Reanna Madura spent her childhood in the middle of a dark family secret — one harbored by the now 25-year-old’s mother, Melissa Rose, who lived in fear that the truth might scar her daughter for life.
Only when she turned 18 did the guilt-ridden parent finally reveal her shame — which had haunted the Midwesterner for nearly two decades.
“I was a senior in high school, and on a random day, my mom sat me down and said, ‘You were on the “Maury” show as a paternity test baby,” Reanna, a call center rep living in Chicago, exclusively told The Post. “She thought I was going to be upset, but I was, like, ‘Oh, my God, that’s so cool!'”
Melissa, 42, remembers the Gen Zer’s reaction to the news a little differently.
“She was, like, ‘No f-king way!'” the married mom of three told The Post, recalling that she sighed with relief herself. “It was one of the first times I’d ever heard her swear.”
Melissa was just 16 when she became pregnant by a former boyfriend in late 1999 — and age 17 when she appeared on the then-hit daytime talk show hosted by Maury Povich, 3-month-old Reanna in her arms, back in October 2000.
“I made a phone call to the show because, at the time, you couldn’t just buy an over-the-counter DNA test at your local pharmacy,” said Melissa, who described years of “embarrassment” after opting to air her dirty laundry on nationally syndicated television, all for the sake of her daughter.
Her ex-boyfriend — whose name she asked The Post to withhold — had denied fathering Reanna, following a heated argument.
“Those tests cost around $2,500 back then, and I was just an uneducated teenager with very little guidance, who wanted the best for my kid,” Melissa recalled.
Reanna is among the elite and infamous collection of Y2K-era kids whose parents — some young, some naïve, some impoverished, but all entangled in salacious, sex-spawned strife — sought the help of Povich, a tabloid television legend.
The retired host, now 86, left an indelible impression on 1990s and 2000s culture, largely due to a policy of offering free DNA evaluations to guests — in exchange for the use of their relationship drama as content.
Paternity test-themed episodes of “Maury” — which first aired in September 1991 — sizzled as spicy must-see TV for much of the show’s run.
There were fierce on-air spats between flings-turned-foes. Deadbeat dads who swore that the child in question wasn’t theirs. Screaming, sobbing mothers who sometimes tested over 10 men to determine paternity.
And, of course, there were the “Maury babies,” such as Reanna, unwittingly at the center of the mayhem.
Each segment was brought to a climactic peak — Povich opening a sealed manila envelope containing the test results, before declaring either “You are the father!” or “You are not the father!” as the audience hooted and howled.
Those revelations often sent at least one disappointed parent sprinting backstage in despair — cameramen following in hot pursuit, dutifully capturing every second of the meltdown.
The barely contained chaos kept audiences on the edges of their seats for 31 seasons; the show finally ended in 2022.
And while the program often caught flak from detractors who deemed the format exploitative, in part due to the less-than-stellar social status of many show guests, Povich told The Post he never intended to take advantage of those in need.
“All I ever wanted to do was to find out if we could provide young kids with two active parents in their lives instead of one,” he explained in an interview, adding that he never knew the test results before reading them on camera.
“And on the other side, if the fellow was not the father, I wanted to help these families learn the truth,” the retired journalist said. “I have no regrets.”
While the show is now TV history, the topic of families publicly sharing the otherwise private or intimate details of their children’s lives is as relevant as ever, said NYC psychotherapist Matt Lindquist, who told The Post that oversharing parents run the risk of mentally, emotionally and socially scarring their offspring in the longterm.
“Parents can sometimes make really consequential decisions for their kids without fully thinking through how they will influence a child’s future,” Lindquist, founder of Tribeca Therapy, explained, emphasizing that he’s not casting aspersions on the “Maury” show, or its guests.
“Publicizing this very sensitive information for the world to see live, on reruns and resurfaced internet clips can interfere with a child’s ability to define themselves — they may always feel defined as ‘that baby on “Maury,'” ” he said.
Genny Finkel, a relationship therapist on the Upper East Side, warned of a risk of “intergenerational trauma” stemming from the Maury reveals.
“Those kids have had to grow up with one of their most vulnerable, private life experiences being caught on tape without their consent,” she said, telling The Post that feelings of resentment, betrayal and disconnection could begin sprouting in discontented “Maury” kids, as they become adults.
“As a baby, you’ve been put out there for public consumption, kind of thrown to the wolves, how do you ever trust your parents? And how will that relationship impact the ways you relate to friends, partners or even your own children, who all have access to this personal information about you?” Finkel said.
Reanna insists she feels no resentment towards her mother for making her famous, before even cutting her first tooth. Instead, she hails Melissa as “strong” for standing up to her ex — who was, in fact, the father.
The Gen Zer said she’d spent much of her early adolescence trying to build a connection with her absent father — deciding eventually to drop the idea.
“We have a VHS tape of our episode,” Reanna said. “Once I watched the video, it was clear my dad never wanted anything to do with me.”
And despite her controversial moment in the spotlight as an infant, Reanna’s grown up to be a happy, well-adjusted youth cheerleading coach and big sister to Melissa’s two youngest children, ages 16 and 12.
“I love that I’m a ‘Maury’ baby,” she said. “I tell everyone I meet. It’s my favorite icebreaker.”
Reanna’s relaxed attitude toward her bizarre backstory isn’t shared by fellow Midwesterner Makayla Ann, 24.
“Being a ‘Maury’ baby has come back to haunt me a few times. It’s really embarrassing,” the single mother of one told The Post.
The nutrition aide, who didn’t want to share her last name and goes by “Kayla” these days, was just three back in 2005, when her mother, Missy, brought her on the show — hoping to prove that a man named Freddie was her dad.
Much to Missy’s dismay, he was not.
More than 20 years later, clips of the decades-old bedlam have garnered more than 2.5 million views online — which is how Kayla, then an innocent toddler tucked away in a backstage waiting room with a camera zooming in on her face, eventually learned of her unusual origin story.
“I found out that I was on ‘Maury’ at 10, when some random person sent me a link to the episode on Facebook,” said Kayla. “I was disgusted. It was trashy.”
When Kayla asked her mom, she “refused to talk about it,” Kayla said.
“I resented my mom. She shared a story about me — her drama, my paternity — and it wasn’t hers to tell,” she continued.
“The control over my own story was stolen from me at [age] 3.”
Since the unwelcome reveal, the relationship with her mother has been strained, Kayla said.
Warning: Video below contains graphic language.
Throughout her adolescence, exhumed snippets from the family’s episode trended on social media, leaving the teen susceptible to bullying.
“It went around my high school. I was made fun of. I had a big falling out with a best friend who shared the clip,” Kayla groaned. “Life was really hard for a while.”
Now caring for a newborn son, Kayla advocates against parents oversharing pictures, videos and personal tidbits online.
“I’m so passionate about encouraging mothers and fathers to think twice before [bringing their kids on television] or posting them on the internet. You never know where it’s going to end up,” she said. “Anything you share about your kids will be out there forever.
