A Never Ending Journey

Posted on January 23, 2017 by Laureen

This “family” thing just keeps growing. Don’t get me wrong . . . I’m not complaining. Far from it. On the contrary, I’m celebrating it. Since I met my biological father in 2015, who, if you’ve been following my story here, you know as Jackson, I’ve discovered many more branches on this big ol’ family tree.

Genealogy is an amazing thing. Especially for adoptees. From the beginning we’re told we’re not entitled to know our origins or our roots. Well, DNA and the art of genealogy has opened up a whole new world for us.

I owe quite a bit of thanks to others, who are much better at the research and at poring over old documents and putting puzzle pieces together. For that, I have to thank my friend Nancy. She won’t let a clue go until she’s worked it every which way, deciphering hints hidden in old records and finding hidden meaning in everything from newspaper articles to the spelling of names.

I also have to thank my newfound cousin, Beth. She’s quite a sleuth herself. She uncovered some of the mystery on my biological mother’s side of the family. Things and people I don’t even think my biological mother knows about! I feel so family rich!

Later this week, I’m traveling with Nancy up to Northern California to finally meet some cousins on my bio-dad’s side. At last, I’m finally meeting Heide, Jackson’s first cousin, who is 91 years old. She’s the one who opened the door for Jackson and me to the rich family legacy that we now share. We’re staying with Heide’s daughter (who also happens to be named Nancy) and her husband. I feel so lucky that there generous souls who are so open and kind and willing to share.

What’s all the fuss about the secrets, anyway?

Legalized Fraud?

Posted on April 15, 2014 by Laureen

My birth certificate bears the words: Certificate of Live Birth, under the two separate, official-looking headers:

State of California

Certification of Vital Records

and

State of California

Department of Public Health

It also bears “The Great Seal of the State of California,” on the left bottom corner, as well as a funky, more modern looking “CDPH” (California Department of Public Health) seal on the bottom right corner. The paper itself is really official and fancy, too–pretty even–shades of red, white and blue–with a serious blue border with the somber words “Any Alteration or Erasure Voids this Certificate” on the bottom. When you hold up the certificate to the light, you can see a watermark: “OFFICIAL VITAL RECORD.”

A birth certificate. Big deal. Well, the one I have in my possession is a fraud. Officially, it’s called an amended birth certificate. And there is actually a legitimate reason for it (although I have a problem with the form of it being the same as an original birth certificate).

Adoption files (usually held by the state department of health or social services and the courts) and original birth certificates of adoptees were sealed to all parties in most states starting in the early 1930’s (open adoption records were the norm prior to this time). Historically, there are a number of reasons cited for the sealing of the records. Basically, birth records were amended and sealed based on ideas of the shame of adoption, the stigma of illegitimacy, and the attempt to hide the adoptive family from the socially scorned birth mother. I won’t go into the details here because there has been so much written on the subject of anonymity in adoptions and there are so many opinions out there. If you want to read about it in more depth, you can go here: Bastard Nation; or here: California Open (related specifically to California adoptions); or just Google “sealed adoption records” and you’ll get all kinds of articles and all kinds of opinions on the subject.

I understand the need for privacy when a child is placed for adoption. The adoptive family needs to bond with the child and eventually tell the story of their family (including the adoption) in their own way. But the story needs to be told. Families that don’t tell their adopted children that they were adopted really scare me. But that’s another blog–not mine. I always knew I was adopted. It was a happy story.

Back to sealed records. There is just one argument on the side of sealed records that I don’t like. It’s not just that I don’t agree with it–it’s that it’s just plain wrong. And I want to be clear about it so it doesn’t clog up any argument you may want to have with me about sealed records and any so-called right to privacy. Plain and simple: there is no right to privacy in adoption that extends to a birth parent. Anonymity may have been promised and may have been desired by a birth parent, but there is nothing in any adoption law or even in the official relinquishment papers signed by the birth parent(s), that guarantees anonymity. It’s a funny idea to me–like wanting to be in the witness protection program. I just don’t get it. You gave birth to a person. A thinking person.

The Sixth Circuit Court of Appeals said it quite simply when it upheld a Tennessee law granting adult adoptees access to their original birth certificates:

“A birth is simultaneously an intimate occasion and a public event — the government has long kept records of when, where, and by whom babies are born. Such records have myriad purposes, such as furthering the interest of children in knowing the circumstances of their birth.

The judges of the Sixth Circuit Court also wrote: “if there is a federal constitutional right of familial privacy, it does not extend [to birth parents who have relinquished children to adoption]” and cited a 1981 decision in which the appeals court found that

[T]he Constitution does not encompass a general right to nondisclosure of private information.

Interestingly, the Court went a little further and dealt with the emotion of it all and found that the interest of an adoptee to know who his or her birth parents are is

an interest entitled to a good deal of respect and sympathy.

[106 F.3d 703 (6th Cir. 1997)]

The U.S. Supreme Court declined to overrule the Appeals Court ruling in favor of open records.

Remember that I am talking about information and identity and the documentation that can provide this information. I am not talking about relationships. If you’ve been reading my blog, you probably know that I gave up my idea of ever having any kind of relationship with my biological mother. She refuses even to communicate in any meaningful way, so it’s a non-issue for me. It has become an issue for others, though, namely Jackson, my biological father, who cannot remember anything about his apparently fleeting relationship with Margaret. He’d like to communicate with her. But we cannot legislate communication, relationships, or emotions. So there you have it.

My record of identity–my amended birth certificate (the only one I have)–is fraught with obvious inaccuracies. For starters, I think it would be helpful if adopted persons were provided with a document with a different title, such as, Amended Birth Certificate or Certificate of Adoption. It’s quite confusing to see the words “Certificate of Live Birth” showing “Mother of Child” as my adoptive mother and “Father of Child” as my adoptive father. “Informant’s Certification” lists my adoptive mother’s name (typewritten in where there is supposed to be a signature) and dashes (—–) in the blank for “Date Signed By Informant.”

Even weirder, for “Place of Birth,” the “City or Town” is listed as Corona; however, the “County” is listed as “San Bernardino.” The City of Corona is actually located in Riverside County, not San Bernardino County. But the Chino Institute for Women is actually located in Chino, in the County of San Bernardino (I’m not sure what hospital facilities were used when I was born). You’d think if my birth parents wanted to “hide” the fact that I was born in prison by changing the city from Chino to Corona, you’d think they’d figure out that they’d need to change the County to Riverside, as well. In addition, the “Place of Birth – Name of Hospital” and “Street Address” spots are left completely blank. Like I just appeared into thin air into the arms of my adoptive parents. It’s a fill-in-the-blanks-who-cares-it-does’t-matter nightmare. Okay, so it’s not a nightmare–it’s just a fraud. A fake. It makes me feel like a phony.

I’m working on my Petition for Authorization to Inspect Adoption and Birth Record Information, which I will file with the Superior Court. California law provides that I must show good cause and state the reasons that I need to see my own birth record. It’s up to the judge to decide whether my reasons are compelling enough. If my petition is successful, I will be able to view my original sealed birth certificate. It will remain sealed–not open to public inspection. I would also gain access to view my adoption :”file,” which contains all of the information and documentation provided by the Department of Social Services to the Court and the Court documents relating to my adoption. Some counties have simple petition “forms” to complete and file. The county that I need to file in does not, so I am drafting it from scratch. There aren’t many useful “samples” out there, so I am struggling to get it just right. I’ll post a copy when I’m finished with it. After all, it’s public record.

Wish me luck!

Scars and Chain Link Fences

Posted on March 27, 2014 by Laureen

Scars fade with time. And the ones that never go away, well, they build character, maturity, caution. — Erin McCarthy

Relationships develop slowly. Because they have to. Adults, with their character, reasoning, actions and reactions having been molded by a lifetime of individual (and sometimes solitary) experience, are often cautious. Sometimes the lifetime of experience builds walls, causing unintended isolation and a kind of numbness to what’s real and what matters. The walls can not only separate you from other people, they can separate you from your true self–making relationships difficult, or even impossible.

I like to think that I have no walls. But I know that is not entirely true. I would characterize them more as fences, rather than walls. Something like a chain-link fence that I can see through and past. It’s easy for me to let people in . . . most of the time. It’s super easy for me to go outside of my fence and do whatever it is I need to do. But there are times when I don’t let anyone in. And there are times I just hang out . . . alone. But doesn’t everyone have walls or fences?

Writing this blog is a big deal for me. I’ve let all of you in. You know my reality–I’ve told it exactly like it is. The truth–except for changing some of the names. My reality. As much as I know. As much as I allow myself to feel.

I know that my reality, or my adoption truth, is different from anyone else’s. It’s even different for those who are directly involved in my story. A person’s reality, whether or not adoption is part of the picture, is a obviously a product of many subjective perceptions, filtered through a personal and unique emotional, psychological and sometimes spiritual lens. But without the truth, reality is skewed. It’s wrong.

Everyone is entitled to know the facts or learn their own truth. If an individual does not know his or her truth, the lies become the story. The lies become the history. The lies become the untruth. It’s unfair.

Why can’t we all be on the right side of history? The correct and only reality: the truth . An adoptee’s experience as he or she grows should be affirmed with the truth–the story of what really happened. It’s understood that as a child she is told only small parts of the truth. As much as a child’s brain can handle and still allow love and trust to enter the picture. But as an adult, she should be given the opportunity to hear the truths from those that lived it, and to be offered context in order to process and to own that truth. With that truth, an adoptee can build a sense of trust and openness, as well as a willingness to share. Intimacy.

I am thankful that Jackson is open and honest. He and I are learning about each other. I am happy that he is open to learning more about himself by letting me be a part of his truth. It’s amazing, really. He’s still grappling with the idea of having a “new” 50-year-old daughter and he has many questions himself. Questions that I can’t answer. His truth, like mine, depends on context and answers that can be provided by only one person: Margaret.

Talk about walls. As you know, I was not able to break down Margaret’s walls. I believe she’s ~~happy~~ ~~content~~ ~~oblivious~~ numb living inside those walls. She feels protected–from what, I do not know. Jackson still toys with the idea of writing to Margaret. He’s even mentioned wanting to “see” her.

He asked me recently about how I felt about Margaret today. My response:

I want to be as clear as possible about how I feel about Margaret. I know enough about her (her situation 50 years ago, as well as her life as an adult, which includes a successful career and fierce independence as a woman), and while I would have loved to have had some sort of open communication with her over the years, I understand that I won’t. Frankly, the person that I am today doesn’t want to meet her. In my heart I believe that she would disappoint me if I ever did meet her in person–she was not meant to be a mother and she absolutely did the right thing in relinquishing me for adoption. That being said, I am not angry or resentful. Disappointed–yes. But not angry. And definitely not longing for some motherly relationship I never had.

I loved his response.

Laureen, I like you very much…. you are honest and straight forward. I am more and more inclined to write your mom and tell her exactly what has happened here. She needs to understand that whatever has happened is old business. Life is what it is about right now. Making things better on this planet is what it is about. I just don’t want to cause her trouble.

Warm Fuzzy

I especially liked the “I like you very much” part. [warm fuzzies]

Gettin’ My Sleuth On . . .

Posted on January 27, 2014 by Laureen

I’m no Nancy Drew, but what the heck? I sent this e-mail today.

To: Public Library

From: Laureen Pittman

Date: January 26, 2014

Hello,

My name is Laureen Pittman and I live in Riverside, CA. I am doing some genealogy research and will be traveling to the library next week to do research and track down some information. One piece of information I am looking for involves an incident that happened in 1963 (probably sometime in September). The incident was an arrest (drug related charges) possibly at the junior college. One of the arrestees was Margaret Michaels. I believe she was arrested with another individual—a male. Margaret would have been 18 at the time of her arrest and the male individual would have been 20. Margaret was the step-daughter of a fairly well-known local tv news editor, broadcaster or anchor, Joseph Michaels. Margaret was sentenced to 10 years in prison for drug related charges. But what I am looking for is the identity of the male that was arrested with Margaret.

Am I correct in assuming that the Community News-Press was in existence at that time? Would they have published or reported on local arrests, or would there be an “arrest log” that I could review in the newspaper from that time? I’m hoping that the newspapers from 1963 might be archived on microfilm? Would I be able to access the newspaper archives from September 1963 if I make a personal visit to the library? Which branch should I visit? Do I need to make an appointment to have these old archives located/pulled for review?

Any help or assistance would be greatly appreciated.

Thank you in advance. I can be reached at the e-mail address shown above, or on my cell phone at XXX-XXX-0515.

Laureen Pittman

Rewriting The Past

Posted on January 24, 2014 by Laureen

Anyone who isn’t confused really doesn’t understand the situation. — Edward R. Murrow

I had answers to some of the most basic, vital questions. I knew the identity of my biological mother: Margaret Michaels.

I knew the identity of my biological father (thanks to DNA): Jackson Summer.

As you know, I have never actually spoken to Margaret. The last “contact” I had with her was the self-bloated letter I received from her over 20 years ago. She has no desire to meet me or to even carry on a conversation via letter or e-mail. I have respected that. She never disclosed to anyone, including her mother, my biological father, or her siblings (4 of them) that she was ever pregnant. The only people in her “world” who knew she was pregnant and relinquished a child were the prison personnel (and presumably other inmates), social workers and hospital personnel. It is also possible that her stepfather knew. According to the story from the social worker (my non-identifying story), he was the one who turned Margaret in to the authorities, which resulted in her arrest.

So was it true that none of Margaret’s family came to visit her during her stay at the Greybar Inn? She was there for 3 1/2 years (sentenced to 10). If anyone came to see her during the first 3 months of her incarceration, they would have surely guessed she was pregnant (or she really liked the prison food). I guess they could have come to visit after December (she was arrested in September) and not known she was ever pregnant. That makes a little bit of sense. Margaret’s mother (my grandmother) was actually pregnant at the same time as Margaret (let’s get all the complicated details together, here). Remember this tidbit from my non-identifying story?

Baby Christopher is the 3-month old half brother.

Margaret’s mother (my maternal grandmother) gave birth to Baby Christopher (my uncle) about the same time that Margaret was arrested. And it was Baby Christopher’s father (Margaret’s stepfather) who turned Margaret in. Margaret’s mother was busy raising 4 young children while Margaret was out partying, getting pregnant and getting arrested. You follow?

Jackson Summer didn’t know Margaret was pregnant. Jackson claims he doesn’t even know who Margaret Michaels is. More likely, he doesn’t remember. There were drugs involved. Drugs can alter memories, for sure. But Jackson does remember Marion Michaels. His first love. He’s still in touch with her. Jackson even told Marion about me and our curious DNA match and about this mysterious Margaret person who has the same last name as Marion. According to Jackson, Marion was not able to provide any information that would be helpful to us.

If you’ll recall, I mentioned that I have been in touch with one of Margaret’s siblings. We even talked about getting together to meet and talk. I was hopeful that she could fill in some of the odd-shaped blanks hanging out there. She was very clear that Margaret did not want to discuss the matter and did not want to be involved in any contact with me. She also confirmed that their mother (my maternal grandmother) still did not know about me.

Well, our meeting has not happened (yet). Real life and busy schedules got in the way. In the meanwhile, I started this blog to help me sort through it all. My aunt read the blog. She expressed her disappointment with the information I was putting “out there” in the cyber-world for anyone to see (even though I’ve changed the names of the key players). We had an e-mail exchange about it. She asked me to “Please stop.”

And you know what’s ironic? Before the blog, this aunt had asked me to share the information I had discovered about my biological father through the DNA match. She wanted to know what I had learned about my biological father. I believed she was sympathetic to my plight and genuinely interested. Without hesitation I told her about the DNA match and gave details that Jackson had shared with me, in the hopes that sharing the information may lead to more sharing on her side of the family. Absolutely not. I’ve since asked my aunt specific questions about Margaret and their mother, and I’ve made a request for some specific health information that would aid me in making a decision about my future. She never answered any of my questions.

Don’t get me wrong. I understand that she owes me nothing. I’m beginning to see a pattern.

I think perhaps Margaret is “bullying” her siblings. Maybe not in a schoolyard, overt kind of way, but definitely subliminally. From what I can figure out, they are worried that the knowledge of my existence will “crush” their mother (my grandmother). What information exactly, I wonder, is going to crush my grandmother? The fact that Margaret had a child? No . . . that can’t be. Seriously, I haven’t lived the kind of life that can be deemed a disappointment to anyone, in my own humble opinion. It’s gotta be the 50 year old lie. That her daughter, Margaret, never told her she had a child. Surely, she knew that Margaret had been in prison. That “disappointment” had already been felt, processed, and dealt with. I would think. Perhaps there is more to the story that I don’t know. Margaret’s sibling wrote:

We do not know the circumstances leading to her pregnancy; it may have been quite traumatic.

She also mentioned several times that some of the information I’ve published wasn’t even true. What!? Not true? You mean the story that I know and live every day about my identity and how I came into this world is riddled with untruths, cover-ups, and lies? Imagine that. No seriously, why don’t you try to imagine that? I’ve lived this way my entire life.

So tell me something new. Like the truth. There are people that actually know the truth, but won’t tell me. Imagine that!

So here are some theories. These theories, of course, include questions or lead to more questions. They were either drummed up by me, or by friends and relatives of mine in an attempt to fill the odd-shaped holes. Anyone out there good at solving mysteries?

About Marian

Is Marian is somehow related to Margaret? A half-sister? Remember–they have the same last name, and Margaret never really knew her biological father. Her mother and father were separated and/or divorced (perhaps she wasn’t even married when she gave birth to Margaret at age 18!) when she was just an infant. Marian and Margaret grew up in the same town. Marian claims she knows nothing about Margaret or me. It is unclear whether Margaret knows Marian.

About Margaret

It’s clear the story she gave the social workers about my biological father was not true. It could have been an outright lie to mislead, or she could have simply not known exactly who the father was, so she described several individuals.

Why did Margaret’s stepfather “turn her in” and have her arrested? How and why was he involved to the degree of having her arrested? I have not mentioned this before, but Margaret’s stepfather was a well-known and recognizable figure in the community where they lived. He was probably in his late 30’s at the time of Margaret’s pregnancy and arrest–and his wife (Margaret’s mother) was pregnant and about to give birth). Did he know Margaret was pregnant? Perhaps he suspected she was pregnant and knew about the drugs and didn’t want Margaret to continue with the drugs while pregnant? I wish I could contact him. He passed away in 2006.

About Jackson

Jackson says he was never arrested. So who was the man who was arrested with Margaret? Was that made up, too? I suppose that was something that Margaret could have told the social workers, but I assumed that they would have checked that fact–the arrest records would have been easy to find and confirm. If they knew his identity, wouldn’t he have to sign the relinquishment papers? Apparently not. The information I have simply states, “We have no information about your birthfather following his arrest.”

About “The Deed”

How did Jackson and Margaret come to meet and get together? They lived in the same town, but went to different schools. Both were obviously exploring the counterculture of the 1960’s via drug use. They most likely knew some of the same people. Obviously, Jackson doesn’t remember knowing her, let alone having some sort of relationship with her (even if it was only a one night stand). Perhaps there was some sort of coincidental meeting “up North” when Margaret claims to have gone to San Francisco for a short time and Jackson was living and working up in Big Sur (hibernating up in the mountains to detox).

Perhaps my aunt was right about there being some sort of traumatic experience that led to Margaret’s pregnancy. Rape? Yikes. I don’t even want to consider that. I don’t know Jackson very well (hardly at all, actually), but it just doesn’t add up. Of course, Margaret was most likely involved with more than one man (who was she talking about when she described my biological father to the social worker?). Perhaps there was a traumatic incident of some sort and Margaret thought I could possibly be the product of it, and she made up a good portion of the information to hide the awfulness?

I suppose that’s enough conjecture. Do you have any ideas?

The self is not something one finds, it is something one creates. ~Thomas Szasz, “Personal Conduct,” The Second Sin, 1973

Next up: Something interesting about Margaret.

Red Light. Green Light. And Sometimes it Stays Yellow for a Long Time.

Posted on January 4, 2014 by Laureen

“I look for a sign. Where to go next. You never know when you’ll get one. Even the most faithless among us are waiting to be proven wrong.”
― Jillian Lauren, Pretty

I know what’s happening. I’m emotional. Scared. Afraid of what might happen next. Or maybe I’m afraid that nothing will happen next.

Sometimes I just go full steam ahead. Everything makes sense and things happen. Not always good things. Even when good things do happen in this crazy search, it can be scary.

I do realize that it’s all emotional on my part. I have enough raw data and information (names, addresses, phone numbers, etc.) to power through and get the answers that I ~~think I~~ need. What if I upset people? Maybe I don’t need the answers. Or maybe if I just keep telling myself I don’t need the answers I can move forward and get the answers and not be affected by the consequences.

No way. I know that I am fully attached to the outcome of this whole thing. After my second attempt at contacting Margaret some 25 years ago, my desire to reconnect with my biological family had somewhat faded. I’m sure it’s because of her letters and the impact her words had on my delicate psyche. But why did I choose to be so affected?

Frankly, I’m exhausted. I don’t know why I got a bug up my ass in 2013 to reignite my search. Because I turned 50? Maybe. Emotionally, it’s an all-consuming project. It’s been difficult to accomplish stuff on my normal day-to-day to-do list. One day I am motivated by my progress and new connections and the next I am frustrated by a ~~relative’s~~ mere stranger’s reaction and attitude and the emotional doors being slammed in my face.

So sometimes I see a yellow “caution” light in my mind. I have to take time out to process things. Sometimes I have to press “pause.” That’s why there are some long pauses in this blog. I apologize for that. But it’s all happening right now. It’s affecting me right now.

I did hear from my bio dad. He responded within a few days of receiving my message via 23andMe.

Jackson Summer, a Father wrote:

What is very strange about this is that I am from the same town as Margaret and although not exactly 50 years ago the love of my life was named Marian Michaels. We met in school. I was 16 and she was 14. To make a long story short we were together for 8 years at which time the relationship broke up because of my drug use. Because I loved her so much, I went away and straightened myself out. Unfortunately, I had destroyed the trust between us and we went our separate ways. I eventually married and had a daughter and Marian married and had a son and a daughter. Years later, my wife passed away due to cancer. Marian’s husband had died one year earlier.

Today Marian and I are best of friends and often visit one another.

Laureen, your inquiry has piqued my interest. There are so many coincidences in our stories. I would enjoy geting to know you.

My very best to you,

Jackson Summer

So that was a little odd. My bio mom is Margaret Michaels. The love of his life was Marian Michaels. Is this some other weird piece of an even more twisted and fucked up puzzle? It didn’t make sense. So I gave him more details. I paraphrased all of the information from the non-identifying data I had received from the wonderful Mr. Witt (I eventually gave him a copy of the paperwork with all of the details). Now he would know that I knew that he had been arrested with Margaret. It also gave him a bit of back-story about his relationship with Margaret. It’s what I knew. My truth, right? He couldn’t deny it. The part about “going away to straighten himself out” made sense to me–that had to be the time he served in prison. Had to be . . . right? Plus, what about the DNA? I know Margaret is my bio mom. And the DNA is solid confirmation (to most of the logical world) that Jackson is my bio dad. His next response:

Hello again,

One of the reasons I am as open to helping you find your dad is that my father died when I was 6 and although I was raised by my mother, she never gave me much information about his family. I very much understand what is like to not know about those who brought you into the world. There are so many coincidences about all this–to say nothing about the genetic match!

The problem for me right now is that I have no memory of being with anyone other than Marian Michaels during this time. I have written to her about this and asked her if she remembers any of the names you wrote about. I have not heard back yet. Also, I majored in Art and English, and although I helped teach a evening class at the city college, that lasted less than a month. I do not even remember if I took any classes at the local junior college. I was and still am an artist and I was well known for the jewelry and metal work I did. I used to sell my work at the beach every weekend. I think most people who knew me then would have connected me with art and the craft of jewelry making. The description in the paperwork you provided simply does not describe me back then. The area where I lived was very different then…..many artists, writers and creative minds.

It has been a long time and you have piqued my curiosity to no end. There is so much coincidence in time place and of course the genetic info.

My Best,
Jackson

I’m happy that he’s open and honest and willing to “help me find my dad.”

Quiet, But Too Well Poised to Be Shy

Posted on December 3, 2013 by Laureen

I understand the secrecy. I understand the shame. But when a woman keeps a secret such as giving birth and giving away a baby, the secret, continued lies and shame should not follow her or her child for life.

Let’s clear up this secrecy and betrayal stuff once and for all. A birthmother may be told that the birth records are “sealed,” but in reality, privacy cannot be promised or guaranteed, nor should it be expected. We’re talking about another human being’s identity and existence in this world! Putting emotions aside, in fact, privacy and anonymity is not promised to a birthmother. Research has shown that the true intent of sealing the original birth certificate (and concocting a new one) was never meant to protect birthparents. The two primary reasons for sealing original birth records back when the practice began (likely sometime before 1940) were 1) to keep birthparents from interfering with adoptive families, and 2) to protect adopted children from the stigma of “illegitimacy.” Birthparents were never guaranteed anonymity under state law or in any adoption/relinquishment documents they may have signed. (Donaldson, Evan B., www.adoptioninstitute.org)

I knew that I hadn’t done anything wrong, unlawful, illegal, prohibited, criminal or even irregular. So why did I feel so bad? Guilty, even. Many adoptees dive into the unknown with their desire to search for their biological family, even if they’ve had a positive experience with their adoptive families. It’s normal. It’s even expected. You can’t deny it–even for individuals raised with their biological families, questions about relatives (what’s up with that “crazy” uncle?), ancestors (maybe you’re related to Annie Oakley, or you share a common ancestor with Frank Sinatra) and family history abound. Genealogy is big business.

As for birthparents, existing studies indicate the overwhelming majority are not opposed to being “found” by their adult children. Some even seek out their children after years of longing and regret. But always lurking in the back of an adoptee’s mind is the question, “What if my birthmother doesn’t want to be found?” Research shows that the likelihood of a birth mother rejecting contact is extremely small (1%-5%) (www.adoptionbirthmothers.org), but of course, there is still that possibility. Hell, I’m living proof! But, why? How can facing the truth be that terrible? I started out by just rationalizing that she may just be the sort of person I wouldn’t want to have contact with, anyway. Besides, I knew plenty of people who grew up with their biological parents and who were trying to create serious distance from them for whatever reasons. I just chalked it up to not understanding “people.”

So let’s move on. My birthmother is one of the 1%-5% who didn’t want to be found. Or maybe she just needed time to get acquainted with the idea of my presence in her world (a girl could still dream, can’t she?). So the lie continued. I moved on. I graduated from college, got a great job, started paying off student loans, met a decent guy, fell in love, and got married. We had a child. I was pretty proud of myself, too. I did it all in the right order. Like it mattered.

A bouncing baby boy! I was 27 when Zachary was born. He looked just like his father. Aside from the dark brown eyes and dark brown hair, both of which his father also had, we had no similar features. Everyone commented on how he looked so much like his father, but not me. The question often asked was, “Does he look like anyone on your side of the family?”

At this point in my life my adoption “story” became more like a punch line. If adoption ever came up in conversation for any reason, I would laugh it off and almost always make a joke of it. I could always “one-up” anyone’s tragic family story, whether it be about adoption or something else. What? Your dad left your mom and your 12 brothers and sisters when you were just 5 years old? Well, I was born in prison! A prison baby! Right? Imagine that! One month premature–born to a drug addicted, beatnik convict mother! Given up for adoption . . . [snort, snort] . . . and then, guess what? I found her just a few years ago–rejected again!“ Laughter all around. Hilarious.

Rejected again. So why would I go back for more? I could not accept that she didn’t want to know me. I could not accept that she could not (or would not) acknowledge my existence and my value. I read and re-read her letter–it was all about Margaret–clearly, she felt like she needed to defend herself (and her decision to relinquish) and do her best to let me know it was “the right thing to do.” Not only was it the right thing to do, but her life was fantastic because of it! Super fantastic and full of travel and exotic stuff and a dream job and no time to remember my name. So super wonderful that she doesn’t even think about me.

It was Zachary that made me think about it again. Did he look like my family? Surely, she would want to know about a grandson. Her only child (me) has now given her a grandchild. Yuck. Just typing that felt weird. I didn’t “give” her anything. Zachary was mine. Not hers. But there was something that made me want to give her one more chance. And seriously, I still believed (and still believe to this day!) that I am entitled to know about my origins, my history, my ancestry, medical information, etc. I’ll assume that if you’re still reading this, you understand the concept of the search from the eyes and mind of an adoptee. I had to do it.

I wrote another letter. I was more careful with my words. I already knew she’d be ~~a bitch about it~~ resistant to any kind of contact or any kind of exchange of information. I sent a picture of me holding Zach. I think he was about 6 months old. This was 1991. My hair was big. I think I may have suggested to her that she was insecure–not able to deal with her past in a manner that would allow her to recognize other people’s feelings. Her lie could not make me disappear. I told her about Zach–I told her I wondered where he got his nose and other features.

I know Margaret didn’t want a relationship. I didn’t need (or want) one. I agree that every human being has the right to decline a relationship with another individual. A birthmother most certainly has the right to say “no thank-you” to her birthdaughter’s request for a meeting or an ongoing relationship. Likewise, an adoptee has the right to decline a request from a birth parent. It’s no different for biological families–relatives are “cut off” all the time (well, it’s different because most biological families already have a solid identity “base” and knowledge of family history–family history is usually what causes the riff in the first place). In any event, relationships between family members (biological or not) cannot be legislated. So just answer the questions. Meaningful communication is all I ask for. The more honest and open you can be (I’ll be patient), the sooner I will feel comfortable leaving you alone.

Whoa. I received another letter from Margaret. It was the last contact I have had with her. Her tone was somewhat ~~softer~~ less agitated but her message was the same. Her opening tore the scab right off.

Dear Laureen,

Each contact from you (or contact from others on your behalf) has so far been such a negative experience that I was made to feel that no good could come from further contact.

What? She was made to feel that further contact would be bad? I don’t get it. It was my fault? Wow! About her “lie,” as I called it:

I find no conflict between the fact that I value my privacy and the fact that I very much like who I am. One thing that I especially like about me is the fact that I had the common sense at a very early age to make the difficult decision to put a child up for adoption. And I hope that you can accept that valuing privacy is not synonymous with being insecure!

Well, I especially like that about you, too. Sheesh–I can’t imagine Margaret as a nurturing mother. And I find it a little weird that she refers to her “common sense” and the fact that she made a “difficult decision” to “put a child up for adoption” (hello–I’m right here!). Did she have a choice? Unwed mothers who were not even in prison have spoken out about how they felt that they didn’t have a choice about keeping a child. They were coerced or made to believe that there were no other options. And she was in federal prison in 1963 (there were no prison nurseries back then) and she believes she actually made a thoughtful choice?

Margaret went on to lecture me again on what I “needed to accept” (accidents happen sometimes) and what I “needed to understand” (what it was like to be pregnant and unmarried in the 1960’s). How her decision in the middle of this “bad situation” was “exactly the correct action under the circumstances.”

Margaret–please hear me now: Of course you made the right decision to put your daughter up for adoption. No one is arguing that you did something wrong in that regard. Not only did it “salvage” your life (your words), but it obviously salvaged mine, too!

Margaret rehashed the whole private investigator incident (callous and without a “shred of human decency”), as well as the communication with the wonderful Mr. Witt (“a man who worked for the county who violated the court order”) (an untrue statement). Basically, she’s still trying to get me to believe that everyone is against her and out to harm her, or disrupt her wonderful ~~lie~~ life.

She did address my question about Zach’s features. She wrote about her nose:

My nose is my most distinctive feature, and I’m not fond of it! I’ve enclosed 2 pictures of me so you can see if in fact that is where your son got his nose. There [sic] not very good pictures, but you see, I always try to pose for pictures in a manner that does not show my nose very well, with the result that I had to search extensively to find any that shows it at all, and these were the best angles I could come up with.

Dark hair and dark eyes. Zach doesn’t have her nose. Neither do I. Finally, one last hurrah for how fabulous her life is:

Now I have to ask you a favor. If you really feel you ever have to contact me again, please write to me at work instead of at home. If you mark the envelope “Personal & Confidential,” no one will open it. I’ve enclosed a card so you will have the address. I’ve been there for 22 years, so you’re more likely to find me there in the future than in the same home address.

What in the hell does that mean? I wasn’t expecting warm and fuzzy. I wasn’t expecting hearts and flowers. But maybe a question or two (or, God forbid, a compliment) about Zach? How about asking me how I have been? How am I doing? How do I feel? What do I want to know?

I never wrote to her again. I have no need for her language of self-defense and verbal fortification. I will let her continue to hide and evade and avoid and disguise in her own world.

A Fabulous Life!

Posted on November 26, 2013 by Laureen

I have read stories of adoptees just showing up at a birth family member’s home: “Surprise! I’m your long lost son/daughter!” {Hugs all around . . . happily ever after . . . blah, blah, blah . . . } That’s not me.

I had her address. I looked it up (using the old “Thomas Guide,” if any of you can remember that!). She lived only 30 minutes away from me. All this time . . . so close, and yet so far. I mapped out the directions–wrote it down, even. But I never made the trip to her house. Looking back, I guess I was scared. I figured I already knew what to expect–she could have reached out to me, but she didn’t. She could have sent a message through Mr. Witt, but she didn’t. This much was clear: she didn’t want contact with me.

I also knew from the information that I received from Mr. Witt and from the investigator that Margaret had never gotten married and she had never had any other children.

Well, it’s weird to try to explain how that made me feel. Yes, there was sadness and anger . . . but that passed. I consider myself a pretty strong person and a pretty good judge of character. I can process other people’s actions and emotions, as well as my own, and figure out how to fit in. I feel like I’ve lived most of my life that way: watching and listening to people and trying to figure out how to fit into their world. So I processed the situation at hand. My conclusion: Margaret was angry because I had nearly upset her entire world. I had almost exposed her secret! Of course, that was devastating to her. So she lashed out in anger. But here was my problem: her “world” was built around a lie. I am an adult person that exists in this world. She’s basically denying my existence. On the one hand, I wanted to respect her privacy. But on the other hand, I wanted answers. I was entitled to information. Was she obligated to give me the information? Legally, no.

But wait . . . we’re all human beings. We all have the same basic needs and wants, beginning with our identity. Most adoptees believe that a moral obligation exists: a birth mother who chooses adoption should take responsibility for the decision to relinquish a child because the decision changed the identity of another human being. I don’t need ongoing contact–what I need is meaningful communication and information. Then we can be done. If that’s the way you want it.

I wrote a letter to Margaret. I didn’t keep a copy of the letter and it was more than 25 years ago, so I don’t remember exactly what I wrote. I’m sure I tried to explain my disappointment. I’m pretty sure I defended my actions (seeking her out). I’m pretty sure I told her I was “okay” and just wanted to ask some questions.

Margaret responded. Once again, I was cut to the core. Shut down.

Her letter came to me, handwritten, on letterhead from The Omni Hotel in South Carolina. She was traveling. She got right down to it.

Laureen,

I was surprised to receive your letter–and disappointed. You need to understand that I strongly feel it was wrong for any records to be opened to you. To me, it’s more than an invasion of privacy. I actually feel that by such a disclosure on the part of authorities I trusted, I have been betrayed and violated!

I can’t believe that any good can come from any further contact, and I don’t want to meet or talk, nor to continue a correspondence. But since you are interested, I will take the time to comment on a couple of things.

Margaret went on to tell me about herself–how she is “strong” and “self-sufficient” and could never be influenced by others. She has no regrets in life and has lived her life exactly the way she wanted.

Never have I ever done anything that I either felt to be wrong, or later regretted. As a result, I am well-pleased with my life. I have a good education and the kind of job most people can only dream of. So, you see, I have never wondered about you, nor did I expect that you would wonder about me. I hope that I have now told you enough that you can comfortably let go of your desire for further contact.

Well, that told me nothing. To be honest, her letter came off to me as defensive and condescending. As if she were defending her actions in life (one of which was giving me up for adoption) and telling me how wonderful her life has been because of it. She doesn’t need me. She doesn’t need to know about me. The closing of her letter said it all.

Got to run. I’ve got a plane to catch.

Margaret

P.S. Sorry to have left the last name off the address on the envelope, but I tossed your envelope before realizing that your last name was not on the letter.

Wow. Lucky me. At least she was able to scratch out a letter to me in between traveling the world for her totally fabulous and fantastic job. And what great information she provided! She’s educated, successful, quite pleased with herself, and . . . well, quite pleased with herself.

Not only am I dealing with adoption issues, I am now dealing with narcissism. Okay, I’m not a psychologist, but really . . . . what would you call it? Seriously, I am reaching out to this stranger for answers about my identity. I got nothing useful. I was even more confused now! I didn’t write back . . . right away.

The narcissist is governed by his or her feelings, the decent person is governed by his or her obligations” – Dennis Prager

Adoption: My Truth

A Fill-in-the-Blanks Life. 50 years in the making.

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