Ken Anderson, 47, is understandably confused. As a teenager, he was abandoned by his mother, Shirley Anderson, 73, and had to live with other families, quit school, and raise himself. Now his elderly mother has filed in British Columbia for parental support.
Anderson has been fighting the lawsuit since 2000. The mother has not had a relationship with Ken or his two siblings for decades, is asking for $750 per month in support from each of them.
Anderson was 15 when his parents and younger brother moved away and simply left him behind.
I find the fact that this case is considered even credible rather disturbing. It seems to me that any actionable or cognizable relationship was severed by the parent years ago. Of course, we do not have the concept of parental support, which is based on an analogous concept to child support. Putting aside this case and cases of prior abandonment, do you think the United States should have a parental support law?
21 thoughts on “Mother Dearest: Man Abandoned By Mother As A Teen Is Sued By Mother For Parental Support”
I’m currently in the process of writing a novel about an Australian girl going to boarding school in Herefordshire, England. Yes, I know it is an overused and cliche-sounding plot, a foreign boarding school transfer, but it isn’t your typical storyline — I am trying to divert people from stereotyping such plotlines. (Straying away from the whole Wild Child, Harry Potter thing.)
Anyway, in spite of the plot, I would just like some constructive feedback on the introduction of my first chapter! The prologue, which I shan’t include, is just basically an acceptance letter to my main character, which gives an intriguing insight into the school.
Anyway, here we go:
“To any normal London citizen, a trip to the Fenchurch Street Railway Station would be considered insignificant. But as a tall, dark-haired girl struggled with her full luggage trolley and tried to take in every detail of her surroundings at the same time, it was with a certain degree of amusement that she reflected on just how far from a ‘normal London citizen’ she really was.
For Zephora Norling, this trip to the railway station was just as much an unimportant excursion as she was an old Polish potato farmer. It was the beginning of a new life.
Having flown in from Australia a mere two weeks earlier – a country that was half-way across the globe and unbeknownst to the extremity of British winters – there had been an initial culture shock. Despite the fact that both England and Australia spoke a similar language, used an analogous political system and even shared a Queen, everything else was completely different. Australia was a harsh, wild land that bore an inexplicable sense of freedom, whereas England seemed to be a relatively anodyne country where the most dangerous wildlife to be encountered was a ruminating cow. And, more importantly, no one seemed to have any idea of what a pair of ‘overalls’ were.
She was slightly overwhelmed by the several strangers who’d approached her in the past fortnight, holding high hopes of hearing an accent to rival Paul Hogan’s. She’d had to politely inform them that she’d grown up in Adelaide, not the rural outback, and their excited expressions had quickly waned upon detecting only a slight lilt in her speech. They all seemed to have placed Australians under the most ridiculous of stereotypes. One flight attendant had even asked her father if he rode a kangaroo to work.
Zephora struggled not to lose control over her trolley as she swerved out of the way of various passersby. The station was incredibly crowded, even for an early Thursday morning. She had yet to grow accustomed to the way England seemed to have such a large number of people crammed into such a small place.
An indignant squawk from somewhere behind brought Zephora to an abrupt stop.
“Mum!” she cried, momentarily abandoning her luggage to help the beset woman up off of the grimy station floor. She’d been bowled over by a crowd of ignorant Japanese tourists who were also quite possibly blind. Zephora resisted the urge to snigger when they were once again the font of an unfortunate blunder a little while away.
“Thank you, dear. Absolute madness, this country,” huffed her mother, dusting herself off once she was in an upright position. “I’ve had my personal space invaded well over my usual limit.”
Leila Norling was of Egyptian heritage and most likely accountable for the majority of Zephora’s exotic features. She had light olive skin, a thick, black bundle of hair and enormous green eyes that were, at that very moment, scanning the crowds of people in search of her husband.
“Rufus!” she called out, her hands swiftly moving to their accustomed place on her hips. She sighed and turned to her daughter. “That man has a penchant for getting himself lost, I’m telling you.””
So, pleeease tell me your opinions regarding characterisation, dialogue, vocabulary, descriptions, believability etc. etc.
And if you have any suggestions to substitute for poorly-written sections, please do not hold back :)!
(If it matters at all, I am currently one month short of 15.)
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