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.

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.

Memorial
16 October
Profile
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.”

Born
23 April 1725 at Muro, Italy
Died
16 October 1755 at Caposele, Italy of tuberculosis
Beatified
29 January 1893 by Pope Leo XIII
Canonized
11 December 1904 by Pope Saint Pius X
Patronage
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.

XXOXO,

God

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.