Poor Reviews For Addie’s Story

As most of you have noticed, I don’t write about my personal experience with adoption much here.  There is a reason for that.  I don’t know what my personal experience with adoption really is.

I know what I experienced, but I don’t know why it happened.  I’ve never assumed that I know others motivations.  Without knowing why people did things, I don’t feel like I can give an accurate account of my own experience.  

I’ve heard the stories surrounding my adoption.  They don’t make sense to me.  I know the players, the time line, the basic events.  I just don’t know their motivations.  It’s like a movie without direction.  There is a story, but there is nothing to make me care about the characters.  It comes off as one dimensional.  

There would be no Academy Award nominations for anyone involved in my adoption biopic.  The actors all seem to be totally without conviction.  They speak of desires, regrets, and deep feelings, but come off cold.  It’s as if they are only reciting.  

Maybe they had told to the story too many times before I could ask.  Maybe it was over rehearsed.  

It is hard to pull off a piece where the title character doesn’t speak.  It leaves the other characters to struggle for relevance.  It is easy for the actor to forget that it really is about them, not the title character.  They forget that it’s all about their reaction to the situation.  The title character is only a catalyst.  They approach the role not realizing that it’s an ensemble piece.  It makes for a poor performance. 

Whatever the reason, I am unmoved.  

If I had known, I would have never taken the role.

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Adoptee as Muse

One would think that adoption would be a stimulus for the arts, and it does seem to be when it comes to adoptees. I know of many very talented adoptees working in all kinds of disciplines and mediums. They write, paint, play music, I’m primarily a weaver. Most are work with a high level of technical proficiency combined with a good bit of talent.

We start to run into problems when we act as muses. Even the thought of adopting can inspire the average potential adoptive parent to create some of the worst kind of poetry ever written in the English language. They then post this on the internet to the praises of all who also are caught up in the desire to grow their family. Not a thought is given to the offense of first parents, adoptees, or the matter of good taste.

I wish I could say that it ends here, but no, in this day of inexpensive music recording and MySpace music, adoptees also inspire song. Lots of songs. All of them bad. Most start off simply, a reedy voiced girl heard over the gentle strumming of a guitar, or the sound of a electronic keyboard, lamenting the loneliness and poverty the poor child has endured. Then the music builds at the mention of the adoptive saviours, ending in a fake string enhanced crescendo that would make any big haired, power ballad pushing, 80’s band step back in awe. Yes, it is the worst kind of crap.

I am not as familiar with visual media created by those inspired by adoptees, though I’m sure it’s out there. It does seem that ever adoptive parent fancies themselves a fashion designer, one only has to type “adoption” into the search engine at Cafe Press to see hundreds of efforts on that front. I wouldn’t suggest eating right before doing this if you are an adoptee, or at all sensitive.

All I really want to know is what we have done to deserve this kind of mistreatment? Most of this focuses on the most innocent among us, the very young children. What have we done to so offend the God’s of decency? Why is it that we must endure this artistic flailing directed toward us? Is this the price we must pay for creativity later in life? It just seems so unfair to forever be associated with such crap.

For the love of God, if you think you might be inspired by an adoptee, or the institution of adoption, and are not an adoptee, just don’t do it. Stop. Think. Focus on something else. We will all be better for it.