At the Autograph Show

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Personal Essays<br>At the Autograph Show<br>Kevin Jack McEnroe on finding peace in saying no to his mother, Tatum O’Neal.

Oldster Magazine and Kevin Jack McEnroe<br>Jun 02, 2026

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Kevin Jack McEnroe as a small child with his mother, Tatum O’Neal, and his sister, Emily.<br>My mother used to draw these pictures when I was little and she was high.<br>My sister and I would sit there with her and draw, too. My mother loved to be around my sister but my mother couldn’t not use drugs. It created lovely long lunches like this.<br>My mother had an autograph show in September. At just 62 she can no longer read or write, but she can sign her name—the celebrity part of her brain remains relatively untouched. She’s still Tatum O’Neal, the actress, after all, which is how she used to introduce herself when she made reservations. She still gets her nails done bi-weekly, by a woman who comes to her, who I have to Venmo. She gets her hair done at the fanciest place in West Hollywood, sometimes near Rihanna. When she gets nervous she needs to be more blonde. She vapes in the Uber, even when they ask her not to. She wants what she wants when she wants it, and she makes “no” feel impossible.

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In certain respects, my mother’s stroke, caused by a drug overdose—most of which was prescribed, everything except the meth—has made her the mother I always hoped for. She’s relatively reliable, and accountable. She’s full of love—she’s a fan. I know where she is, and what she’s doing. She cares and she listens, and sometimes she asks how you’re doing, too, and not because she knows she’s supposed to, and not because if she queries then you might be more willing to ask her.<br>Because she wants to know. I always knew that was in there—in her. I remember it from when I was a kid, before drugs were prescribed by doctors, and so there was using, or there wasn’t using, and there was clean time, and some of those times were mom times. These usually coincided with periods where she seemed to forget to blonde her hair. And she always, with her kiddos, looks so happy.<br>And she’s safe. Most importantly, she’s safe. My whole life I thought if I wasn’t around then something bad would happen, because it usually did. Once, I was supposed to visit her over spring break or something, but I had just fallen for a girl and I wanted to take her on a trip. When I got back my mother had overdosed, again, and was in the hospital, and she told me it was my fault. If I had only visited, then this wouldn’t have happened.<br>My mother had an autograph show in September. At just 62 she can no longer read or write, but she can sign her name—the celebrity part of her brain remains relatively untouched. She’s still Tatum O’Neal, the actress, after all, which is how she used to introduce herself when she made reservations.

People used to ask me about codependency, and I would say I don’t think you know what that means. I don’t think I’m codependent because I don’t think something bad is going to happen if I don’t answer the phone when she’s calling, I know something bad will, because it already has. It always has, and she blamed me because she believed it. If she couldn’t be a mom then it wasn’t worth trying at life.<br>So my choice, today, is to not care, and move on, or try and help her. My problem, then, was that I didn’t know how to fail. I didn’t know what to do if I helped her and she still struggled because she was wrong. She’s a good person, allowed to live a good life, and she doesn’t need a reason. I don’t mind that I tried with her for so long, but for a long time I wished I knew how.<br>But one day, after she threatened to kill herself, it occurred to me that I’d tried as hard as I could and if she really didn’t want to live anymore then that wasn’t my fault. The only thing you can do for an addict, or at least one like me and her, is provide an example of how to live a different way, and dear God stop trying to convince them.

One of the author’s mother’s drawings, made when she was high, and he was small.<br>An addict doesn’t not love you, at least in my mother’s case, but an addict robs from you your peace of mind, and they can’t see it. You always think the moment you leave them alone that they’re in danger. You monitor their moods—having to take their temperature—because if it falls below a certain degree on the thermostat something like thunder rolls in, and then rain, and it’s difficult to find shelter. I still feel this sometimes, even though I know she’s okay. It’s impractical—unintellectual—but it’s in your bones.<br>Given that Tatum has become a progressive freedom fighter on Instagram, I get nervous when she watches the news too much, or participates with reels, because it brings her down. But it also gives her purpose—she’s always had a cause—so wherever it takes her is justified. The world is troubled, no matter your perspective, and sad things are allowed to make people sad; I can’t control that, but I...