Making other people feel better-- Adoptee Job Description.

I’ve been doing a lot of reading lately in adoption-blog-land....and I’m a little sickened today. I haven’t had a strong visceral reaction to a post in a long time. And when I do, its usually when I jump to the defense of a fellow adoptee, or a friend. But this time, I found myself doing the criticizing. I found myself getting defensive over something that, frankly, isn’t any of my damn business.

I hate hate hate hate hate seeing the difference between kept children and placed children. Perhaps its a soft spot for me, considering I am the infamous “placed child”, whose little sister was born just 2 years after me. Under the same circumstances. 

So yeah, I’m a little bitter. My sister has spent all 11 years of our reunion making sure I understand how special she is, how loved, how wanted. Yeah bitch, I get it. Mom and Dad kept you and gave me away. I know I know I know. You were, and will always be, loved and treasured in a way that I can only dream of. Thanks for the reminder.

So perhaps that is why I got all upset today when I read a blog today where the writer addresses her kept son, telling him how loved and special he is and how he should never worry because he won’t be given away. As much as I personally enjoy this blogger and her personal story, I was so taken aback. So..angry. I was so angry for her son, the first one, who gets to live the rest of his life in an open adoption where he can see firsthand his mother’s love for her second, kept child. And then maybe he will read what she is written... and see his mother promise her younger, kept child, how he will never be left, how he will always be their beloved child.

I understand that a big reason why my parents did not want to place my sister was because of their relinquishment experience with me. My birthfather has told me on more than one occasion that when I was born, he chose his own freedom over me. But when my sister was born, he decided his freedom wasn’t worth losing another child.

And perhaps thats what the author of that post feels. She regrets placing her firstborn, and maybe it was with that regret in mind that the birth of her second child was such a miracle, such a joy. And there is nothing wrong with that. But I hurt for the placed child- I hurt for him. 

I admit that I resent my sister for being kept when I wasn’t. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that my sister is a spoiled little monster. Or maybe it’s just the adoptee in me that gets tired of being reminded how special she is. How wanted she was. How her place in OUR family is forever- how she will never have to stay awake at night overanalyzing every word that they say. Because she is one of them. She belongs. There is no question, there is no doubt. She is the daughter, niece, grandchild, and cousin.  Loved and beloved, accepted into the family fold without question or difficulty. And I guess on some level, I hate for for that. 

It’s not her fault. If our birthdays had been swapped, I’D be the one in the family, and she would have been adopted out. But she doesn’t see it that way. Our parents never thought about giving her away. And she never forgets to remind me. 

I’m tired of the plight of the kept child. How everyone has to be extra careful to say just the right things, lest they think that they too will be given away. Oh please. If they were going to give you away, they would have done it when you were born. Exactly like they did to us. The parents’ constant need to assure their kept children of their love and value and importance is a direct slap into the face of the adoptee. And in my case, it created a monster- a little girl who was convinced of her own inflated self worth and specialness- who became a teenager who is convinced of the same things, who became an adult who is convinced that her innate value was what saved her from the world of adoption. And it was my lack of value that condemned me to it. 

I hope that child never sees his siblings’ story. I hope he can look past his parents’ gushing love for his kept brother and see their love for him. But I suspect, just as in my case, that he will see something else: that he was a result of an undesired pregnancy and that his brother was the result of something very different. That his parents never thought about giving away their second son. The same parents who not only THOUGHT of giving him to another family..they actually did it. 

I don’t think that couples who place children for adoption should remain childless. That’s absurd. Everyone on this earth has a right to happiness. But the overwhelming and special love for one child should NEVER be highlighted by the exile of the other. 

“We love you so much, you are ours forever and ever. We will always be your mom and dad. We will never do to you what we have done to your sister.” 

how about :

“We love you so much. You are ours forever and ever. We miss and love your brother too, forever and ever.  We are a family, all of us. We want to teach you that love can encompass distance and legalities.”

 But then again.... that’s just my opinion.  If the fact that I was placed and my sister wasn’t can make her feel better about herself... I guess that’s the price I’ve got to pay. I’ve been the sacrificial lamb for familial harmony before. It’s all good.

Open Adoption, a not objective view

I have never felt 100% comfortable with the idea of an open adoption. Even though I have a few very speicalMy own adoption was semi-closed.. in that my natural parents received yearly photos of me up until my 5th birthday, when my parents simply forgot and stopped sending them. A few years later, my natural father called them- politely requesting that my parents recommence sending the photos that were promised to him. Of course, my parents did so- up until my reunion when I was 12 years old.

My parents will tell you that my adoption was open. Born during world war II- both of them have a very traditional idea of adoption and what it should entail. The fact that they sent photos of me, even though they “didn’t have to” constitutes, for them, an open adoption.

But this is not the concept of open adoption that I would like to explore. I’m more focused on the modern concept of “openness”- where natural and adoptive parents have a communicative relationship for the sake of the child. Said child, in theory, will grow up with less confusion, a lessoned or eliminated sense of abandonment, and valuable information about their biological relatives and genetic history.

It sounds great, doesn’t it? But I’m not so sure. From what I have read (and I’ve read a lot)- open adoption was originally proposed as a more palatable alternative to traditional adoption practices. The theory was that if they were promised ongoing contact, photos, and a relationship with their child- mothers would be more willing to relinquish. It sounds like offering a dog a tasty treat before tossing them off the bridge, rather than pushing them outright. It sounds to me like a ploy. And I don’t like it.

 I am of the idea that adoptions should be rare. Super rare. So rare that is absolutely a last resort for all involved. Convincing capable, healthy, modern women to give up their children with the promise that they can see them is, in my opinion, very, very sad. I don’t think that open adoption will harm a child. I don’t think that extra love can ever be a bad thing. I do think that it is more than likely that the child will have to face different difficulties than those of us from the more closed eras have had to face. All in all, it sounds like it could be a GOOD thing for the child. But its a good thing that is attempting to bandage a bad thing. 

I am against open adoption for one reason and one reason only: it was designed to encourage more women to relinquish. And its worked, hasn’t it? The vast majority of women who are placing nowadays are insisting upon open adoptions. And that is what irritates me. These children, these children who became adoptees, were conceived, born, relinquished and adopted just like the rest of us. The general public is FINALLY accepting the fact that much of adoptee pain is caused by secrecy and lies and shame. But these adoptees in open adoptions? They, in theory, don’t have that secrecy. They were openly relinquished... made to consistently see, every time their natural parents visit, what  they are missing out on. They will see their siblings be born and kept. If the siblings are happy, they will say: wouldn’t I have been happy too?” When they see the joy that the new baby brings their natural family, they will say “why weren’t they happy like that for me?”

And when these adoptees feel these griefs...who will listen to them? Maybe the adoptive parents, even though it will hurt them to hear it. Maybe the natural parents,  if they are capable of seeing that their supposedly “fool proof” relinquishment plan wasn’t all that perfect. But in the world outside of adoption- who will care about these kids? They will say “You’ve got a good family, you got every advantage. You even get to know and have a relationship with your biological family. You’ve got everything..what do you want???”

The world of open adoption is an enticing one. But I see it is a bandaid- a flimsy adhesive made to fix that which has been broken beyond repair. The gooey icing you smear on the cake to hide its bitter taste. These children, the ones being born and placed right now, are adoptees like the rest of us. They have been exiled, like the rest of us. The cast away children- they will be given a rare opportunity to see first hand what all adoptees can imagine- exactly how their natural family has gone on without them. 

The peculiar status of the adoptee...

I've read a few posts recently- most of them discussing the fact that natural mothers and adoptees are equal, and that pain is pain..nomatter where it lands. Those who harp upon their own pain are told, in some of these posts, that adoption is not the worst thing that can happen.

I think that's a pretty fair statement. One must only look in the newspaper- any newspaper- to find stories of those who are worse off than us. It's not hard. Human suffering, sadly, is alive and well in our world. You can read about rape, murder, accidents, and tragedies. It puts being placed for adoption in perspective, doesn't it?

I don't think that adoption pain is more painful than other types of sadness. I don't think its the worst thing that can happen to an infant. I do, however, think that adoptee pain is unique. I think it is unique in many ways..one of them being that we don't have a reference point. We can never say "things were better before the accident" or, " our life was so much more full beforehand." Being adopted is our LIVES. It is our complete existence.  I don't agree that adoptee pain is more valid than that of natural parents. But I do believe it's different.. I do believe that it is not comparable. I do believe that we are the major players in adoption.

 We are the adoptees. We were relinquished, stripped of our original identities and robbed of the most natural of human knowledge. We were placed into adoptive families..some good, some bad. Everyone else in our stories had a hand to play.  Adoptive parents who adopted us, and natural families who relinquished us. Nomatter what anyone says..I will never accept that the nature of choice is the same. That nobody had a say in any of it. As adoptees, we are the ONLY ones who were COMPLETELY and utterly at the whims of the adults in our lives. Mothers from the BSE had no choice, I acknowledge that. But their parents probably had a role in the placements of their grandchildren. Someone had to want it. Adoptees never got to want anything.


So yes.. I suppose that makes me a little biased. I suppose that makes me "unfair" or "insensitive." But I am an adoptee, and I advocate for adoptees. I do believe that we are the most important members of the triad. Not sentimentally- I don't think our FEELINGS matter more. But I think that the other members of the adoption community (adoptive and natural parents) play secondary roles. Because the point remains this: both natural and adotive parents played a ROLE in our adoption- but we are the ONLY ONES who were relinquished and adopted. We are the ones with no reference point, with no idea how the rest of the world functions within their families of origin. We just don't know how it feels to be a part of the family you were born into. And we will never know.. no reunion can fix that.

I am not a selfish person. It's not in my nature. In fact, I might even go so far as to say that I am  an inherently altruistic person. I have never treated my natural family with anything but the utmost respect, love, and compassion. Never. Not once. Even though, frankly, some of them deserve to be smacked. I don't think that I'm the all mighty powerful adoptee, who can wreak havoc on my natural family's lives without consequence or regret. I don't think that. But I do think that I was the one who was placed, and I was the one who was adopted. I don't think its my job to make either set of parents feel good about what they have or haven't done. I am an adoptee...part of a small and often unrecognized minority group. We are the children of parents who gave us to others to raise. And I resent that ANYONE tells us that our positions within the adoption community are all equal. They are not. They have never been. Out of the three parts- only ONE of us has been placed for adoption and has had to live with that.

How has losing my mother affected me?

How has losing my mother affected me?

I had an interesting discussion with my adoptive mother recently, regarding the book "The Primal Wound". I never bought into it... but my mother does! Which surprised me, to say the least.

I've lost my natural mother various times. When I was born, when I was a pre-teen, and two years ago. She has always loved me, though I've gone through  some periods in my life in which I seriously doubted it. How can she have loved me?  Mothers who love their children keep their children. Thats a pretty basic fact. But nothing is basic in the world of adoption. Only in the world of adoption are we introduced, often at a very young age, to the concept of  "love= left."

"Your mother loved you so much that she gave you away."

In what other context does that absurd statement make sense?
Your husband loved you so much that he divorced you.
Your boyfriend loved you so much that he broke up with you.
Your cat loved you so much that she ran away to live with the neighbors.

It all sounds pretty damn stupid, right? Well, it is. I am not an idiot. I don't believe that my mothers love for me is what motivated her to give me to another family. I think my  domineering paternal family, her own insecurities, and my natural fathers threats to break up with her were the more likely catalysts. At the end of the day, though, my mother DID give me away.  You can sugarcoat or rephrase that in anyway you'd like. But I am very sure in my wording.

So where does that leave me? The cast away child, the given away baby... what does that mean for MY existence? For my life?
I am not afraid that my adoptive mother is going to leave me. I am not afraid that one my parents will just stop loving me and pass me along to the next adoptive couple in line. I don't think I'm worthless, I don't think I'm disposable. At least not as the woman I am now. But I am acutely aware of the fact that once my mother gave up her rights to me, I was  a commodity. Like a pair of slippers or a Labrador Retriever. I don't believe that I was preordained by God, or anyone else, to end up in my adoptive family. I belonged with my mother- the one who gave birth to me. Once she didn't want me..nobody did. At least not in the way that most babies are wanted. I was merely "a baby". And whomever adopted me did so because they wanted "a baby"..not because they wanted me. Most parents long for THEIR child, for the baby that THEY created.

My friend (whom I live with) has a blown-up photo of her minutes after birth. She looks confused (as do most newborn babies), and is wrapped in a pink blanket. She hasn't even been dried off. Underneath the photo, there is a handwritten message; saying ( In Italian) " To our niece- the beauty who is much wanted, much loved, and much waited for. We love you, thankyou for being born, Love Aunt & Uncle".

I hate that picture. I hate it so fucking much. I am in her room roughly 6 hours everyday. Our kitchen table is in there ( don't ask) and she has the best breeze. I could draw her room from memory..except the wall near the dresser, where that photo hangs. I don't look there. I purposefully avoid it. It touches something within me, a point of weakness.  It reminds me so much of my biggest flaw, my biggest hurdle in life. My mother gave me away, and then I was nobody. The identity I have forged with my adoptive family has nothing to do with the baby who I was when I was fresh out of the womb.  That child no longer exists.

When people ask me how adoption has affected me...I say "not much". The act of being adopted into my family was not traumatic. I love my family. I feel like I belong with them. The real question, I suppose, is how has my mothers leaving me affected me? How has THAT formed my identity? The answer is: I don't know. I can't know. I don't want to know. I can't bring myself to go there, not on any deep level.

When all of our friends see that photo on my housemates wall, they coo " Oh you were SO CUTE".  The fact that I cannot bring myself to look at that photo without crying says something about the effect my mothers absence has had on my life. The fact that I avoid that entire wall says a lot. In fact, I suspect it says it all.

I don't have any pictures from when I was born.  They don't exist... I've asked my natural family. The earliest I have is when I am about 2 months old, in the arms of my adoptive mother on a stoop in Brooklyn. I'm sleeping. I wonder what I looked like as a newborn. I wonder who was there, who waited for me. But I guess it doesn't matter. The most telling thing is that nobody had a camera.

Extended Dislocation

I've never admitted this before.  Even now as I type these words..I feel guilty. I feel as if I am risking a lot.... as if typing these words will someone make them more true than I already think they are.

I don't fit in sometimes with my  extended adoptive family. My maternal grandparents adore me. My aunts and uncles and cousins...they are all nice to me. But there are many things that have happened over the years that demonstrate to me, sadly, that I am not quite "one of them."

My mother has two brothers.  Both of these brothers have children. These children are all very close- they all share a last name. It came to a point once where one of my cousins went to live with my aunt and uncle due to ideological problems with his parents. When they had a graduation party, I was not invited. When they have joint birthday parties, I am not invited. I find out about these mini-parties at bigger ones- Christmas, Thanksgiving, Halloween. I see pictures of all of them, at their respective homes, celebrating various occasions. I once overheard one of my aunts complaining to my grandmother  and grandfather that she gave me too much attention, that I wasn't even really "her grandchild" and that the love should be  reserved for her children- the REAL grandkids. I was six. I still remember that day.

My grandparents keep the family together. But I wonder, sometimes, what will happen when they die. Will I still be invited to family dinners...will I still exist? My big Italian/Irish family always goodnaturedly fight at the dinner table. They are 90% Italian and 10% Irish. They argue over which nationality is better. Both my uncles and all of my cousins are members of the NYPD and NYFD...the prestigious and very "clique-y" law enforcement groups in New York City. They all have this bond- they are loud, Italian, New Yorkers. What am I?

This Easter, my cousin announced that he was marrying his girlfriend of 2 months. Everybody at the table knew why...even though nobody said it  out loud. They are both 21 years old.  Later, my grandmother and I spoke in private. She is, of course, disappointed about the 'early' and impending arrival of her first great-grandchild. But, she said, it will be nice to have a baby in the house again.  When someone in my family mentioned adoption ( I dont remember who), she said " No, no. We keep our babies in this family."

I live in Europe..so I heard all of this over the telephone. My grandother apologized to me later, for her "indescretion."

"I didn't mean that bad families don't keep their babies" she said "... I didn't mean that." But  thats exactly what she meant.

Another time, while trying to convince her sons to get good grades as I do, my aunt said "Look at Amanda, look how she gets such good grades and is such a good girl! You all had the BEST start in life. Amanda had it rough, her parents gave her away! You all had the best start, cherished from before you were born. Why can't you get good grades like she does?"
Thanks, Aunt Lisa.

I have two nephews. I love them dearly and they love me.  I call them all the time, I write them colorful letters from the country where I live. I send them handmade, handstitched bedtime stories. I call their mother on mothers day, my brother (their father) on fathers day.  They are nice to me, never forget my birthday, and love me dearly. But... I am afraid I don't matter. I am afraid I am the "adopted" aunt....the "adopted sister" of my brother.  An extra. I don't think my nephews know I am adopted. I am simply "aunt Amanda". But what about when they find out? What will it mean to them?

And so I wonder- is this merely another one of the burdens that we, as adoptees, are "lucky" enough to bear? When my parents are gone... what will I be? What will I become? I am a part of this family because they brought me into it. But when they are no longer here to love me, to be my mom and dad.... will I still be Aunt Amanda? Cousin Amanda? Or will my place in this family disappear.... a bastard baby brought into their midst, but who was never meant to stay?

Not with a whimper

(Me, 7 years old. Looking a lot like the blonde version of my sister.)

My full  sister, Nicole, and I were finally talking. After 10 years of silence and bickering and hatred....we seemed to have gotten over our differences. We were "sisters" on facebook. She joined the police academy, she was making something out of her life. I was proud of her. I was always wary, of course. But I cared about her- I maybe even loved her.

And then, she disappeared. And I let her do it. She saw via facebook that I had been connecting with various members of our mother's family- our cousins, aunts, grandmother. Nicole hates our mother with a passion that is sort of frightening. She saw that I was communicating with them, and she deleted me from facebook. She sent me a message, explaining her actions.

"I do not want to communicate with you anymore", she wrote. "I don't want anything to do with our mother or her family- and I refuse to have anything to do with you if you insist on talking to them. They will burn you as t hey have burned me. And don't come asking me for help- because I will be the first one to tell you " I told you so." I'm not trying to be a bitch, but we can't talk anymore. Good luck...you can't help the helpless."

I could feel the hurt swelling in my chest. I ran into the kitchen to find my friend and housemate, Debora. We smoked a cigarette and I explained to her (in Italian) what had happened. She sat quietly on the kitchen table, blowing smoke rings into the air.  She told me "Amanda, you do not need her. You are a better person. What has your sister EVER done to deserve your loyalty? She has hurt you for years. I know you've been burned by your mother too...I but think you believe in second chances. Everyone, even your mother and her family, deserves a second chance. Your sisters experience is not yours. Don't compromise your compassion for her hatred."

She was right. I knew that my sisters love and acceptance was conditional. "I will love you," she said, "We are sisters". But only if I do exactly as she says. I wrote her a message, explaining that I will not abandon my love for my mother or her family because SHE doesn't approve. I told her I am sorry, oh so sorry, that she cannot accept me for what I am, that she cannot love me despite her hate. But I won't back down- I won't stop communicating with other members of my family because it annoys her.

I believe in redemption. I believe in second chances. I believe that my sister has asked the impossible of me- she is asking me to choose. I thought, for a moment, about ceasing all contact with my maternal family. But then I realized...what kind of sister would ask me to make a choice like that? She cut me out of her life so quickly..she ignored my protests to have a discussion about it. I was dispensable..but why was I suprised?

My mothers family has never been anything but nice to me. They send me postcards from the USA when I am here across the ocean. They send me nice messages, they talk to me about the past- about the future. My sister has given me pain for years. I will not abandon them for her.

And so I say goodbye- goodbye to the sister who has never loved me, goodbye to the sisterhood that we almost had. One day, Nicole, you will realize what you have lost- you will realize that your hate and inability to forgive will hurt you more than anyone else. I believe in second chances. I believe in redemption. I believe that I  owe my mother this.

Nicole- I hope you change your mind one day. I am the only sister you have- the only full-blood sibling. I waited to be your friend for years. I mourn this loss, I  am saddened by your callousness. I know you have been hurt, but  cutting me out of your life will not save you from harm. It means only one thing - you won't have me in your life. I believe in redemption, in atonement, in trying as hard as you can to make right what has gone wrong. There is always a price for adoptees. And I guess losing you is the price I have to pay to love my family, to love my mother.  Though it pains me more than you can imagine...I think I can afford it.

Unintended Victims

I've been thinking a lot lately about the balance of power in reunions, and  the notions that we all "owe" one another.

I cant tell you how much that irritates me. As a disclaimer, I will say that I am very much in favor of respect, cordiality, and common human decency within reunions. I think that in order for a reunion to function, both adoptees and natural parents must treat eachother with mutual respect, understanding, and compassion.

But the notion that the planes are equal is absurd. Of course its not equal. I believe, and am not afraid to say it, that I think adoptees SHOULD hold the cards in regards to reunion.  Why? It's simple. Someone decided to place us for adoption...if not directly our parents, our grandparents. The decision to expel us from our families was made by someone.  To every decision there is a consequence. And one of them, in my opinion, is that the adult adoptee will get to choose whether or not to include their biological families in their lives. In reunion, I believe that we finally are deserving of the power to say "yes" or "no" in regards to our interactions with our biological families. I don't think anyone will argue that adoptees "owe" their natural parents a realtionship or a visit. But what about the kept siblings? What if they want to know their placed sister or brother?

Well...too bad. I feel bad writing those words, but it's how I feel.  My heart aches for the little children who simply cannot understand why their sibling has no interest in knowing them.  And I pity the adoptee who alienates their biological families..especially siblings. Because knowing them can be an enormous gift. But are we obligated? Do we owe it to our parents kept children to be their friend? Sorry... no. Let Mom and Dad  or Grandma and Grandpa explain why little Johnny doesn't live with them anymore. Even if it wasn't  the natural parents choice to place (it happens)- they still need to explain to their kept children about societal pressures, influence, and family injustices. I'm sure the story around the siblings placement isn't a happy one. Relinquishment stories rarely are. But you want to know why mom and dad didnt keep your  sister or brother? You'd better ask mom and dad. Because your sibling was itty bitty when it happened. They had no more control than you have.

Asking anything of the sort of the adoptee is ludicrous. I'm not here to explain to my little sister why our parents gave me away 2 years before she was born. It wasn't my decision, baby doll. And had I been consulted, I probably wouldn't have been in favor of it.

It is a SHAME when children have to pay for adults mistakes or decisions. I know...adoptees are the opitome of children who pay for the actions of adults. We are the spokespeople. Sometimes the sum is heavy, sometimes not so much. But there is always something to pay. There is always a price. I ache for the children who want to know their siblings, for the loving parents who want to know their placed children. I ache, and I wish I could shake some of those adoptees, and say "DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW LUCKY YOU ARE?? GO PICK UP THAT PHONE, IDIOT!"

Personally? I have never denied a sibling. Or a relative. I have been denied over and over...but I have never rejected a soul. I don't understand adoptees who simply don't care about their natural families. But... I cannot blame them. I cannot criticize them. I think it is their right.

I'm tired of obligations. I'm tired of the argument of " the equal playing field". The field has NEVER been even, my friends. It certainly wasn't when I was born, and it never will be. I still have members of my biological family who can't look me in the eye simply because I exist. My kept siblings have always had their love and affection and acceptance. My sister wants an explanation? Go ask Grandma. Go ask Dad. Go ask mom. Your family decided this. We grew up apart because of them. You have a question? A complaint?  Don't understand how mom and dad could give away one child and keep others? You wanna know your brother? You want an explanation? Don't dial my number, sis. I don't understand it either.
'

Augmented birth certificates and natural parents

I 100% support that adoptees should have their original birth certificates. I believe that we, as human beings, have a right to know the circumstances of our birth and to have the legitimate document at our disposal should we want to consult it.

Theres been talk lately about whether or not natural parents should have  the right to obtain their child's AUGMENTED birth certificate.  And to that, I say NO.

And my reasoning is really quite simple. Relinquishment is the termination of parental rights. Just as , under the law, the natural parents are no longer the child's guardians,  they should have no rights to the child's augmented birth certificate- just as they would have no rights to the birth certificates of any child they met on the street.

Some people will argue that the open records should go both ways. I don't think that makes any sense.  Adoptees deserve their original birth certificates because it is something that every other citizen in the USA has posession of. It represents our original identity. Our original identity was never relinquished by US- it was TAKEN from us. We were never consulted as to our relinquishment- and thus I feel we are deserving of at least a piece of paper that represents who we were and where we came from. Parents who relinquish their child for adoption, regardless of the circumstances, are giving up one of the most important roles nature has assigned to them. That child is now given a new family and a new identity. SHOULD that child wish to find their biological family in the future, I feel that they should be able to access that record in order to help them reunite. Natural family members, obviously, should have the right to the OBC. It is a record that pertains to them directly, as it is the document of the child's birth. However, the augmented birth certificate is no such thing. It is a new version that lists the adoptive parents as the child's mother and father. Therefore, the document does NOT pertain to the biological parents in any way shape or form. It's a private affair between the child and his or her new family.

If the argument is that natural parents  should have an ethical right to know where their child is going and their new identity- I feel that is faulty logic. If both parties agree to an open adoption or ongoing contact, so be it. But I feel it is absurd for natural parents to think that they have any sort of right to the childs  new  and legal identity when their parental rights have been severed. Particularly when they have severed them themselves. I am very much in support of contact, reunion, and open adoptions. I was raised in a semi open adoption myself, and have been happily reunited for over a decade. But once the child is gone and the papers are signed- that's it. I don't think adoption should be an attractive decision. I don't think that relinquishing a child SHOULD enable the natural parents to have unrestricted access to their relinquished children, especially if the adoption is not fully open.  Adoptees will have the joy of forever being just that..adoptees: children who were given away to other families who then become adults.

 It seems like a fair trade to me. You want to place your child in another family? Good. But you don't get to have complete access to their new, legal identity. We're talking legal documents here....and legally, the child now is a part of another family. Legally, the child has no ties to the biological parents. Legally, the biological parents have no rights to  the child.  So how is it that people are arguing that open records should be a two way street? Adoption certainly isn't.  Only the adoptee gets adopted, and that's a fact. Why is it that in order to be given access to a part of OUR identity- we  are expected to reciprocate? When we were born, our natural parents had all rights to us. And they relinquished them. Regardless of the reason, it doesn't change the outcome. WE relinquished nothing. WE signed nothing. WE deserve UNRESERVED access to OUR original documents. And I think that natural parents have the right to the OBC as well. But our new identity is ALL our own. My natural parents chose to remove me from the future of their family....why on earth should they be allowed access to my new life that I was given by my adoptive family? Why does it seem that I, as the adoptee, NEVER  get a choice?

We adoptees are having enough trouble convincing people that we deserve to know our original identities. I don't think natural parents will EVER get the right to their child's updated and augmented records. I don't think it will happen. However, I'd be pretty irritated if those who are FOR open records were only in support of them if BOTH parties get access. Give adoptees their original birth certificates and support any other personal agenda separetely.... haven't we paid enough?

Obligation

    Theres been a lot of talk in the adoption blog world lately about rejection.  Natural fathers and mothers rejecting adoptees, and adoptees rejecting  natural mothers and fathers. Many of these bloggers urge mothers to accept their relinquished children, and they say the same thing to adoptees. "What could it hurt", they argue, "to just let the other party know how you are doing?"

      While I haven't been rejected by either of my biological parents- I have experienced rejection from other natural family members. And it hurts. How couldn't  it? Knowing that the people who would have loved you had you not been placed  don't even want to know you is a pretty hard pill to swallow. But then again, so is being placed for adoption in the first place.

     Many bloggers cite the moral responsibility that the natural parent and child have to one another. And I agree...but only for half of that equation. I believe that natural parents are morally obligated to give at least basal information to the child they relinquished. Not just medical information- but information surrounding the conception and placement of the child. Deciding to bring a child into this world, whether or not you raise them, assigns one a certain ethical obligation. I don't think that "giving life" is enough. Every human being, regardless of whether or not their parents decided to raise them, deserve to know the rudimentary facts about their past and their existence. Mothers who, for whatever reason, don't believe they have an obligation to their relinquished children are  (in my book) sadly mistaken.

I do not believe, however, that adoptees share that same obligation. And as unpopular an idea as that may be, I stand by it. And my reasoning is fairly simple.  As an adoptee, I resent any implication that I "owe" any parent in my life anything. I don't owe my adoptive parents any sort of gratitude or loyalty because they "took me in". I think everybody would agree with that. I respect and honor and am grateful to my adoptive parents... because I want to be. Because they have earned it. I also love and respect and am grateful to my first parents. I *WANTED* to meet them. And 1o years into reunion, they are an important and irreplaceable part of my life.

But what about the adoptees who DON'T want to reunite? Who have NO desire to know their biological parents? Are they obligated to communicate, even if they don't want to? The answer is no.  While giving life to a child requires some sort of ethical obligation from the parent, I do not believe that said child has any responsibility. I don't believe that ANY adoptee is morally or ethically responsible for making a first parent "feel better" or "be at peace." Want some sort of guarantee that the child you bore will one day want to know you? Don't place them for adoption. Adoptees, often from day one, are required to incorporate themselves into a family that is not their own. We adoptees, part of a strange and unnatural minority, are thrust into the world of being adopted before we have the words to explain what has happened to us.  Sometimes being adopted is a good thing, sometimes it's a bad thing. But its ALWAYS a thing that we did not choose.

Before everybody gets all up in arms telling me that "nobody chooses their parents" or "some first parents had no choice"- stop. I am not saying that PLACING a child for adoption creates this obligation to the child. I am saying that GIVING BIRTH to a child creates this obligation. Whether or not the adoption was a real "choice" is irrelevant. It changes precious little for the child who has been placed. I don't think adoptees owe their first parents anything. Not a letter, not a phone call, and certainly not a relationship. Why should we? We have already payed the ultimate price for our relatives decisions. If an adoptee  has no desire..why on earth should they feel obligated? Because the first parent feels bad? Because they want some peace? Because they are curious? Because they are hurting?

Sorry folks- just as reunification cannot be used as a bandage for an adoptee, neither should it be used as one for a first parent. Peace does not lie in the other person, but within ourselves.  I believe that an adoptee who is searching has an indisputable right to information from their  natural parent(s).  I believe we are owed an explanation.  Not a relationship, but at the very least an explanation. The decisions of the adults in our lives have radically altered our existence. When we were adopted.. we were given a new name, a new identity, a new family, a new life.  We were given all of those things because our relinquishment took them away from us. Our name, our identity, our family- lost. At least gone for us. Forever. No reunion can change that.

"Why the double standard?" people ask. It doesn't seem fair, does it?  Well, its not fair. It certainly isn't.  Many first parents are fond of reminding us that we don't owe our adoptive parents loyalty..that we should not make the decision not to not reunite to save their feelings. But can't the same be said about natural parents? We shouldn't reunite just to satisfy their feelings. Just as I owe my adoptive parents nothing for adopting me,  I owe my first parents nothing for giving me up. In a perfect world, both parties would like to reunite. I would encourage all adoptees to reach out to their natural families. It can be a very rewarding and healing experience. I know some first mothers who are fantastic, loving, intelligent women, whose children don't want to know them.  And those adoptees are missing out big time. Although I cannot approve of their decisions to alienate their first mothers.. nor can I condemn them.

Nobody is born a first-parent. For the people who have relinquished children, there is always a chapter before adoption entered their lives. They have perspective, they can look back on a time when they were not a part of the "triad."  Adoptees, at least those of us placed as infants, have no such place of recollection. We were never given a chance to "avoid" being an adoptee (it's certainly something I would have avoided, had I been consulted).  And on that merit alone, I believe we owe nothing.

 I am in a successful reunion. I have spent years of my life trying to juggle having two families..trying to make them coexist within my life harmoniously. It's not easy, but for me it's worth it. For some adoptees, it simply isn't worth the trouble. Some adoptees have no interest, some adoptees cannot face that part of their lives. For some adoptees, its easier not knowing. And I think that's our right.

Crumbs

                                                               (me and my sister)

I recently read a post by Kara, entitled " "I love you, but...."

             In this post, she criticizes  various first mothers on their open adoptions- outlining the various discrepencies she sees in their open adoption arrangements. The mother whose family doesn't know her placed child exists, the mother who had another child and kept him only  a few years after she placed her firstborn. Her gushing love for her kept child is in stark contrast to the "coldness and emotional distance" she expresses to the child she placed.

         Though I am not 100% agreement with these observations, the post and succesive comments were quite interesting to me. Many of my fellow adoptees are sticking up for these children, highlighting the possible negative feelings they will experience when they realize that  they are a secret, when they see that their first parents are madly in love with their sibling and seemingly not them.
      I've been in both of those adoptees shoes. I was a secret for a long time- and I was born in the late 80's! I have a sister who is 1 year and 364 days younger than me. She was never a secret. Born under the SAME circumstances, she is the beloved child of her family- welcomed and treasured from the start.
Does that hurt? You bet it does. I reunited before I was a teenager, and spent many years of my childhood and adolescence trying to find the difference between my sister and I. Trying to figure out what made her wanted. She is my full sister- born 729 days after me. And I know that those 729 days are what made all the difference.
         I guess it comes down to this: what do our biological families owe us? If they promise an open adoption... are they required to tell their families about us? Is it their moral obligation to claim us as their children- in church, in schools, in family functions? Or should we just be happy that they want to know us at all? Should we, along with our adoptive parents, simply accept any crumb of acceptance that we are offered, or should we demand more?
         I know that I am less important than my sister. The given away child, I am painfully aware of my own inadequacy, of my inferiority within my biological family. I, the inconvienence and nasty surprise in their lives, have lived a separate existence. When I express my disappointment in the fact that many of my my biological relatives refuse to acknowledge me, I am told to count my blessings.
                 "at least some of them wanted to know you"
                 "at least you werent aborted"
                  "at least you have a good family that loves you. These people are extra"
     But thats not entirely true, is it? My parents gave me away. And that's a fact. As the unwanted child, am I less? Am I less deserving of my family's love and acceptance? Am I expected to make concessions, just naturally accept the fact that I am less loved, less special? The dirty little secret, the baby thrust from my family of origin.
      As adoptees, we are always expected to make sacrifices to compensate for the fact that our parents gave us to other families. These concessions come so naturally:

         "Well, of course you're less loved, of course you are loved in a different way than your siblings who were kept."
                "Well, it's normal that you are a secret. At least you're alive"
              "It's okay that your whole family doesn't accept you. It was a hard situation. Be happy you have a good family now who loves you."

Natural law and natural circumstances no longer apply to us. The given away children- we are held to different standards, offered different affections. Biology matters to everyone but us. Familial love and loyalty apply to everyone but us. It is natural for a mother to love her child- unless you're adopted. Then you should just shutup and take whatever crumbs your natural family throws your way.

reckoning.

I'm tired of the rationalizations. I'm tired of hearing that we shouldn't be angry, that we should be compassionate and try to understand the complexity and difficulty of the decisions made for us. I'm tired of being the perpetual infant. I'm pretty pissed- and it surprises me that other people aren't. Throughout my reunion, I've tried to be the happy adoptee. I've tried as hard as I can to incoporate both facets of my family  into my life- without minimizing or hurting either side. Both my adoptive parents have been gracious- respecting eachothers positions in my life all the while insisting that theirs is superior.  I have no relationship with my birthmother, but my birthfather and I enjoy a simple coexistence- a mundane sharing of facts and daily happenings of our lives- rarely discussing the reasons I call him by his first name instead of "Dad". I maintain a polite distance, feign an acceptable amount of disinterest. But here's what I'd like to tell him:

There is no excuse. There is no reason you could give me that convinces me that what you did was an admiral choice. I don't admire you, and I certainly don't thank you. Why should I be grateful? That you didn't force my birthmother into an abortion? That you gave me life and then gave me away? What? You picked good parents..thanks a lot. But being given away doesn't feel good- regardless of the fact that you gave me to good people. Stop creating babies that you don't want. Stop trying to claim any facet of my identity. Stop thinking of me "as your daughter". Because I'm not...at least not anymore. And you have no one to thank but yourself. I don't believe that adoption is a selfless option..I don't think its an admiral decision to be made  except in extreme cases. You had money, you had family, you had a house. What could have made you keep me? A few thousands dollars more in the bank? A son instead of a daughter?
I see what you have done a the ultimate betrayal- the breaking of a natural family and a natural law. Everyone says how they can't imagine living without their children, how they can't fathom giving a baby away. Why is it that you could do it? What makes you different than all of the other parents I've ever met?

You can tell me how much you love me until the day one of us leaves this earth. You can call, you can visit. You can be as cold or as loving as you want. I love you. I care about you very much. I never want to hurt you. Which is why I will never tell you that I will never forgive you. We do what we think is best in life. But I don't agree with the decision you made. I don't think you were nobel, I don't think you had my best interests in mind. You were 27 when I was born. I think you wanted your life back, your freedom, your youth. You got all that. Was it worth it? You kept my sister who was born 2 years later under the same circumstances. You remained unburdened for 2 years. Tell me- was it worth it?

Some people say I got a pretty good deal. And maybe thats true. I have a family who loves me, and relationships with birth relatives. After all, I could be nonexistent- a fetus tossed into the incinerator at an unknown hospital in the Bible Belt. I  could have been raised by assholes. I could have been raised by my drug addicted birth mother. Or I could have been like my sister... I could have been raised by you.

I love you. I think we will be in eachothers lives forever. I think this relationship is for life. But it is not natural, this bond we have. It is not what it was supposed to be. And although I am willing to make the best of the situation we find ourselves in... I can't help but look at you sometimes and wonder "why"? I can't help but be angry with the father who wanted me only after it was too late.

atonement

I haven't blogged in a long time. And I suppose theres a reason for that. I've been going through a rough time. I ended an important relationship, grieved various losses, moved into a new apartment, and started taking antidepressants at the urging of my doctor and at the displeasure of my friends and family.  I've been on them since December, and have been able to crawl my way back to normality. I've felt, for the first  time in months, that I deserve a tranquil life- that I don't deserve the sadness and emptiness that I'd been feeling. I pierced my nose, cut off  almost all of my hair, moved into a new apartment with people who I really like, and rescued a puppy who was supposed to be medium sized but who, in reality, is going to be gigantic. I go to classes, spend time with my new housemates who have become like a family, and take care of my dog. I find pleasure in day to day activitioes- the predictability of it all. I don't know if its the pills, or the change of lifestyle and scenery. Maybe it's a combination of both. I've been urged, by almost everyone in my life, to stop taking them. Prozac, they tell me, has made me a zombie. A happy zombie, but a zombie all the same. I can think back on the difficult months I just experienced with a sort of pleasant detachment, a sense that I am no longer the same person. And I'm not sure that's really OK.

Just as I kept my family abreast of my sadness, I tell them about my new accomplishments. My exams went well, the dog is peeing on the newspapers or outside with regularity, and I've discovered tasty and cheap recipes that I cook together with my housemates.  I'm glad that the awful experiences of the last few months are behind me. I'm glad that I can update my family and my friends with happy stories, rather than my previous complete disinterest in life. I'm glad I don't have to fake it anymore. But there is someone who I've always faked it with.

My birthfather, despite the fact  that we live on different sides of the world, has always kept in touch with me. I share with him only the happiest of anecdotes- my good marks, my new haircut, the day to day pleasures that I think he wants to hear about. Depression, alcoholism and addiction run in his family. My family. And I admit that in my darkest moments, I would open a bottle of wine, smoke a few cigarettes, and sip until my sadness became funny. I know I'm predisposed to all sorts of innaproppriate coping mechanisms. I know that many of my family members have suffered from depression. And yet, I can't find a way to tell him that I too was depressed. Very depressed. I want to. I want to be honest with him and tell him that I've gone through a hard time, that I'm medicating myself, that I'm slowly finding my way back to emotional health. But I wonder- would he want to know? I know my parents did. I wonder if he wants honesty from me, as a father would want from his daughter? Or is he satisifed hearing the banal, fluffy details of my life. I feel the need to share with him, to tell him how some adoption issues reared their ugly head amidst my depression. I want to tell him  how low I was- how I saw no hope, how I wished that I could go away quietly, how I walked into a piercing salon and paid 15 euro for a woman with 50 tattoos to drill a hole in my nose. How I didn't even feel it when she pushed in the needle, convinced that I deserve whatever pain anyone could inflict on me. How I felt guilty when I saw the trust and love in my puppies eyes- as if even HE was fooled into thinking that I was a good person.

I've written to him a few times, but I've never been able to press "send". Instead, I buy postcards from the corner store, address them in my neat script, and fill the small space with entertaining anecdotes of my life across the ocean. On the way to the pharmacy to refill my prescription, I'll drop them in the "outside of province" part of the maildrop. Afraid to show him my weakness, afraid to be anything other than the happy daughter he gave away. I was once an inconvienance to him- a burden. I'll never allow myself to become that again.

Going public!

So, Suz's post "Fourteen" got me thinking about facebook and how it relates to adoption relationships. Her mother acnkowledged her placed daughter as one of her grandchildren on facebook.  Which to people who are not involved in adoption might sound common and not at all noteworthy. But in the world of adoption it's a pretty big deal.

Which got me thinking : would I want my birthparents to acknowledge me as their daughter publicly? Would I want my siblings to acknowledge me as their sister, my grandparents as their granddaughter? The answer is without a doubt: yes.  And I guess that's not hard to understand. It's a pretty symbolic gesture to me. It would mean, finally, that my natural family acknowledges me as a member of their family, at least to some extent. Publicly. No more shame, no more secrets. For all practical and legal purposes, they "unmade me" their daughter. And it would be nice, after all these years, to feel less like the outsider that I am.

Which leads me to my next question: Would I list my biological siblings as my brothers and sisters? The answer is yes. And at least with one of them, I do. This particular sister was adopted as well...so she  (like me) lists her adoptive siblings, and then we listed eachother! It felt nice. I can't describe the feeling when she requested to list me as her sister. I think I even cried a little bit.

And here's were it gets sticky.....

Would I list my natural mother and father as my parents? No. Never in a million years. I realize that this makes me a HUGE hypocrite. But even the thought of listing them as my parents on facebook gives me the heeby jeebies. It just feels so fake. And before anyone asks me :My adoptive parents are NOT on facebook. But my cousins, aunts, and uncles are- and I am sure they would notice. And I'm sure they would tell my parents.

But that isn't my main concern. I can silence my family when they grumble about my reunion, and I could effectively tell them to mind their own business if they ever challenged me about this. That isn't the issue.

I guess it comes down to this for me: my parents gave up their rights as my parents. Which is all milk and cookies, I guess. I can accept that (though it's not easy). What I cannot except is the notion that I, somehow, am expected to renounce my original identity and heritage because *they* didn't want to raise me. I maintain that I will always be their daughter. Though they tried, they couldn't change that. But I have a hard time calling them my parents.  I have a special place in my life for them... but it isn't quite that role.

The simple, honest, and utopian thing to do would be to list ALL 4 of my parents as my parents. In real life, and on the internet. But then again, the simple honest and utopian thing would have been for my parents to kick their 25-year-old-asses in gear and raise their daughter. We can't always have what we want.

As of now, no one in my biological family (except that one sister who was also adopted) has listed me as their daughter, their granddaughter, their sister, or their cousin. Not even my full sister who I've known for years (she does list her stepsister). I wonder if they feel the same twinges of guilt when they don't acknowledge me. I wonder if I would have a change of heart if they listed me? Maybe one I'll find out. Maybe one day they will publicly reclaim me as their kin- the daughter, sister, and grandchild who went away but who came back. I think probably not.

Kept.

Back when we didn't get along, my bio sister Nicole loved to tell me how much our parents loved her.

She was born to the same parents a little over 2 years after I was, under the same conditions. Our father was still working on launching his own business, our mother still had some problems, and they still weren't married. They were in their mid twenties when I was born, and their late 20's when Nicole was born. ikBut while my birth was a family crisis- all members fighting over how to best handle "the problem"- she was welcomed.  While my birthfather adamantly refused to raise me, he raised Nicole as a single father when our mother skipped town. 2 years later. She was kept and I wasn't. And Nicole knows it.

She grew up knowing that she had a sister, and met me for the first time when she was 9 years old.  I don't know what our parents told her about why they gave me away. I don't know how she was raised in the years before I came back. But I do know that she has always been told she was special. And she is. She is the adored granddaughter, the favorite cousin, the apple of her fathers eyes. Raised essentially without a mother, she is definitely daddy's little girl.

I wonder what it's like to be kept. I wonder what its like to have a sibling who was given up for adoption. How does that affect ones sense of self, or self esteem? How does it feel, I wonder, to know that your parents gave your brother or sister away?

I wonder what is different between Nicole and me. What made my father want to step up when he saw her, and not when he saw me? I wonder what made them keep her and not me. I've asked a few times... but I never can get a straight answer. And maybe there isn't one.

Logically I know that it has nothing to do with me or Nicole as people. I was an inconvienant baby and she wasn't- it's as simple (or as complicated) as that. Had she been born first- she'd have been placed for adoption. But I still was envious of her. I would see her with her family, with our grandparents, our father, our cousins. And she just..belongs there. She didn't have to "reunite" to know her family. She is a part of them, a cherished member of the group. She has not had an easy life. Not by a long shot. But at the end of the day- her family is there for her. At the end of the day, at least she can say that.

I've reunited. I didn't even have to search ( semi open adoption). And so I am always hesitant to complain. Because, hey! I know who they are, I know where I came from, I've seen them in person and I've spent lots of time with them. And a lot of adoptees can't even say that. They allowed me back into their family...at least partially. And I should be grateful.

But I'm kind of not. It's like being invited to someones house and then getting left out on the porch. I'm there, of course, looking in the window. And it feels good to be able to observe, to be able to see what their lives are like. But at the end of the day, there is still that piece of glass separating us. There is always that window.

Nicole and I get along pretty well now. She hated me for a long time. She was not ready to share her family or her dad. Only now is she realizing that I can never take her place. Not even if I wanted to. But now she's older, I'm older. And slowly, we are creating a sort of fragile co-existence. But even now, I am wary. I always remember the times she told me how happy she was that HER dad kept her, that he loved her more, that she was special and that I wasn't- thats why they gave me away. On some level, I guess I still believe her.

Victims and Villains

I don't often mention my adoptive parents on this blog. Mostly because this blog is my personal exploration of my life before my adoption (however brief) and the affects that having been PLACED for adoption have had on me.

Note that I did NOT say "the affects that being adopted have had on me." Because that is something completely different.

 I see  a lot of vilinization of adoption parents in the blog sphere. A lot. Mostly (but not exclusively) from natural parents. Obviously I recognize that writing an entire post about how awesome my adoptive parents are and how they don't comform to the typical stereotypes would only validate what the naysayers are writing- that I'm just another silly little adoptee who is stuck in the cycle  of loyalty and adopter worship. That I only love my adoptive parents because they've tricked me into doing so, that if I were really educated about adoption ethics, I would realize that "those people" are not my parents and even though they raised me from babyhood, they are nothing more than long time babysitters who I happen to care about.

And (my favorite claim yet) that my adoptive parents are directly responsible for my having been placed out of my natural family, and that they "took me" from my family of origin and should be ashamed.

Here are a few (slightly depressing) facts:

1- My mother and father would have placed me for adoption nomatter what. The people who adopted me were NOT matched with my bio parents from the beginning. In fact, my mother had chosen a completely different couple. They were from New Jersey. The had an on going relationship with my mother for about 4 months, until they were offered another baby who was already born. Needless to say, they dropped my mother immediately and took the other baby. My mother was deeply hurt and offended, because she thought they wanted "her baby"... not just any baby.

2- I was a (very) white, blonde, female infant who was born at over 8 lbs and was perfectly healthy. There would never have been a shortage of people willing to adopt me. If it hadn't been my parents, it would have been the next couple in line. Who might have been better, or worse. It's a roll of the dice.

3- My birthmother changed her mind after I was born. My parents, heartbroken, went back to NY and gave up on the idea of adopting a child. A few months later, my birthmother called THEM telling them that she had changed her mind and asking if they would adopt the baby.

4-My birthmother chose to raise me for a while, and only changed her mind when my father threatened to leave her. He and his (well off, bullish) family pressured and coerced her. Its was a pretty desperate/ despicable situation, but it had nothing to do with my adoptive parents, who had left the picture weeks beforehand. Had they refused to adopt me, my mother and father would have found someone else.


The only people who could have prevented me from being placed for adoption are the people who chose to do it.. my natural parents. Had my father wanted me, they would have kept me. And had my mother been strong enough to keep me despite my fathers outright refusal, she would have. She wanted to, and she almost did. But in the end, he won.

I try and avoid placing blame when it comes to adoption. Mostly because its completely useless. However, the only two adults in the equation who hold NO blame are my adoptive parents- who simply wanted to raise another child, even though they had a bio son of their own. If it hadn't been me, maybe they would have adopted another child. I can't know for sure.

I'm not really pro adoption. I think it's too complex a situation to ever be simple and "good". There is good and bad. And I think the negative aspects of being adopted make adoption something that should be avoided at all costs. I would like to see adoption less practiced. But I don't think that trying to convince potential adoptive parents that what they are doing is the way to go.  There is nothing wrong with wanting to raise a child. There IS something wrong with feeling entitled to a baby that isn't yours, but I don't think that wanting to adopt a baby automatically means that one feels entitled. Adoption, is a system, is well received in our society. It will never be seen by the general population as a "bad thing to do". And the reality is this: for every potential adoptive parent who the rest of the adoption community scares away, there are 5 more willing to take their place. There are a lot of people willing to adopt a baby, but very few willing to give one up.

My natural parents are responsible for having given me up. Especially my father, who was the force behind my relinquishment. He knows this, and I know this. He doesn't feel much of anything towards my adoptive parents (his words). Not because they haven't treated him respectfully and welcomed him (they have). Not because they did a bad job raising me or convinced me that I belong only to them (they didn't and they haven't). But he admits that he feels territorial when it comes to me- that despite the family he chose for me and whom I was raised with, he can't help but feel that I'm "his little girl". And I think sometimes those feelings get in the way.

He and I don't agree on everything. We debate a lot of things (the way his family treats me, the way he handled things with my mother at the time of my birth, etc). He advises me, and I consider him a loving and wise man. I care about him very deeply and will discuss most anything with him. But I do not allow him to criticize my adoptive parents. Not to me.  Not because they were perfect (of course they weren't). But because he, as the man who was my father, chose to surrender me to a basically unknown future. He didn't want me, and they did. And though logically I know that things aren't that simple...emotionally I am SURE that they are.  Whether by divine providence, universal wisdom, or pure coincidence- when my parents weren't there for me, there was another couple who was.  I respect my natural father and consider him a father- all I ask in return is that he respect the fact that I am part of another family besides his own (one that he chose, no less), and that even if my family isn't real to him, it's real to me.

Snapshots

As a general rule, I don't post photos on my blog. But while looking through my old albums, I recently found this photo of myself and my birthfamily. In the picture, I am around 12 or 13 years old, sitting on the couch with my birthfather and birthsister. (I'm in the light pink shirt). They had come to visit us in NY.  I can tell by the decorations(cropped out) that it was Christmas time.

Our reunion was still young- the photo was taken long before the day when my birthfamily would shun me- unable to look their shameful past in the eyes.  Here, we are still enjoying eachothers company. But the picture is very telling. My birthfather is in the middle of the photo. He has his arm around my sister, who is seated at the left. Though we all look very much alike, it is obvious I don't belong. I am leaning into my birthfather, smiling nervously, trying ever so delicately to make myself a part of the family that is seated on my living room couch. But my birthfather does not place his arm around me. It is glued stiffly to his side. I sit, as I always have, awkwardly on the outside.

It says a lot about our reunion, and our separation.

Having been exiled out of my firstfamily has done some strange things to my personality, to my sense of self worth. Siblings on either side of me were kept and raised within the family. But not me. Understanding the reasons and the logic behind my placement does precious little in the way of making me feel better about it.

When we first reunited, I was welcomed into my birthfamily (though some of the family members, I learned later on, were very reluctant). I visited dozens of times- taking the 4 hour plane ride along, immersing myself back into my family of origin. My adoptive parents accompanied me one time, and then allowed me to visit by myself. They understood the importance of their absence. Their biggest gift to me was their lack of interference. They gave me their blessing, but allowed me the space to explore my old life. It was a journey they knew I had to take alone.

And I was welcomed. Really, I was. My aunts and uncles, cousins and grandparents all graciously allowed me back into their circle. Even my little sister, who would one day nearly ruin my reunion with her jealously, initially was thrilled to have me in her life. Slowly, though, things changed. My little sister was not ready to share her family, and she let everybody know it. The adults in her life sympathized. Why should she have to pay for her parent's mistakes? Thus began their second disappearance. Quietly, my phone calls went unanswered, my annual Christmas, birthday and Easter cards unreciprocated. I wasn't invited to their home anymore.

"Amanda has her own family," they said. "Her sister only has one. We owe her our loyalty."

And loyal they were. I didnt hear from them for years. Bewildered, I mourned the family I had lost a second time. My birthfather, powerless to change his family's opinion, spoke to me in secret. The only person who remained steadfast was my paternal grandfather- a docile old man with sparkling eyes, the only one in the family who was not convinced that I deserved a second exile. He called me occassionally, ignoring his wife, my grandmother, who protested when she saw my number on the caller ID.

That was my first lesson in the conditional state of familial love. I knew my birthfamily still cared for me, but they could not show it. They would ask my birthfather about me when my sister wasn't around. They reveled in my accomplishments secretly and silently. But caring about me and loving me wasn't enough to keep me around. Though that wasn't a surprise.  It was a concept I already knew.

But I also know that I could never have belonged. To them, I will forever be baby who was thrust from their midst. My exile was permanent- I just didn't know it at the time.

My sparkly eyed grandfather died a year or two ago. He was diagnosed with lung cancer in the summer, and didn't live to see winter. As he died, he called each of his grandchildren to his side. He said goodbye to each of them personally, sharing with them the story of their family, telling them about the God they loved and that he believed he would soon meet. As the patriarch of the family, he spoke to each grandchild individually, impressing upon them the importance of hard work and family pride. Each grandchild recieved a letter, a special goodbye before he left them.

Every grandchild, of course, except one.

Not quite the Brady Bunch

I don't write a lot about my brothers and sisters. I think that's because, most days, I don't acknowledge them as my siblings. Most days, I have just one brother- my adoptive parents biological son. But in reality, I share a biological mother with 8 other people on this earth. We range from ages 29 to five. Out of all of us, only 2 have remained within the biological family for their entire childhoods.  4, including myself, were placed for adoption. The rest were taken into foster care when our mother, despite her best intentions, surrendered to whatever demons plagued her.

I have only ever met 3 of my 8 siblings. I know my three sisters, two of whom are older. The younger one, who is now 18, is my full sister. I have a different relationship with each of them- ranging from stellar to nonexistant. We communicate without the intervention or involvement of our mother. And she never liked that. We are honest with one another- speaking candidly about our experiences. Our mother, terrified that we would judge her, bemoaned our communication.

"I am the mother!" she would tell us, "I need to be consulted!"

When we ignored her, explaining gently that we were all adults, and free to have relationships with whomever we choose, she would hang up the phone on us. Or, if she was feeling fiesty, she would give us an earful about what disrespectful little ingrates we were. It was always hard not to take it personally (and these episodes did, in the end, have a profound affect on my relationship with her).

One by one, she burned her bridge with each of us. Only the oldest of her children, my half sister Susan, had any sort of regular contact with her. The rest of us, wounded, did our best to forget. Pippi, who was also placed for adoption, has mastered the art of detachment. Our mother is not important- she could take her or leave her. Nicole, my full sister, has built a wall to protect herself. Our mother left her  to be raised by our father when she was three, and then popped in and out of her life. Even mentioning our mothers name unleashes such anger in her that we've all decided it's best not to bring it up.

Me? I rarely talk about her. And I've found, over the years, that people rarely ask. I am merely one of her many children, just another child that she left. It is unrealistic of me, I think, to believe that I am special to her. I am not the only child she gave up. I am not the oldest, I am not the prettiest, I am not the smartest, I am probably not the only blonde. And I'm certainly not the most compliant!

And so, I leave her be. I struggle, from afar, to understand what has happened. My mother's world was one of fantasy. She believed that fairies existed amongst the emerald hills of Ireland, that dragons inhabited the deepest caves of China. Mostly, though, she believed that her children, scattered across the globe in different families, would come back to her. That one day we would all reunite and find her. One day, all of her mistakes would be undone.

And we are coming back together. Without her. Slowly, but surely, we are fitting together the pieces of our family. In a year, Christopher will turn 18. And a few years after that, Samantha will too. And the rest will follow. I wonder if I will ever meet all of them? I wonder if they will ever want to know me. We each have different stories, different families, different lives. But we have one vital thing in common, and I guess I believe that only by coming together can we begin to understand what has torn us apart.

Secrets

Living in Italy always brings out some strange emotions in me.

As an American who happens to speak Italian, I meet a lot of new people all the time. I often feel like a sort of exotic bird (not necessarily in a good way). Meeting new people has never really daunted me. I move around a lot, and have become adept at putting myself out there, shaking new hands, kissing new faces, and making new friends. The only problem is that, invariably, my new friends will want to know about my life.

I lie for as long as it is feasible. I answer questions about my family honestly. I talk about my brother, his children, my parents and my dog. I tell my Italian friends about American traditions, about the city in which I live, and about my family's heritage. I pretend, for as long as I can, that I am not adopted. In a family of dark skinned Italians, my blonde hair and transparent skin usually give me away. But I can chalk that up to the small portion of my family that is Irish. I am 21 years younger than my brother is. I usually just try and convince people that I was a late arrival. One of the biggest reasons I live and study in Italy has to do with the fact that my adoptive family is Italian. But saying that aloud makes me feel like a fraud. My friends, always fascinated by my american documentation, ask to see my passport, which lists my city of birth. Which is clear across the country from the state and city I was raised in my entire life. I can never think of a feasible explanation for why my parents seemingly moved from NYC to Dallas just to have a baby.

But I can only keep this up this charade for so long. After a little while, I begin to feel guilty. I feel like I am hiding something. And I suppose I am. Sooner or later, though, the truth comes out. And when it does, it's always a little depressing.

Adoption does not exist in Italy as it does in the United States. Which, given the influence of the Catholic church, is rather astonishing. But when I explain to my Italian friends that I was adopted, they assume my birthparents have died. Why else would anyone not keep their own child? When I explain that not only are they still alive, but I have ongoing contact with them...the room goes silent.

As the country that surrounds vatican city, abortion is hotly debated in Italy. But adoption simply is not. The phrase 'tenere un bambino' (keeping a baby) refers not to the debate between adoption and parenting, but abortion and parenting. Here, there simply is no healthy medium. Either you kill your baby or you raise it. During a debate with my friend Cinzia, in which we discussed our oppposing views on abortion, the topic of adoption came up. Cinzia is a vehemently pro-choice, athiest, communist. She supports her right not only to abort, but to abort within a timeframe that most people would find distasteful ( 5 months + ) She said to me:

'If I get pregnant, and dont have an abortion, I will have an unhappy motherhood. Thats the only choice. Why would I condemn myself to an unahppy motherhood? It should be the joy of my life.''

When I mentioned adoption as an alternative to parenting (and hated myself for it) she got quiet. She then stated, quite simply,:

''Well...to me that seems like a terrible thing to do. To have your baby and then give it away. What kind of woman does that?''

While I was tempted to ask her what kind of woman believes that casual late terms abortions are 100% morally correct , instead I answered ''What kind of mother gives away her child? Well..mine!''

In a country where my life circumstances are incomprehensible, I struggle to defend my birthfamilys choice. I tell my Italian companions about drug addiction, about lack of family support, about money issues and about the promise of a better life. Of course, they have all those things in Italy. The same social problems exist. And yet, somehow, they are not good enough reasons to not keep your own child. When I tell them that I have reunited with my birthfamily, and that we speak often, my friends are horrified.

''They do not deserve you,'' they say. '' What right do they have? YOU were their child. They gave you away. To have contact with them is to condone what they have done. They should have wanted you. How can you love the family that has abandoned you?''

And  every time, I find that there are no easy answers. I find myself believing a little bit of what they say, subscribing to the belief that my biological family has done the unthinkable. And so I  retreat within myself. If last time it took 3 weeks for me to tell my friends the (obvious) truth about my family..next time it will take 4. And the time after that, 5.  Because although I can tell the story by heart, mimicking the words like a parrot, I cannot find any good reasons, any good excuses. Why have my parents given me away? I know the reasons. And yet when said aloud they seem shallow. And so... I am left without words, unable to explain what is incomprehensible to me.