Fairy Tales

Cinderella has got nothing on me. Evil step sisters…Pfffft……….right.

If evil step sisters were all I had to deal with, my life would be a fairy tale. Somehow I’ve drawn the evilest set of a and b sisters imaginable.

The a-sisters aren’t actually dangerous or evil, they are only rude, dismissive, and shallow. My B-sisters, that’s where the true evil lies. And lies. And lies.

In the past I had been prone to trying to explain away all the lies my b-sister told me as a defense she used to deal with what she may have been through, or a way to overcome societal pressures that still seemed so predominate in her mind. After this last episode, I will no longer give her this consideration. I will make myself see her as she is. An evil and uncaring woman who will do anything to protect the lies that she has based her life on.

I care for her reasons for doing what she did no more than she cares for me.

There was a time, before I started my search, that I thought of myself as unique, as not being tied to any other person on the Earth in any kind of biological way. Then I found people who looked like me, talked like me, and all this changed. I felt that at least in a distant way I was part of something.

I think that I’ll go back to thinking of myself as unique. They may look like me, talk like me, but they cannot be like me. I am made of better stuff than that. I do not have it in myself to do to anyone what that woman did to me.

So I will go on as I did for many years before, an orphan, unique, and without ties. Maybe thinking of myself that way for so many years made me into a better person. Maybe only having to answer to the mirror, not some past that I had no responsibility in, made me stronger. I don’t know.

I do know that I am not evil.

Curiouser and Curiouser

Hold up on the wake, folks.

When you die your your identity ceases to exist, in more than the obvious ways.   The fact of your death becomes a matter of public notice.  Your social security number is no longer a not really so closely held secret to be hidden from all but those who would extend you credit.  Your name no longer belongs to anyone, it’s published in the newspaper, no matter if anyone cares enough about you to have a service, or even pay to have an obituary written.  In short, you are immediately outed as a non-person.

No matter if your remains end up in a great marble tomb in one of the better cemeteries, or in an unmarked hole surrounded by the bones of hobos, your name ends up on a list that anyone can see.  There really is no way to hide this.  It’s all very democratic.

If you don’t make the list, you are not dead.

I’m not on the list.  Neither is my mother.

It’s a great day to be alive.

The Big Sleep

Much has been made of faking one’s own death in fiction and film. It seems to be a subject that fascinates. Something about being able to start over with a completely clean slate, being able to leave past transgressions behind.

As an adoptee I’ve never found the concept that appealing. Maybe because something very much like this was done to me. I was innocent, I didn’t have anything I wanted to leave behind. My death was faked, in a way, in order to allow others to leave things behind.

On some level I can see where this could be satisfying. With one action, the problem just disappears. I can even see how this could become addictive.

The thing is, like everything that seems to solve all problems, you have to be very careful with it. If you use it too much, it will come back to bite you. The use of this clings to you, like the smell of bourbon, like the acrid woodsy smell of weed. Somebody is eventually going to know your using.

They say an addict can always spot an addict. I think that those who have had death, even in this guise, forced upon them can also always spot an addict. A little bit of that smell always clings to them too. It’s familiar.

How many times can someone expect to be able to get away with something like this, killing people for convenience? Once, twice, even three times?

I think that just once. With every use this power becomes weaker, the high less satisfying, the risk for exposure greater.

Yep, it will turn around on you, but fast.

20 Things

4. You are not getting the whole picture.

Even if you’ve been re-united for 50 years you are not getting the whole picture of the events surrounding your adoption.

Think about it. Think of all the people involved. Now think about what their motivations may have been. Also think about how much or how little they actually communicated with each other. There is no way you can know exactly what really went on. Truthfully no one does.

Let’s start with your a-parents, who most likely started the adoption process long before your first mother became pregnant. We’ve already established that adoption is usually decided upon from what can only be described as a stressful situation. Exactly why did they decide to adopt? Were they truly on the same page in making that decision?

You’ve been told that they adopted because they wanted more than anything else to raise a child they could call their own. I’m sure this is true, but it’s a pretty general answer. There are a lot of reasons they wanted this, and of your parents may have wanted it more than the other. They almost certainly wanted it for different reasons.

Men and women take different roles in parenting and probably do this because they see the role of a parent through their own perspective to some degree. This also colors their reasons for wanting to become parents in the first place. I’m not sure either parent can be completely open with the other about taking a leap as big as adoption, it just brings so much more into the parenting decision. This and the fact that parenting never turns out as anyone expects, may leave them wondering about their reasoning themselves.

Your first parents were also most likely under a great deal of stress. Unexpected pregnancy doesn’t tend to make for peace of mind. Almost every first mother speaks of feeling pulled in different directions, by the baby’s father, by her family, by agencies and most of all by their own feelings. It is very little wonder that many look back and question their decision making at the time.

The clearest decision makers in all of this are the agencies. They have missions, goals, a clear mandate as to their role in all of this. This in no way means that their actions were pure, right, or in your best interest, just that they were most likely operating on a set of guidelines.

All of this means very little to you. The events leading up to your adoption aren’t something that can ever really be figured out. There is no one truth, there are many. Coming to a complete understanding about what happened is impossible. The earliest part of your life will always be surrounded by a certain amount of conflict.

The very heart of the matter is that you are the result what amounts, in many cases, to an adversarial event. Adversarial relationships are great for making laws and trying criminal, but not so good for journeys of self discovery.

The sad fact is accepting that you don’t have a neat, logical, or all together happy story, will most likely serve you well. When you gain this perspective, it allows you to move on from asking questions of others and start asking questions of yourself.

Once you have some kind of idea of the events, you need to look more at how it effected you, not everyone else. They have had many years with a much more mature viewpoint than you, more than likely they have drawn their own conclusions, and consciously or unconsciously, are invested in an agenda. Try to take what they have to offer, iece it together the best you can, and draw your own conclusions.

Get Yourself Over There!

Joy’s back up!  That great news.

And a bunch of us have some other good news too.

I think Joy said it best…


So there for those of you who know there was a little rumble in our happy on line adopto-land. Those things happen whatevah, No love lost.

But something DID happen. We have our own forum now.

How cool is that?

I told you I was hooked up with the most Kick Ass Collection of Adoptees on the World Wide Web.

I am, we are, IT IS

Advocating for Change

Come and say hi, come and join.

You don’t have to be adopted at all, we will adopt you once you join, we will send you to a new and better life of our choosing.

Okay we won’t really do that, BUT we are a work in progress, and our mission is to be adoptee-centric, we are planning on adding more areas but since we are just getting our feet wet staying starting with just the adoptees.

So get your ass over there!

MSM Look Out-I’m Coming For Ya!

I was driving home early sunday morning through bakersfield
Listening to gospel music on the colored radio station
And the preacher said, you know you always have the
Lord by your side

And I was so pleased to be informed of this that I ran
Twenty red lights in his honor
Thank you jesus, thank you lord

Well the preacher kept right on saying that all I had to do was send
Ten dollars to the church of the sacred bleeding heart of jesus
Located somewhere in los angeles, california
And next week theyd say my prayer on the radio
And all my dreams would come true
So I did, the next week, I got a prayer with a girl
Well, you know what kind of eyes she got

-Mick and Keef

That’s right folks, Joy and I are going to be on The Adoption Show this Sunday at 8:30 pm Eastern.

Give a listen.

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.

Spotaneous Record Combustion

Why is it that adoptees records always seem to catch on fire? The phenomenon disturbs me deeply.

I don’t know how many times an adoptee has told me that someone has told them that their records burned. In fact it happens so often, I wonder if we a dealing with some type of recurring event.

I was told my own records burned. A very nice lady told me that the hospital I was born in had burned to the ground in 1968. The thing is, I don’t live that far from that hospital, I had driven by it many times. It appeared to me to have been standing for at least fifty years. Never the less, I searched newspaper records and didn’t find a thing. I saw reports of a couple of house and barn fires in my birthplace that year, but not the hospital.

Considering I was born a town of about 2000 people, one would think that a hospital fire would be a big event. I know in my own little town it was news for weeks when a cigarette left in a stack of Styrofoam cups ignited the Gas And Grub convenience store, it made the TV news and everything. But small town newspapers are more known for wedding announcements and high school sports scores than hard edge reporting, So called up the local library and asked the lady who answered the phone if there had been a fire at the hospital.

She had been born in the same hospital as me, and was about ten years older, she didn’t recall a fire. Her Uncle had been the Volunteer Fire Dept. cheif during the 60’s and 70’s and she promised to ask him for me. I called her back the next week, he didn’t know about any fire at the hospital. He had, in great detail, described a fire in a hatchery that happened about that time, but we agreed that probably wasn’t helpful.

I called the nice lady at the hospital back. Under questioning she revealed it wasn’t the WHOLE hospital, just the records room. Well maybe not the WHOLE records room, just a cabinet. Maybe it was just the birth records. She reallty wasn’t sure.

This would be almost amusing, if I were the only one, but I’m not. Not by a long shot. I can only conclude that something else is at work here. As we all know, none of these people would lie, and may, in fact, be in danger if they handle this records regularly. Imagine if your job involved working with object that appear completely safe, but had potential to spontaneously burst into flame at any moment. Wouldn’t you want to know?

The people that work at hospitals, adoption agencies, and State departments of health, need to be warned. They could so easily be disfigured or even killed by burning adoption records. There needs to be some type of safety procedure put into place. At the very least all adoption records should bear a sticker warning the handler that they are flammable.

If the government was aware of this potential danger to it’s employees, I have no doubt that they would take quick action.

That is why I ask you to alert your state and local authorities of this danger, immediately. Ask them how many more people need to be hurt by incendiary adoption records.