Fred Hodges Archives
See Also: Anita Hodges  Brittany Hodges

Cocky banker goes limp!
by Vicki Johns
September 19, 2003

Fred Hodges is just about to get what he asked for. How delicious.

Did he think all of those years when he was off attending business dinner meetings and social club functions, missing class plays, PTA meetings, recitals and the like, that there would be no repercussions? Did he think his endless bankroll would make up for the lack of love and concern his pliable, impressionable and only God-given child so desperately and achingly begged for in every non-verbal way imaginable?

When are people in the town of Genoa City going to learn that children are living breathing creatures who require tremendous amounts of energy, attention, love and affection so as not to grow into the deranged, self-destructive, obsessed and half crazy individuals they themselves are? That children are not to be brought into this world to catch a mate, hold on to a mate, strengthen a marriage, prove one's ability to pro-create, satisfy a passing maternal or paternal whim, or any other such reason that has anything to do with anything other than the deep, abiding, genuine and heartfelt desire to create another life, foster it, cocoon it, and lead it gently down a path which encourages it, upon adulthood, to make the planet a better place for all mankind?

Indeed, when will they learn that children are life-long commitments that cannot be shuttled off to boarding schools, on merchant vessels, or locked away in rooms as soon as they reach an age no longer definable as "cute" or at an age when they might actually interfere with their parent's wanton desire to whore around with anyone in sight?

What Fred and Anita Hodges care about, primarily, is themselves, their image and their egos. Then they care about getting their kid into a good college. Nothing wrong with that. But it seems to be their only desire and it takes a lot more that that to be a parent, Mr. and Mrs. Hodges. And, of course, the only reason you want to get your kid into a good school is not that it will help to secure her future and a happy life, but so that you can vainly say to the ladies that lunch and the cigar-smoking cronies on the golf course: "Hey, my kid's at NYU. Look what I can afford. Can you top that?"

Mr. and Mrs. Hodges, did you ever say at any point – at any friggin point whatsoever - in the last 20 years: What is Brittany about? What is she made of? What does she want? What does she need? Or was she just an unplanned blob of protoplasm who developed out of an unprotected episode of teenage sex that had unfortunate consequences for you? Seems that way. Seems you did nothing over the last two decades than say, "Oh, Brittany, not now. Go play in your room with those new toys we bought for you."

And so now you find yourselves wondering why she has turned to a career where people do look at her, people do praise her, people accept her – indeed, a world where she is finally satiating a desire for things denied her all of her life. That applause, those yells of delight and approval serve as the blanket of love and warmth she's cried herself to sleep over all these years. The money? The money's nice, but don't let it fool you. It's never really about money, not for any of us.

Too bad Anita didn't join Fred for a night at Marsino's and too bad her tennis club members didn't either. They both deserve facing the humiliation of having everyone they have ever known to learn what pathetic and miserable parents they are.

Brittany, sing your heart out and strip your ass off. The world needs to know.