RICE MUSINGS

I clearly remember an incident when my brother Ian had returned to Tauranga with his family and they were staying at the 666 Mountain Road property. My wife and children, along with Ian’s wife and children, spent the day together at Mount Maunganui Beach and then enjoyed a long lunch at Pizza Hut. The two boys, Adrian and Richard, gorged themselves on the free desserts—and so did we.

When we returned to Mountain Road together, we arrived to find an anxious Juliet who had expected us earlier and had prepared a large meal. Instead, we were all too full from lunch and simply wanted to relax with a few beers and wines. Juliet immediately went into full attack mode, accusing us of being alcoholics and disrespectful for not eating the meal she had prepared. As always, it became all about Juliet, with no consideration for the fact that our families had enjoyed a wonderful day out and just wanted to sit together and reminisce about our lives.

Her narcissism was on full display that evening, and we didn’t return to Mountain Road to visit her for several years afterward.

Juliet never agreed with the idea of unconditional love for her children—or for children in general. This became a point of difference between her and Maureen, with Juliet openly stating that she did not believe in loving children without conditions. In her view, love had to be earned through obedience and compliance.

Another defining characteristic was her inability—or unwillingness—to engage in family gatherings involving more than one person. She much preferred one-on-one meetings or private conversations with each child. On the rare occasions when her children gathered at her home, Juliet would deliberately distance herself from the group. She would busy herself in the kitchen, giving the impression she had too much to do to sit and join them.

Once a meal was over, she would often find ways to disperse the gathering. Guests would be encouraged—or subtly pushed—to go outside, take a walk to see the nearby waterfall, or engage in some other activity away from the house.

This pattern became undeniable after she attended Maureen’s wedding in New Plymouth around 1975. Surrounded by new faces and unfamiliar warmth, Juliet seemed adrift — uncomfortable, out of her depth, and threatened by the ease with which others connected. Rather than acknowledge her own discomfort, she redirected it. She later wrote to Maureen’s new mother-in-law, picking apart the way the wedding had been organised, as though fault-finding could restore her sense of control.

It was one more example of her inability to form healthy family connections — as if every gathering required a conflict to justify the tension she carried within herself. The drama always came, whether before, during, or in the uneasy silence that followed an event.

Years later, when Richard returned to New Zealand for his fiftieth birthday, the same script unfolded. Juliet didn’t want to attend, but when Richard stayed with her, she found a new grievance: he wasn’t grateful enough, didn’t praise her efforts, didn’t worship her presence. Appreciation was a currency only she could determine — and the price was always rising.

At Gerard’s wedding in the early 1990s, I noticed John and Ian flanking Juliet like a pair of bodyguards—an unmistakable sign of the control she held over them.

Growing up, I never questioned her authority. Even through her cruelty and the physical and emotional punishments, I never doubted her. I was completely under her control and believed she was normal and deserving of respect. I believed everything she said and adopted her views, even when she criticised me ruthlessly for failing to meet her standards. I never spoke against her or argued with her, nor did I question her relationships after my father died.

It was only after meeting my wife — and later being rejected by my mother, which was deeply painful — that I began to see her true personality. This realisation enabled me to break free from the spell she had over me, a spell the rest of the family remains under. My wife showed me how a normal family functions with unconditional love.

Juliet despised the closeness my wife and I shared. She fabricated malicious stories and manipulated my siblings into doubting who my wife truly was.

This was the spell that John’s wife recognised when she first met the clan in around 1974. She couldn’t believe how all the Rice children were constantly seeking their mother’s approval. If anyone should have made efforts to disconnect from their mother, it was John, yet he held on. By the time of her death at 95, he was more entangled in her emotional and financial life than ever before.

John, like some of his siblings, disciplined his own children in the same manner as their mother had. He in particular resorted to violently slapping his children’s faces as a cruel form of humiliation and control. There is no doubt this had serious and lasting implications for their children’s emotional well-being. They grew up walking on eggshells, constantly seeking approval, and fearing the very people who should have kept them safe. The scars of that control would follow them into adulthood, shaping their trust, their relationships, and their understanding of love itself.