Backstreet Mom: A Mother's Tale of Backstreet Boy AJ McLean's Rise to Fame, Struggle With Addiction, and Ultimate Triumph (5 page)

"Don't bother coming back
unless it is just to pick up your
stuff," I yelled into the telephone. "I want you out of here tonight!"

Bob could not believe what he was hearing. He pleaded with me to
listen to him. I refused. Several hours later, he showed up and had a
tantrum in the middle of the driveway when he saw his clothes sprawled
everywhere. I told him to pick up his stuff and leave. Finally, he did.

Within a year, we were divorced. I got priority custody of Alex, but
Bob had visiting rights pretty much whenever he wanted. Soon he started pulling the same old tricks. For example, he would say he was coming to visit Alex on a certain weekend and he would never show up or
call. After this happened a few times, poor little Alex became so confused that he started showing signs of stress: sleep problems, nightmares, bedwetting and nervousness. He was dealing with a lot for a
two-year-old.

As I watched what this was doing to my son, I became very angry. I
tried to make Bob understand what he was doing to his son. It made no
impression. I finally stopped telling Alex when his father was "supposed"
to come around. His visits became less frequent until one day he just
disappeared. I didn't give it too much thought at the time. He often
went weeks without communicating. Then the support checks suddenly stopped. When I tried to contact Bob, he was nowhere to be found.

I resigned myself to the fact that he no longer wished to be a part of
his son's life. My focus was now on getting on with our lives. When Alex
asked about his father, I explained his absence as best I could. As time passed, those questions tapered off until one day all talk
of his dad just stopped.

Once again it was necessary for me to find a full-time
job. I decided to enroll in
nursing school. My mom and
dad moved in with us and we
pooled our money in order to
make ends meet. Alex went
to daycare part time. That
enabled me to go to school,
and it gave him the opportunity to interact with kids his
own age.

I had almost completed my
first year of nursing school
when an experimental class
began at the institute I attended. They were looking for
volunteers to take some quick lessons on a word processor and then
give them some kind of evaluation on the equipment. The only qualification was that you had to type well. I had always done well in typing
class and I was intrigued, so I signed up. The evaluation took a few
weeks. When it was done, they told me that I had tested well into the
high range of technical aptitude. I was shocked. I had never really tried
to do anything with computers.

Alex at one year

I proceeded with my nursing classes
and things began to change a bit as I entered into the clinical end of the course.
That meant I had to go to a hospital and
work a few hours each week. It was a
nightmare. I wanted desperately to go into
pediatric nursing, but I quickly found out
that I could not deal with watching those
poor little ones suffer every day, especially the ones with terminal illnesses.

Then I tried adult patients, but that
turned out no better, because I got too emotionally involved. It had nothing to do with the blood or cleaning
them up after an accident. It was just the whole environment of the
hospital. I did not blend into the situation at all. It became obvious to
me that I wouldn't last and quit soon after that.

Alex and Grandpa Adolph

After a few months of searching for employment, I decided to try
word processing. My dad worked for a company called Siemens, so he
got me an interview in their data-processing department. A woman
named Linda Watson offered me a job. She was diminutive, but she had
a feistiness about her that belied her height. I looked at her as a role
model from day one. She would become a lifelong friend.

Never before had I met such a group of people. It was one of those
situations where all of us seemed to be going through life transitions of
one kind or another. The way we helped support one another was much
like what you would expect in a family.

As A SINGLE MOTHER, I was presented with the usual problems. I had to
make a living. I had to be both mother and father to my son. One of the
things that was lacking was a social life. Even though I did not have
much time for a social life, I craved interaction with others outside of
the workplace.

I decided to try the theater. Ever since high school, one of my passions had been the theater. I wasn't much for acting, but I really enjoyed
the behind-the-scenes work. My co-worker and close friend Mimi
Trinkner had been involved with a small, struggling children's theater
group for a few years. She constantly bent my ear about the kids that
she worked with on the weekends.

After I told Mimi about my interest in the theater, she was relentless.
Every day she worked at whittling away my resolve. Mimi was determined to get me to join her group. When the Christmas holidays rolled
around that year, she pleaded with me to consider helping with their
production of A Christmas Carol.

Curiosity finally got the best of me, so I agreed to go with her to the
audition. I wanted to meet the people that she spoke so highly of. But I
made it very clear that my interest lay purely in either painting sets or
taking on a production role. Things went much differently once I got there.

Mimi knew the directors were in desperate need of chorus members.
It was the perfect place for me. There was no way that I would be seen
or heard as long as I remained part of the group. Okay, I thought, how
hard could that be? I had sung in church and that was pretty painless,
so why not?

What a mistake that turned out to be! Doc Peterson, the director,
asked me to actually read for a part. He was such a kindly older gentleman that I could not refuse him. He was tall and thin, but he still had a
head full of blonde hair. Doc just oozed theatrical flair. In addition to
being as animated as a cartoon character, he was impossibly charming.
He assured me I could do it, so I tried.

Even though the part was minor, it was still a scary thing for me to
do. I am not the type to seek out the limelight. After my reading, the
director pulled me aside to speak to me. Suddenly I felt a tug at my
dress. Trying to remain focused on my conversation, I put out my hand
instinctively to my son thinking that he had grown tired of all this and
wanted to go home. Again the tug. This time I looked down and said,
"Honey, please let me finish and we will go home."

Alex gave my clothes one more tug for good measure. Before I could
utter a word, this skinny little six-year-old blurted out in a voice not to
be missed, "Mom I don't want to leave, I want to read! I want to be in
the play too."

Alex's enthusiasm and persistence prompted the director to speak to
him alone. He asked how old he was and how well he could read. Alex
perked right up and said, " I know how to read very well. My mommy
taught me from when I was little."

Chuckling, the director handed him a script and asked him to read a
few lines. Alex obliged. In an instant, his eyes lit up and his voice filled
with excitement and
confidence. This kid
wasn't fooling around!
Even at that age, when
he had a captive audience, you had better
look out, because invariably you wouldn't
know what hit you.

Alex with my
grandparents, Oma and
Opa Maier