I made the mistake of discussing adoption with one of the uninitiated recently.  I always do that, you’d think that I would have learned by now.  Anyway, after I related some of my experiences she remarked that it sounds something more like  a true crime story than the fuzzy wuzzy experience of adoption.

No shit, Sherlock.

She seemed to think that instead of bringing up all of the things that are wrong with adoption, and how adoptees are perceived we should be looking for answers and comfort.

Again, no shit.

Answers and comfort would be wonderful.  Folks having a complete understanding of the whole adoption thing would be great, no argument here.  But I guess that it is all too shocking for the non-adopted to wrap their head around.

Guess what?  It’s pretty hard for us to wrap our heads around too.

Exactly how are we to be comforted when we talk about lack of medical history?  Patting us on the hand and assuring us we probably won’t die of some cancer that could have been easily found and treated if we had known to test for it, doesn’t really cut it.

Just exactly what are we supposed to be told when somebody assumes that we were so much better off because our adoptive folks could afford a pool in the backyard?   Can you imagine anyone casually debating what a non-adopted person’s childhood might have been like if they had been raised in lesser circumstances?

How do you make it OK to be abandoned?

Should the fact that we turned out to be attractive people make up for not growing up with anyone that looked like us?

Is there a greeting card for those that are denied basic human rights by the states we pay taxes too?

Yes, it’s shocking, a little unsettling, and smacks of true crime.  To hear adoptees speak can sound like way too much information, but that’s what we’ve got.

I do find it very interesting that this woman chose the phrase “true crime”.  As if we the adoptees, the innocent little babies, are the criminals.   Are we vandals for tipping the sacred cow of adoption?

Should we charged with a misdemeanor or a felony?  Does one generally serve time for tipping sacred cows?  Would sacred cow tipping be considered a property crime?  If more than one person is involved, does it become a conspiracy?

Some folks are getting it, The Donaldson Institute has a very interesting report out.  It’s focused on international adoptees, but makes very good points for all of us.

Overheard, “Lakes are like boobs, if you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all.”  This prompted by a print of wolves by lake.  A print that will be given away.  A print that my husband is in danger of winning, even though he didn’t agree with the commenter’s observation about boobs.

Just another reason to live in fear.  What would I do with a print of five wolves (my husband counted them) by a lake?  I can’t put it in a garage sale, somebody that knows we won it would see it.  I can’t re-gift it.  My family has decided to not give gifts for Christmas this year, and I wouldn’t give that thing to anybody I actually liked.  I can only hope that I don’t win this thing.

I just can’t figure out if I should wish for luck, in the sense I’ll be lucky not to win this thing, or start buying lottery tickets because I feel a lucky streak coming on.

I know that fear of bad art is a small fear, but it’s an annoying one.

In other news, it’s still National Adoption Month.  And I have an essay out in the new book PIECES OF ME;  WHO DO I WANT TO BE?.  Check it out.

Yep, it’s that time of year again.  Right after Halloween, and before the holidays get cranked up.  How I love it.

BTW, about Halloween, a good half of my trick-or-treaters were taller than me, and I’m not a short woman.  What is up with that?

So kids, what should we do for Adoption Month?  Any ideas?  I see Bethany Christian Services has already won the Demons of Adoption award, that’s a start.  How about we all get together and TP them?

I’m taking any suggestions.

This is for the Grown In My Heart Blog Carnival.  If you’d like to share just head right there and they’ll hook you up.

Me, I’d love to share.  But I don’t have much.  Being adopted and all.  Here’s a pic of my mom as a child…

That’s her standing in the middle.

Here’s a photo of me at about the same age…

That’s all I got.

Something was brought up  about conversations with your inner child not long ago.  I hate that shit.  What in the world would I have to say to my inner child?  I can just imagine how that conversation would go.

Big Me:  Hey, how’s it going?

Inner Child:  Do you have any pixie sticks?  I like Pixie Sticks?

Big Me:  Fresh out of Pixie Sticks, sorry.

Inner Child:  I like Pixie Sticks, just not the grape ones.

Big Me:  I’ll keep that in mind. Are you getting along alright?

Inner Child:  I hate Kathy.  She has a doll house with lights that work, all I have is a piece of shit Fisher-Price doll house.  I want a Barbie House too.

Big Me: Do you ever think about anything serious?

Inner Child: This is serious.

Big Me:  How so?

Inner Child:  I have my needs to think about.

Big Me: It won’t make any difference in 20 years.

Inner Child: It makes a difference now.  I’ll think about serious stuff when I get older.  Right now I want a Pixie Stick and a decent doll house.  Alright?

Big Me:  Alright.

I believe that you never know when you are in the middle of something until it’s over.  When I was a child I didn’t have a reference point to know what was going on.  I can’t go back and change anything.  Then as now, all I’ve got is mt experience up until this moment.  For all I know I’m fucking up royally at this very moment.

The only difference between then and now is that now I feel I have some responsibility for my actions.  I have more experience.  Back then I was pretty much flying by the seat of my pants.  I can’t change that.  There are no do-overs in life.  If there were we would never get anywhere.

Can you imagine actually being able to go back to childhood knowing what you know now?  How would you deal with knowing that your best friend in the first grade was going to die of a drug overdose in her late twenties, that your uncle was going to get lung cancer, or your dog was going to get hit in the road?  Even if you could stop these things, could you actually pick a better path for yourself?  I not sure that I wouldn’t be more conflicted, and as a result really screw things up, if I had that kind of knowledge.  Imagine the pressure.

I wouldn’t want to go through life considering every move based on where I find myself now.  As I said before, you never really know how you’re doing at the moment anyway.  I could fuck things up way worse.

I’m going to go and have a Pixie Stick now.

It’s blog carnival time again, Join in right here….

http://blenza.com/linkies/links.php?owner=pickel&postid=07Oct2009&meme=3616

I know you have something to say about this.

I was a willing participant in a campaign of disinformation.

That’s complicated way of saying, I lied.

But did I, really?

I’ve told you my name.  It’s not the one I sign checks with, but it’s the one that was given me at birth.

Does that mean you don’t know me?

Certainly not, when I’m here, I’m Melanie.  I’m just somebody else most of the time.  We’re both real.  One of us just got lost for about 30 years.  You can’t blame me, they told me I was someone else.  I believed them.  I didn’t have any reason to doubt.  I didn’t even know that I had another name.

I wonder why they didn’t tell me?

Did they think it would hurt me?

Did they think that she was still in there and might come out at the mention of it?  That was good thinking.  Birth names are like magic words.  Knowing just that one little thing can change everything.

I knew I was someone before I was adopted.  I knew that I didn’t start to exist when the adoption papers were signed.

I was real.

Does changing the name of something make it any less what is was before?

Maybe.

It changed me.  I wasn’t what I was before.  I was something different.  It was far from inconsequential.  But it didn’t change who I had been.

She was real.

What am I now?

I don’t really know.

Check it out.

Grown In My Heart

Every time I packed a suitcase something was up. We didn’t go on vacations or visit relatives for fun or a need to be connected. The last time I had been told to get packed up, mom, my sisters, and I, had stayed in a motel in Hannibal for a week. When we came home there was a half finished swimming pool in the backyard.

The swimming pool wasn’t a good thing. My sisters and I were excited, but mom didn’t want it. Even though dad had commissioned the pool, without telling anyone, it was decided that we would teach swimming lessons to pay for it. I was the only one old enough to tech swimming lessons, and I didn’t like the water.

Now my sisters and I were going to Aunt May’s house. Mom didn’t like Aunt May, I was the only one that was allowed to stay with her. Aunt May was coming to pick us up, I knew this had to be a big deal. I wondered if my folks were getting a divorce. I was sure I couldn’t get that lucky.

I could hear my sister, Lisa, screaming from her bedroom. She didn’t want to go, she didn’t like Aunt May either. Mom was laying it down, she was going to go and she was going to take care of Cheryl. Mom never talked to Lisa like this.

I headed downstairs as soon as I saw Aunt May’s New Yorker pull in the drive. It was obvious that Aunt May wasn’t going to visit before we took off, mom wouldn’t let her get passed the entry hall. I was told to go get in the car. I sat right down in the front seat. Lisa always got to sit in the front seat, she got car sick. I knew mom would be too preoccupied to notice with actually getting Lisa in the car. I was right, she screamed, she fought, she kicked, but somehow mom got her in the backseat and managed to shut the door.

Without much in the way of conversation Aunt May got in and started the car. I pointed out that Cheryl was still standing in the driveway behind mom. Aunt May left the car running and collected her. Mom didn’t seem to notice, she just stood there waving.

Aunt May lived about 150 miles away. This was going to be a long trip. I knew Lisa would not shut up and now she was kicking the back of the seat. We had just got out of town when Aunt May stopped the car, right in the middle of the road, turned around, and told Lisa that she was going to put her out right there is she didn’t knock it off. It was effective, Lisa quit kicking and shut up immediately.

When we started moving again, Aunt May asked me if there were any good radio stations. By good I knew she meant rock and roll, so I tuned it in, and she turned it up loud. Maybe the trip wasn’t going to be so long after all.

Seems that the economic downturn hasn’t hurt executive compensation much in the adoption business.  Check this out…

Pound Pup Legacy Adoption executive Compensation

1.3 million?  Yep, you read that right 1.3 million dollars a year.  He must have found homes for lots lots of babies.  I wonder if that includes commission?

Unless you are an up and coming young executive in the baby broking business, every single person involved in adoption should be livid at these salaries.

This is my contribution to the Grown In My Heart Adoption Carnival.  Get in on it too, right here.  Use the Mr. Linky thing.

Go on, you know you want to.

First, I wasn’t touched by adoption.  The only folks ‘touched by adoption’ are random viewers of Adoption Stories or some other heart-tugging-ain’t-adoption- great TV show.  People are touched by the stories of others, or possibly an uncle, but not adoption.  Adoption consumes, completely immerses, one drowns in adoption.

Since I did not have the ability to speak before I was touched, threw into, drown by, adoption, I am going to take on the persona of an annoying talking babies in those god awful John Travolta-Kristie Alley movies.  I’m sure some folks found those touching too.

1. Mom, I’ll never see you again.  Once you let go of me, I’ll be gone forever.  When you sign those papers I’ll be an orphan.  You certainly have more faith in this world than I do.

2. Mom, I’m going to look a bit like you.  It would be really nice to have that reference point as I’m growing up.  I’m never going to see anyone in real life that looks remotely like me until I’m almost 40 years old.  My confidence is going to be effected by this.

3. Mom, I’m never going to know who my dad is.  It’s  kind of  a  big deal for me.  You said you wanted to give me up to save me from “the stain of illegitimacy”, that doesn’t bother me as much as not even knowing who’s bastard I am.  BTW, everybody is going to assume I’m stained by illegitimacy as soon as they know I’m adopted for the rest of my life.  You aren’t saving me from anything.

4. Mom, I’m going to be spending ever summer Sunday for a couple of years about a mile from where you live, in about 33 years.  I wonder if you’ll see my picture in the local paper with my racing trophies?

5. New Mom and Dad, I’m not a blank slate.  Sorry.  Just wanting me to be like you won’t change a thing.  I am what I am.

6. New Mom and Dad, I do not have colic.  I just want to go home, where ever that is.

7. New Mom and Dad, You are going to have other children in a few years.  Children of your own.  Children that will be like you.  Do you still want to go through with this?  There is a whole list of other folks who will take me.  I won’t be hurt.

8. Lawyer, You might want to put a note in my file that this stuff will be “of use” to me in the future.  Your son, who will be the judge in this district someday, is going to tell me that there is “nothing of use to me in this file”.  He is going to be wrong.  Besides, I’ll find out anyway.

9. Governor, make my records available to me.  I am in the care of your state now.  You are going to see that I’m given to people to raise me to adulthood.  I’m going to pay taxes and vote for your successors.  I deserve to know what is going on now.

10. Mom, New Mom and Dad, Lawyer, Governor, Everybody Else, I am going to be alright.  A bit worse for the wear of all this, but alright.  It would have been a lot easier on me if you had listened to me now.