, Carla wrote me a letter saying she no longer wanted me in her life. She told me that we are two different people and that her life was going really well at the time, etc. Even though she still loves me and always will, she just couldn't handle our relationship anymore and decided it would be for the best if we no longer have communication and "move on". Her letter came as a complete and utter shock to me, just one week after my 30th birthday and one week before hers. I had no idea she felt this way. It had been a while since we had seen each other or spoken to each other, but I always just assumed that was because of the distance and our schedules. I didn't realize this was going on in her mind. Needless to say, I didn't even know how to feel after reading that; and by that I mean, I was a ball of every single emotion of you can possibly imagine: saddness, anger, shock... everything. It took her 14 years to figure out we're "two different people". After letting what I just read sink in, I started calling Carla's sisters (Sheila and Debi) and my brother (James - we call him Jamie) and sisters (Jessie and Jenny). All of them were as shocked as I was. None of them knew she had any intention of leaving me like this.

Immediately all of them were very concerned that I thought she was speaking on behalf of the entire family; and I knew she wasn't. I knew she was only talking about herself and being selfish. My Aunt Debi was afraid I felt like I was being "rejected" all over again; and I didn't. I never felt rejected from her at any point, because I always understood the circumstances as to why I was given up for adoption.

I sent Carla a Christmas card that year; my last. Inside it, I included a short letter acknowledging her letter to me. I took that moment to tell her exactly what I felt; the hurt, anger, shock... everything. I wanted her to know how much it affected me. I also told her that, if she would ever decide to come back into my life, I will always welcome her with open arms - although, it will take time for me to let my guard down with her. She deserved to know and I was not about to let her have the last word. I wanted to show her I will be ok, even though it will take some time.

Even though Carla and I are no longer in communcation, I still have a very good relationship with her sisters (Debi and Sheila), my siblings (Jessica, Jenny and Jamie) and some of my cousins (Jeremy and Denise) from her side of the family - especially Denise in particular (we all lost touch for a while - my siblings and cousins, but are back in communication and building relationships again); and for that I am very thankful. Sometimes things don't always work out the way you think they will. I never imagined my relationship with Carla would end this way and I'm still dealing with it. But I know that everything happens for a reason and I will always love Carla and I will never hold hard feelings against her decision - no matter how much I disagree with it, no matter how hurt I may be at times and don't understand it; I will always respect it.

I realize I'm sharing a lot and really putting myself out there; but writing and sharing has always been very theraputic for me and although my way of healing may be different from another's, it's mine and it works for me. That said, that doesn't mean it was an easy decision. However, I am happy to have written this blog and sharing this big part of me. If it helps people understand me more, then that makes it all worth it.

To Blog or Not To Blog...

...That is the question.

And I guess I have the answer. "Why not."

This is my first official "blog". I've been debating if I wanted to do this or not. Sure, I've posted blogs on MySpace and even posted a few "notes" over on Facebook every now and then, but this is different. This site is basically a journal and honestly, it's been a while since I've kept a journal. But I think now is as good a time as any, to start up again.

I've been going through a lot in my life recently and it's really made me get back into writing... or at least have serious yearnings to write. I think this is going to be very theraputic for me. We'll see what happens. God only knows the things that pop into my head lol, mostly random thoughts, songs and everything in between... so it should be interesting.

Read at your own risk lol.