Our Petunia

If you are not already familiar with our Petunia, here’s a link to her blog.


Just copy and paste. Sorry.

I first made the acquaintance of Petunia when she found out that her bio-sister was a heavy metal listening, tattooed, Satan worshiping, bar tending, potential vampire. I, of course, took it upon myself to defend Vampira Jr., and this lead to a spiffy little exchange on my blog.

I don’t hold any animosity toward Petunia, in fact, in light of recent discoveries, I feel a bit sorry for her.

As you know most of us don’t blog under our real names, Petunia is no exception, she has used a very common device and bogs under her birth name. Petunia. Kind of an odd name isn’t it? I began to wonder why someone would give their child that name. It must mean something. I had a feeling I had heard a name similar to that somewhere before, but I just couldn’t put my finger on it.

Then it came to me…

“The Boookay residence, the lady of the house speaking.”

Yes, our Hyacinth.

Petunia must surely be the lost birth sister of Hyacinth Bucket. It only makes sense, Hyacinth, Rose, Daisy, and of course Violet with a Mercedes and room for a pony, all sisters, but there must be just one more, our Petunia.

Petunia must be the result of one of Daddy’s adventures after the war. He had a brilliant mind, you know, I’m sure he was quite one with the ladies. A young woman could easily be drawn into a tryst with such a man. I have no doubt that Petunia was adopted to keep shame from Daddy’s name, and that of the love struck young girl who had feel for his charms. The family never speaks of it, of course.

Did Petunia ring up Hyacinth on her white slimline telephone? Was she rejected or asked to a candle light supper, or possibly a nautical buffet? Has she met her nephew Sheridan? Would Hyacinth serve her on the Royal Doulton with blue periwinkles?

One thing is for sure Hyacinth and Petunia would share an opinion of Onslo’s vest.

The show is called “Keeping Up Appearances”, folks.


Let’s Try This Again

There. Note the little girl standing in the front of the first picture. She’s my First-Mom.

Two pictures of little girls taken about 40 years apart.

That picture says a lot about the reasons I was given for being relinquished. The woman in the photo is my First-Grandmother. The man was not her husband. He’s not my First-Grandfather either. First-Mom was a bastard in what is apparently some pretty hard times. She was called white trash, worthless, and generally thought of as never being able to amount to anything. I was told she wanted to spare me all that.

Well obviously she did spare me the hard times. The little girl in the sailor suit never lacked for a thing. She had everything that her First-Mother had dreamed of as a child and more. But even with the best of intentions, she couldn’t spare me being a bastard.

People never out and out called me white trash, they wouldn’t dare. They never called me bastard to my face either. But I always knew they were thinking it. I always felt that “we’ll wait and see how she turns out” attitude. No, they didn’t say it out loud like they did to my First-Mom, but they thought it. My experience was subtler, like I had committed a crime but somehow got off on a technicality.

I wonder what she would think of the fact that I, and many like me, have come to embrace the title of bastard? Would she be horrified or see it as vindication? I just don’t know.

Pondering Something

Maybe somebody can help me out here.

I just read some posts on an adoption board that I frequent, and have a question.

The post was about gathering enough new $100 dollar bills to pay an international adoption donation. From the writing I assume these donations have to be made in cash. Specifically new bills.

Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but we are basically talking about money laundering here, aren’t we?

Obtaining thousands of dollars in new US currency and turning it over to an eninity in another country. One would think if everything was on the up and up a simple wire transfer would suffice.

Two problems here.

First, it was indicated that neighborhood banks don’t have a problem requesting these new $100 dollar bills from the Federal Reserve Banks. While it seems that the amounts requested fall just under the $10,000 mark. $10,000 being the amount at, and in excess of, that all cash transactions must be reported to the IRS. Wouldn’t it flag something within the Federal Reserve System? Terrorists and drug dealers love great big wads of cash. Where is homeland security in all of this?

I assume some of this money is being pulled from IRAs, 401ks, CDs, and federally insured savings accounts. Are they told to do this slowly, over a period of months? Exactly how is obtaining all this cash presented to these people? Are they told how closely they are skirting the bounds of legality?

Secondly, do they even wonder why it has to be cash? I would. International electronic transfer is much easier than obtaining that kind of cash. I cannot see how one wouldn’t be left to assume that this money will not be used for less than good. As I said, drug dealers and hitmen don’t take checks either.

Do they ever actually think about where this money really goes. There is no doubt that they are feeding the underground economy. The money is pretty much untraceable. One would think that an orphanage with rich Americans adopting right and left would have no problem accounting for a large amount of donations. If not, one could easily assume the money is going elsewhere. Where would be anyone’s guess, but I think I can put forward a few possibilities.

The first would be simply to line the pockets of all the people that took part in the facilitation of the adoption, everybody from the children’s caretakers to the bigwigs in the charities and government. Graft usually gets spread around, a little here, alittle there, keeps the wheels moving smoothly.

Reinvestment also comes to mind. Everybody knows that if you’ve got a good thing going, you have to keep it going. Somebody has to keep finding those abandoned babies, and a little incentive never hurts.

Protection. There has to be a reason that rich Americans can go into what they describe as a living hell that children must be saved from without a scratch. And trust me, it ain’t always the good hearts of the friendly natives.

Women, Booze, and Dope. Kind of just goes with protection eventually doesn’t it?

And also there is always the possibility of supporting factions that would seek to end the very system that is being taken advantage of. Money knows no loyalty.

This leads me to think that the money spent rescuing one child could surely contribute to the reasons why that child needed rescued.


The Great Scent Of Pine

My A-mom just stopped by the store. She was carrying a can of air freshener. Pine scent.

“Everything going okay?” Followed by a lasso throwing like spray above her head.

“I bet you are getting tired. I wish you could get out of here more.” Arm fully extended, back and forth motion, as if watering the lawn.

“How’s the house coming? I do need to get over there and see it.” Arm above the head as if swaying to music at a concert.

By this time I was seriously worried about being overcome by the scent of the Great Northwest.

This is nothing out of the ordinary. It’s not always air freshener, but it’s always something.

I retreated from the fresh clean scent of pine to greet my a-Father. He was walking down the aisle of the store he loves, always looking for something to point out that needs to be done. “Mom’s in the back with the air freshener.” I say.

“Why the hell do you think I had to get out of there?” he answers.

We are in complete understanding.

This is a pretty good picture of my a-folks.

They aren’t bad folks. Once you get past the great clean scent of pine, and the grouchiness, their intentions are good. As we have all aged, I’ve come to see that.

No matter how much I dislike the institution that brought us together, I really don’t dislike them.

I can’t say I understand them, or they me, but they have always tried. I have tried too, I think I “get” what they are about now. It’s been a long road, and I’m sure we all wish it had gone smoother, but I we do agree it really is all about the journey. They’ve been with all this way, I wouldn’t know what to do without them.

I do wish Mom would get off the air freshener kick though.

Go Visit Amy

If you’re reading here, you should be anyway.  This gal is a tireless worker for reform and can always be counted on to keep on top of the news that affects all of us.

Today she has done something really special, she’s given us a glimpse of her unique life and big heart.  She’s also drawn a beautiful parallel for adoptees through the creatures she loves.

You won’t be sorry.


Since We All Need A Holiday..

Mention has been made on this blog that we, as adoptees, need a holiday, or at the very least a High Holy Day. I think that I might have come up with something.

From what I can see declaring holidays is a pretty easy thing to do, you just say it’s a holiday, send a card, and your done. Just look at Mother’s Day, founded by anti-civil war activist Julia Ward Howe. She basically bugged the President until he issued a proclamation. Some say it was merely an attempt by Lincoln to revive the lagging knick-knack and bathrobe industries, but never the less, it’s still a holiday. One only has to look at the popularity of Festivus to realize any joker can come up with a holiday these days.
Since this holiday will be to celebrate our gift from God status, I thought it would be nice to name it after a Saint. I considered using Jesus, as many have pointed out his adoptee-lite status, but he already has too many holidays in his honor, if you ask me. Now, I’m not catholic, so I pretty much had to rely on Google search to find a good candidate to be our patron saint.

I started with the obvious, I typed in “adopted saint”, not too fruitful. I just didn’t turn up any holy people that had the right pizazz for an adoptee’s holiday. I did notice that many maternity homes were named St. Elizabeth’s, so I did a quick read in the Catholic dictionary on her. Too boring, and pious for our purposes.

I then typed in “Pray to saint adoption”. I came up with this gem:

St. Gerard.

16 October
Son of a tailor who died when the boy was 12, leaving the family in poverty. Gerard tried to join the Capuchins, but his health prevented it He was accepted as a Redemptorist lay brother serving his congregation as sacristan, gardener, porter, infirmarian, and tailor. Wonder worker.When falsely accused by a pregnant woman of being the father of her child, he retreated to silence; she later recanted and cleared him, and thus began his association as patron of all aspects of pregnancy. Reputed to bilocate and read consciences. His last will consisted of the following small note on the door of his cell: “Here the will of God is done, as God wills, and as long as God wills.”

23 April 1725 at Muro, Italy
16 October 1755 at Caposele, Italy of tuberculosis
29 January 1893 by Pope Leo XIII
11 December 1904 by Pope Saint Pius X
childbirth; children; expectant mothers; falsely accused people; good confessions; lay brothers; motherhood; mothers; Muro, Italy; pregnant women; pro-life movement; unborn children

Seems that this possible birth-father could be our guy.

Gerard was reputed to bilocate, which is defined as being in one place physically and another spiritually, would seem to work for our purposes. And come on, that possible birthfather thing is just too good.

So, let’s call it St. Gerard’s Day. I haven’t quite worked out the details, but I know It’s going to be all about us. Some possible activities and traditions that I ‘d like too see become associated with St Gerard’s Day are:

Drinking of the sacred Mojito’s while dancing to Sam The Sham and the Pharaoh’s hit song Wooly Bully around the St Gerard’s tree. This tree would be a money tree that adoptive parents decorate for us in remembrance of our adoption fees.

The airing of grievances (yeah, I stole that one from Festivus, sue me) to all those that have hurt us over the last year, this, of course would be extended to our lifetimes during the initial celebration. The targets of our grievance would be made to stand in a kiddie pool, wearing a mumu, while the airer of grievances, and other adoptees, shot at them with Super Soakers full of Hawaiian Punch Fruit Juicy Red.

That is all I have come up with for now. I’m open to suggestions as to dates, and celebratory traditions.

Thank God For Adoptees

I just saw an adoptive Mother tell one of my good online friends that she doesn’t see a need to thank her adoptee, she thanks God for them instead. Seems that her adoptee was a great blessing bestowed on her from God.

Gee kid, no pressure.

Since any of the blow sunshine up your ass type adopto parents will tell you that blessings come in all shapes and sizes, I’m beginning to wonder if, I too, am a gift from God. Since my A-parents were rather lazy Christians and only bothered to thank God for anything on Thanksgiving, or after a particularly close call with another automobile, I’m just not sure. They never confirmed anything.

How does one go about determining if they are a gift from God? Did I come with a card? Did my parents keep it? I suppose it would read something like this:

Dear Addie’s Adoptive Mom and Dad,

Sorry to be out of touch for so long. I’ve been kind of busy with the Presidential assassination and that whole state of Israel thing. The Catholics and Jews are my first teams, but boy they require a lot of attention (ha ha). I’ve put Jesus in charge of some of the Saints, and he’s looking after admissions for me, so I’ve freed up some time for adoptions.

Hope you like this one. They tell me she’s a little firecracker and smart to boot. Sometimes they are a little colicky at first, leaving my bosom tends to bit rough on their digestion.

Got to close now, but please do enjoy your gift.



Since I haven’t found a card, I’m going to have to find another way to find out if I was actually given out by the supreme being. I don’t think I’d be marked, from my reading that is more the modus operandi of one of His former employees. I wondered about maybe having a gift on my own, you know, healing by touch, blood that smells like violets, etc. So far I can find nothing.

I’m beginning to think that maybe I wasn’t a gift from God, and just came from the hospital, like my a-parents told me.

Happy Ass Adoptive Parents (you knew it was coming)

I am so sick of hearing a bunch of happy ass adoptive parents talking about how they can heal anything with their magic love.  Hey, fuck you, alright.  All the goddamn hugs in the world aren’t going to make a shit bit difference sometimes.

You are not the second coming of June pissing Cleaver.  You will not make adoption okay within a half an hour with you magic chocolate chip cookies.  Got it?  It’s pretty fucking complicated.  Because your one year old diaper rat is smiling now, that don’t mean they are going to be in about 12 years.

You are on the first shift of the paving crew to hell if you believe you really know one goddamn more thing than any parent that came before you.   You don’t know dick.  Okay?  Nobody does, you are in the dark just like everybody else. Just keep up your happy-ass conversation with each other, keep assuring each other you know your child better than anybody else.  Because guess what?  You don’t.  This may come as a big fucking surprise, your kid may have the first clue as to what they are feeling.  Yeah, imagine that, if you’re capable.

You might as well be serving the pages out of your fucking parenting books with a side of ranch dressing for all the good you got out of them.   What did your skip the “scary” parts because that could never happen with you at the parenting helm?  Huh?  Guess what fucko?  Those scary parts are all about people like you.  Turn on every light in the house, grab your fucking teddy bear and get to studying.  You can get on the internet and bitch about how negative some experts are in the morning if it makes you feel better.  I have a feeling you’ll find the support that you so need.

But for fuck’s sake, do not get on there and discount my memories, or anyone else’s that claim to wish to learn from.  I do so wish there was a special are you dimfucks could be sent to until you are ready for mainstreaming.  I think it would do you worlds of good to review a few key concepts before you have a try at the big kid’s class again.