Roots

The day she discovered she was pregnant, she cried herself to sleep. What a horrendous position to be in. She and her husband had discussed the idea of having children, and had both said an absolute no. They had each other, and that was enough. Their careers mattered more than having a family. It was what they’d been aiming for since year nine science classes, when they’d first met. She didn’t want a baby. It didn’t mean she wanted an abortion though. Why was everything so bloody complicated?

So, tell us about yourself?
“My name is David Mickelson. I was born on November 2nd, 1978, and grew up in Richmond, in Surrey. I was adopted as a baby, by my parents, Jane and Derek, and now have a daughter of my own (Sophie, 2).”

It was done. She’d had the abortion; they’d both agreed it was the best option. The technician looked at her strangely when she’d asked to take ‘it’ home. It was only a bunch of cells, but she wanted to bury it. Bury it in the back garden, and put a tree in its place as a marker, to show what they’d given up for the sake of their careers. If the job ever got too hard, she’d look at the tree, and it would keep her going.

How did being an adopted child affect you as you were growing up, and indeed, now?
“I always wondered why I was put up for adoption – what did I do in the womb that was so terrible? Of course, at the age I’m at now, I know there are several factors which could have influenced their decision, but I’ve never quite shaken off my feeling of abandonment. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. My [adoptive] Mum and Dad raised me, and I know that’s what counts. Having had Sophie, though, I know I wouldn’t – couldn’t – part with her for the world. Wasn’t I worthy of having someone feel that way about me? It’s complicated. It’s always bloody complicated.”

Her husband hadn’t wanted anything to do with the funeral, but she had guilt tripped him into it. She’d had to go through with the fucking thing, so he could do that one thing for her. OK, so it would never be normal, but everyone has their reasons. It wasn’t like she’d hired a priest, either. It was just them, and the ‘thing’ that could never be.

Have you ever thought about contacting your biological parents?
“Yes, I’ve thought about it a lot in my life. However, when I finally was able to contact them, they declined to see me. There’s a lot I don’t know about them. I know their names, but I don’t know how they looked, smelled, whether they love each other as much as my [adoptive] parents do. Most of all, I don’t know whether there’s a genetic deficiency I could have passed on to my daughter... besides the obvious. I would have thought they’d think about that part at least – they’re scientists, and that’s all I know. I sometimes wonder if they ever think about me, but I doubt it. To them, I’m just a baby they could/would never keep.”

The tree was growing well, after a month. It was still small, but strong, and growing taller every time she looked at it. It just needed love and attention, so she protected and nurtured it, encouraging growth, strength and health.

Do you feel resentment towards them for choosing not to agree to see you?
“Yes, I’d say I did. Adoption happens all the time, but it wasn’t as simple as that. They didn’t want the hassle of me, and even adoption wouldn’t have happened if they’d had their way. As I’ve said, I don’t know whether there are any medical problems I should know about, anything like that. I also hate the fact that they told the press about my... unusual... birth to further their careers, not thinking about the fact that as a consequence, I could never lead a wholly normal life, socially or scientifically.”

It had been seven months – spring and summer had both passed. The tree had thrived, and was much stronger than before. That was, until it fell down. Like an adult sized child suddenly tripping, it simply thrust itself frontwards, and was no more. The force of its fall brought up the roots. They should have looked like severely tangled hair, yet they were curled around something. Supersize gnarled hands, keeping hold of a prize. Curious, she got her husband to prise the wooden fist open. The tangle was acting as a swaddle, a surrogate womb, to a fully formed, red cheeked, contented baby.

How did you find growing up in the public eye?
“It was hard, living my life as Tree Boy. I’d never asked for any of it, yet I had to deal with all the consequences from a really young age. Mum and Dad were always really supporting, and completely honest. They told me what happened before I was teased about it on the playground. Teased is an understatement. To say I hated it was an understatement.”

The day of its birth, the day whirled by. Paramedics were in and out, as were their scientist friends who had heard of their somewhat unusual (to say the least) experience. It wasn’t long before the press had found out. They soon found they couldn’t gain access through the front door, so the skies were filled with helicopters, seemingly on a mission to see which could wake the baby first. Social services had to be called, too. They hadn’t wanted the baby in the first place, and their minds hadn’t changed now. It might have a better chance of a normal life, then. If it stayed with them, the whole family would be poked and prodded – the baby would be more of a test subject than anything else. At least if it was adopted, it would have a good chance at anonymity. There was no chance of their names staying out of the papers – in fact, it had furthered their careers. They were being heralded as geniuses, and received letters from all over the world from desperate prospective mothers and fathers who couldn’t give birth naturally, and wanted to use trees as their surrogate. They hadn’t heard what had happened to the baby since it was given up. They had read the newspapers though, and no journalist had any qualms about trying their hardest to find it. She hoped for his sake they didn’t.

How long did it take you to write the book about your experiences?
“I think I’ve been preparing for it for a long time. I started it just after Sophie was born. I wanted it to be as accurate as I could make it – I didn’t just want it to be a book of emotions. Yes, my life was hard as a result of my unusual birth, but there are a whole host of scientific reasons to accompany that. I felt like I’d be fobbing off the readers if I didn’t try to understand what happened as completely as I could. That took time to research, although luckily I had support from a lot of people, without whose help, I could never have finished it completely.”

The years had passed, they were much older now. They hadn’t kept track of how old it would have been. They just tried to forget, although she found it much harder than him. When they received a letter through the post, then, they had no reason to suspect that what was inside would change their lives (again). The baby, no longer a baby, wanted to make contact. He was 29 years old, and told them they were biologically grandparents. His tone appeared a little bitter, and he revealed that he had been known as Tree Boy his whole life. He needed answers. She begged her husband to agree to contact, but he refused. The decision had been made for a reason, he said, and it must be stuck to. It would only complicate things if the boy got in contact. The boy was an anomaly in their lives, and should be grateful to the family who brought him up. All the answers the boy needed would be found there.

What kind of things can we expect to read in your book?
“Well, I don’t want to give too much away, obviously! I was an aborted foetus, morbidly buried in the back garden, in front of a tree. There are many things that could have happened whilst I was developing in the roots of that tree. I tried to make my book explore all the feasible reasons that exist in how and why this could have happened; as well as writing about how my unusual birth affected my life, socially and emotionally.”
David Mickelson’s book Tree Boy is out on May 29th, 2008.