My Son Marshall, My Son Eminem (15 page)

I did not mean to sue my son for defamation; I just wanted to stop my home being repossessed and clear up the financial problems that had been caused. Gibson told me not to worry. He said that to sue Marshall for defamation would be a wake-up call to him, to stop him demeaning me in public. I felt as if I were in a bad dream and needed to wake up. The last thing I wanted to do was upset my son. I didn’t want his money. I had no idea where the figure of ten million came from either. According to the court papers Gibson filed at Macomb County Circuit Court, Michigan, I had suffered damage to my reputation, emotional distress, loss of self-esteem, humiliation, and anxiety over statements Marshall had made in
Rolling Stone
,
Source,
and
Rap Pages
, and on the Howard Stern radio show. There was just a passing reference to my home being repossessed. But this was all true—my son was destroying me. Gibson stapled a retraction letter to the lawsuit, instead of mailing it to Marshall. Marshall’s manager, Paul Rosenberg, fired back, saying, “Eminem’s life is reflected in his music. Everything he said can be verified as true. Truth is an absolute defense to a claim of defamation. His mother has been threatening to sue him since the success of his single ‘My Name Is.’ It is merely the result of a lifelong strained relationship between him and his mother. Regardless, it is still painful to be sued by your mother.”

Rosenberg and I never saw eye to eye on anything. Only I knew I had my son’s best interests at heart, and I had not threatened to sue him over “My Name Is.” I was terribly upset over the lyrics, especially the line where he makes comments about my breasts. That was horrible and upsetting because I’d contracted toxemia—blood poisoning—when I gave birth to him and hadn’t been able to breastfeed.

I thought the song was just plain silly. I actually thought he could have written something a lot better. Marshall said it was all a big joke, that no one believed the stuff he said was true.

Marshall and I were told that we were not allowed to respond in public over the lawsuit—everything had to be dealt with by our lawyers. But a record company executive telephoned me on one occasion.

“Do me a favor,” he said. “Keep everything going. We’re selling records.”

On another occasion Marshall rang, asking for the opposite.

“All I want for my birthday, for Father’s Day, for Christmas, and all the other holidays, is for you to drop the lawsuit,” Marshall said. “I’ll give you twenty-five thousand dollars. I will look after you for the rest of your life.”

I did everything I could to stop the legal action. My life with Marshall, everything, was spinning out of control. My mother got in on the act. When Marshall asked her if he could use a snippet of his Uncle Ronnie rapping on a tape they’d made as teenagers, she threatened to sue him too. That I thought was odd. She’d spent the last year bragging to anyone who would listen that Eminem was her grandson and that she’d brought him up alongside Ronnie. She’d even started selling Eminem Tshirts, claiming she had his blessing. Yet Mom was back and forth, first on my side and then against me. The whole family tried to get in on the picture.

Marshall hit back at my mom, telling the
Detroit News
, “My grandmother is going off on me. I loved Ronnie. I’ve got a Ronnie tattoo on my arm. I wanted to pay tribute to him.

“I let the public decide for themselves what idiots my family is. My family has never been there for me. They expect things because we’re blood.”

Just about anyone who’d ever married into my family, be that a step-sibling, half-cousin, or distant relative we didn’t know existed, now wanted a piece of Marshall. Bruce came out of the woodwork. He gave interviews, saying he’d tried to stay in touch when our marriage broke up but had no idea how to find us. Considering that Bruce’s own Aunt Edna and Nan—who had lived in the same house for fifty years—had always been a big part of Marshall’s life, he hadn’t looked very far. I wanted to scream that Marshall had written him letters, that he’d returned them unopened with the words “not known at this address” written across them. But, because of the stupid lawsuit, I couldn’t say a word.

I’m told that Bruce, along with his children Michael and Sarah, tried to go backstage to meet Marshall. He refused to see them, venting his fury on his next album,
The Marshall Mathers LP
, released in May of 2000.