One of the peculiar features of 7th Heaven over the years is the way the show has embarked on a character assassination of Mary, who was once bright, lively, and independent and who now is shown as epitomizing everything stupid in the world. I and others over at the 7th Heaven boards at Television Without Pity have long speculated that this is Brenda Hampton and Aaron Spelling's way of getting back at Jessica Biel for posing topless in a men's magazine and saying some decidedly uncomplimentary things about the show. Turning on a fictional character in their anger, of course, really says more about the show's producers and writers than it ever could about Ms. Biel, who it can't be said is suffering terribly for Mary's misfortune, since she is no doubt well paid for her every appearance on the show.
Be all that as it may, the decline of Mary, like so many things about 7th Heaven, is filled with potential for quality drama that will probably never be realized (which is one reason 7th Heaven lends itself so well to quality fanfiction). So here, for your consideration, is Hans the bold's interpretation of Mary, up to the events of the second episode of Season 8. As always, Mary and the Camdens and the odious people of Glenoak, California, as well as Glenoak itself, are the creations and property of Brenda Hampton, the WB, and other Hollywood big shots. They appear here only because I believe that there is interesting potential for a subtext to the story we have been given on the show itself.
Finally, I dedicate this story to Cate, whose marvelous 7th Heaven recaps made this show such a joy to watch.
ONE
* * *
There is life inside me.
It's the most amazing thing, you know? It hasn't moved yet -- it's too early for that -- but there is something, something for which there are no words, that I can feel.
Deep. There in my belly. Sometimes I'll just put my hand there and feel it.
Life.
You know me. All of you do. I'm the one you talk about, your favorite topic after the weekly service, the one whose name you can bandy about with those knowing looks, about whom you can just say, "tsk, tsk" and shake your head and hold up as an example of all that is wrong in America today.
Shame on her, you say.
Disobedient, stupid girl.
Well, you know what they say about preachers' kids.
I wonder sometimes if that isn't actually true. I don't have any way to know this, of course. When I was young the only other preacher's family we really knew were the Morgans, and Keisha wasn't my age. You could ask Lucy about her, if you like; are they still in touch?
Who are Lucy's friends anymore?
So maybe there is something about being the child of clergy that does something to you. All the preconceived notions, all the eyes in the congregation on you every Sunday, the expectations at school, all that. You have to be better, more moral, more proper. You can't be just any other kid, just any other girl.
I tried, you know. I tried to be me, who I was.
I tried at so many things.
Isn't it odd that the one thing I succeeded at, the one promise I made to myself when I was young that I was actually able to keep, is now the one thing that all of you now love to gossip about? All the things I actually did wrong, all the mistakes I made, all these you have forgotten.
But I haven't.
Basketball. I loved basketball. When you played, when you were out on that court, that feeling as you went for a lay-up, when you made that free throw, when your shot went in at the buzzer, God, that was something. I wasn't the preacher's daughter then, wasn't being watched and judged because of who my father was. I was just me, just Mary, the girl who could play. You never knew how important that was to me, and how it felt after I was hit by that car, when I had to limp around on crutches and watch. You never knew how easy it was to believe Coach Koper when he said I was good, that I could still do this thing, this thing that was so important to me.
But there was a price for his support, wasn't there? Do you gossip about how I refused to pay it? Do you gossip about how I said no to him?
Of course not.
College. There was going to be college, too. A basketball scholarship. I won't burden you, Mom and Dad. You can pay for Matt's schooling, for Lucy. I know you want to. I know you look at them and you see someone you regard as worthwhile. I know you always have. So I'll get my education with a scholarship, and you won't have to worry.
Only I wasn't good enough, was I?
Bad girl.
#
It was stupid, acting out like we did. I knew it then and I know it now. But that's the odd thing, isn't it? Knowing it wasn't enough. Admitting it wasn't enough. Cleaning it up and apologizing and being arrested and having nameless authorities threaten to take away my entire future wasn't enough. I was wrong, not just then but forever. You come to realize this, after a while. After a while you realize that you can never make up for not being what you are told to be, once people have decided that you are bad, that you are uppity, that you are trouble.
I remember once in school that a boy liked snapping girls' bras. He snapped mine, and I shoved his head into a toilet. Mom and Dad and Matt stood by me then, but I have to wonder; what did they really think, when they looked at me in the principal's office? I didn't go to you, didn't play the helpless girl. Was this to be held against me later?
Uppity girl.
Doesn't obey. Doesn't submit.
Lucy obeys. She submits. I've seen her with Kevin, with Mom, with Dad. She does what she's told.
Lucy.
I think she's the only one I can really trust anymore.
It's something about sisters, close sisters. We shared a room growing up, shared secrets. When she was obsessed with getting her period I did my best to help her deal with it and I think she understood this. Mom fed her some crap from Ecclesiastes and Dad got all excited about buying her tampons, but I actually talked to her.
Do you gossip about that?
Of course not.
And she was there for me, my sister was. She and she alone told the school that I wasn't bad, that I could be forgiven. I've never forgotten that, Lucy, even when things got to be so much, when they got to be too much. I remember my sister standing up for me when no one else, not even our parents, would.
Lucy, I think, remembers what I said when we talked.
About sex.
We weren't supposed to, you know. Preacher's home and all. Matt warned us about that, gave us orders. No sex, girls. You're girls, after all, and sex is dirty and bad unless you're married and then it's up to the man to take control. It's good then, when the man takes control, because as girls, as women, you are all dangerous, hormonal. Lust burns in you, so don't talk about sex. Don't think about it. Ignore your body and your feelings.
Stay away from boys, Mary.
I kissed a boy in the back of a police car once and Matt went crazy over it. I went to a coed sleepover once and he dragged me home in a self-righteous rage.
Videotaped us that night when Mom and Dad gave Lucy and me "the talk".
He showed this to his class, you know. Got an "A". What did I get? Could I have said no, that this was personal?
Of course not. I was a bad girl.
#
You weren't there, when word about the video got out.
Intimate things about me, about my body, whispered in the halls.
You like boys, Mary? You like my package? Bend over; I know you like it when I check you out.
There weren't enough toilets this time, and it was quite clear that if I did anything, Mom and Dad had already concluded I was bad. Matt had gotten an "A", after all. Now he's in medical school, studying to be a gynecologist.
First-born son, favored child. The intimate, personal details about my sexual feelings must have really made an impact on him.
Lucy got it in school too, and like me, she knew better than to complain. I wonder if this was when she stopped fixing things, stopped having dreams.
When she started with the Minister thing.
It makes sense, in a way, because that way she could be St. Lucy. God would protect her from them, from those in school.
From you, who gossip.
But God didn't protect me, did he? Come on now, say the words. You know you want to.
No? You will, in time.
Be all that as it may, the decline of Mary, like so many things about 7th Heaven, is filled with potential for quality drama that will probably never be realized (which is one reason 7th Heaven lends itself so well to quality fanfiction). So here, for your consideration, is Hans the bold's interpretation of Mary, up to the events of the second episode of Season 8. As always, Mary and the Camdens and the odious people of Glenoak, California, as well as Glenoak itself, are the creations and property of Brenda Hampton, the WB, and other Hollywood big shots. They appear here only because I believe that there is interesting potential for a subtext to the story we have been given on the show itself.
Finally, I dedicate this story to Cate, whose marvelous 7th Heaven recaps made this show such a joy to watch.
ONE
* * *
There is life inside me.
It's the most amazing thing, you know? It hasn't moved yet -- it's too early for that -- but there is something, something for which there are no words, that I can feel.
Deep. There in my belly. Sometimes I'll just put my hand there and feel it.
Life.
You know me. All of you do. I'm the one you talk about, your favorite topic after the weekly service, the one whose name you can bandy about with those knowing looks, about whom you can just say, "tsk, tsk" and shake your head and hold up as an example of all that is wrong in America today.
Shame on her, you say.
Disobedient, stupid girl.
Well, you know what they say about preachers' kids.
I wonder sometimes if that isn't actually true. I don't have any way to know this, of course. When I was young the only other preacher's family we really knew were the Morgans, and Keisha wasn't my age. You could ask Lucy about her, if you like; are they still in touch?
Who are Lucy's friends anymore?
So maybe there is something about being the child of clergy that does something to you. All the preconceived notions, all the eyes in the congregation on you every Sunday, the expectations at school, all that. You have to be better, more moral, more proper. You can't be just any other kid, just any other girl.
I tried, you know. I tried to be me, who I was.
I tried at so many things.
Isn't it odd that the one thing I succeeded at, the one promise I made to myself when I was young that I was actually able to keep, is now the one thing that all of you now love to gossip about? All the things I actually did wrong, all the mistakes I made, all these you have forgotten.
But I haven't.
Basketball. I loved basketball. When you played, when you were out on that court, that feeling as you went for a lay-up, when you made that free throw, when your shot went in at the buzzer, God, that was something. I wasn't the preacher's daughter then, wasn't being watched and judged because of who my father was. I was just me, just Mary, the girl who could play. You never knew how important that was to me, and how it felt after I was hit by that car, when I had to limp around on crutches and watch. You never knew how easy it was to believe Coach Koper when he said I was good, that I could still do this thing, this thing that was so important to me.
But there was a price for his support, wasn't there? Do you gossip about how I refused to pay it? Do you gossip about how I said no to him?
Of course not.
College. There was going to be college, too. A basketball scholarship. I won't burden you, Mom and Dad. You can pay for Matt's schooling, for Lucy. I know you want to. I know you look at them and you see someone you regard as worthwhile. I know you always have. So I'll get my education with a scholarship, and you won't have to worry.
Only I wasn't good enough, was I?
Bad girl.
#
It was stupid, acting out like we did. I knew it then and I know it now. But that's the odd thing, isn't it? Knowing it wasn't enough. Admitting it wasn't enough. Cleaning it up and apologizing and being arrested and having nameless authorities threaten to take away my entire future wasn't enough. I was wrong, not just then but forever. You come to realize this, after a while. After a while you realize that you can never make up for not being what you are told to be, once people have decided that you are bad, that you are uppity, that you are trouble.
I remember once in school that a boy liked snapping girls' bras. He snapped mine, and I shoved his head into a toilet. Mom and Dad and Matt stood by me then, but I have to wonder; what did they really think, when they looked at me in the principal's office? I didn't go to you, didn't play the helpless girl. Was this to be held against me later?
Uppity girl.
Doesn't obey. Doesn't submit.
Lucy obeys. She submits. I've seen her with Kevin, with Mom, with Dad. She does what she's told.
Lucy.
I think she's the only one I can really trust anymore.
It's something about sisters, close sisters. We shared a room growing up, shared secrets. When she was obsessed with getting her period I did my best to help her deal with it and I think she understood this. Mom fed her some crap from Ecclesiastes and Dad got all excited about buying her tampons, but I actually talked to her.
Do you gossip about that?
Of course not.
And she was there for me, my sister was. She and she alone told the school that I wasn't bad, that I could be forgiven. I've never forgotten that, Lucy, even when things got to be so much, when they got to be too much. I remember my sister standing up for me when no one else, not even our parents, would.
Lucy, I think, remembers what I said when we talked.
About sex.
We weren't supposed to, you know. Preacher's home and all. Matt warned us about that, gave us orders. No sex, girls. You're girls, after all, and sex is dirty and bad unless you're married and then it's up to the man to take control. It's good then, when the man takes control, because as girls, as women, you are all dangerous, hormonal. Lust burns in you, so don't talk about sex. Don't think about it. Ignore your body and your feelings.
Stay away from boys, Mary.
I kissed a boy in the back of a police car once and Matt went crazy over it. I went to a coed sleepover once and he dragged me home in a self-righteous rage.
Videotaped us that night when Mom and Dad gave Lucy and me "the talk".
He showed this to his class, you know. Got an "A". What did I get? Could I have said no, that this was personal?
Of course not. I was a bad girl.
#
You weren't there, when word about the video got out.
Intimate things about me, about my body, whispered in the halls.
You like boys, Mary? You like my package? Bend over; I know you like it when I check you out.
There weren't enough toilets this time, and it was quite clear that if I did anything, Mom and Dad had already concluded I was bad. Matt had gotten an "A", after all. Now he's in medical school, studying to be a gynecologist.
First-born son, favored child. The intimate, personal details about my sexual feelings must have really made an impact on him.
Lucy got it in school too, and like me, she knew better than to complain. I wonder if this was when she stopped fixing things, stopped having dreams.
When she started with the Minister thing.
It makes sense, in a way, because that way she could be St. Lucy. God would protect her from them, from those in school.
From you, who gossip.
But God didn't protect me, did he? Come on now, say the words. You know you want to.
No? You will, in time.