S. Jobs

While riding the public transportation system this morning I was listening to a segment on NPR (National Public Radio) about the biography of Steve Jobs. The biographer was talking about the complexities and some of the stories and issues in the book. I found this interesting enough but was intensely engaged when it was mentioned that Steve Jobs was adopted. The biographer mentioned things that resonated with my own story.

• A feeling of not feeling of this world.
• Mercilessly teased about being "Not Wanted".
• Parents telling him that he was chosen.
• Using all of the above to propel him forward. 

I have not read the book but am now interested. It has been hard to know if what I have experienced and feel is shared by other adoptees because most of the account come second hand. Though this is also second hand I believe that Steve Jobs expressed honestly what he experienced and felt.

I did not morn Steve Jobs death as intensely as others did but I am grateful for what he has shared about his life and for giving the world another figure of adoption.

The more open the adoption . . .

I fear that I have grown up with a natural egocentrism of sorts. I have always thought that the more open an adoption is the more at risk for problems and confusion for everyone involved. Currently, however, I am reading an article titled Adolescents' Feelings about Openness in Adoption: Implications for Adoption Agencies (a full reference will appear at end).

I have come across two lines that have given me pause about the perfection of my own adoption. I have always thought that because my life as an adoptee was wonderful, elements of my adoption and life situation must be present for every adoption story to be wonderful. "This active role facilitates self-determination and self-worth, and enables a confirmation that the adoptive parents will be the psychological parents."(p. 5) This line refers to the idea that having the birth mother present in the life of the adopted child helps the adoptive parents the ability to be parents in all of the other ways outside of biology. I am not sure how I feel about this assumption. If the alternative is to be secretive so that the adopted parents can exist as biological parents, then openness is the way to go. However, I don't know that the opposite means secretive.

I must be clear. I do not think that an open adoption is a bad thing. I question the level of openness. How much is to much? It was well known that I was adopted which allowed my parents to be, as the quote suggests, "psychological" parents to me. What I did not have as much of was information on my birth family. It was not until late in my childhood that I received a letter written for me by my birth mother. This was all the information I had. I always thought that if my birth mother were in the picture at all that everything would become much more complicated. I wonder how things would have been different if I had had the opportunity to get to know my birth mother while growing up?

This brings me to the next quote that gave me pause. "The more open the adoption, the more comfortable adoptive parents felt with openness." (p. 5) I would have to ask my parents about this one because it would be much more impactfull for them than for me. This however causes me to reflect on how my parents might have felt. I always thought that they were open but would still feel a little sad if I were to search out my birth mother. Perhaps they were a little frightened that I would choose my birth parents over them. This of course would not happen because my parents are my parents but often emotions and thoughts are not always rational.

I don't know the answers to any of these wonders but it would be interesting to think about them more.

Berge, J., Mendenhall, T., Wrobel, G., Grotevant, H., & McRoy, R. (2006). Adolescents' feelings about openness in     adoption: implications for adoption agencies.Child Welfare, 85(6), 1011-1039.

From Gleek to Glock

Last night Glee aired an episode that brought back some old plot lines. (SPOILER ALLERT) In the first season Quinn and Puck have a baby and end up giving it to Rachel's birthmother. I was so happy when this happened for several reasons that I will not go into now.

When Rachel's birthmother comes back into the picture she invites Quinn and Puck to be part of the baby's life. Puck is able to see the baby but Quinn is seen to be to out of control to see the baby. she is told that if she is able to straighten up she can see the baby. At the end of the episode Quinn is back to looking like the  "old" Quinn. She tells Puck that her looks don't change anything and that she is going to get HER baby back. She wants full custody.

I was watching this with my roommates who were caught up in the drama but didn't get what was really going on or what would soon be going on. I was trying to not yell and scream while holding back tears. I don't fully know why I was so upset. I started to think about my life, I put myself in the place of the baby in the show.

I was lucky as a child. My parents are kind, loving, quirky, educated, and supportive. They are every definition of "parents" and my life has been a good one. I started to think "What if my birth mother had launched a campaign to get full custody of me?" I don't need to be rescued and I was always glad that I was able to have two parents who loved me. That was when the pain hit. I thought about how my life would have been different with this kind of tension infecting my early life. The thought that my parents could have been withheld from me.

An intense anger welled up within me as I thought about Quinn. Wondering why she couldn't just leave this poor happy child to her life while Quinn figured out her own life. Why must Quinn project her insecurities and unhappiness onto this little child who was having a wonderful life?

I also thought about a young relative that I have whose mother decided to keep her. I think about her and I am so glad that I get to know her and have her in our lives, but there is always a little part of me that wonders how her life would be if she were allowed to live with the nice family that wanted her. She would have had two parents and all the ups and downs that come with life without any of the particular pains that she has to go through now. I don't think she would say her life is horrible, and it is not, but I know that what I have gained is so much better than what I would have had.

My thoughts are jumbled but the longer I write the more my emotions overcome my writing so for the sake of all involved I will take a brake and come back to this as I live alongside Puck and Quinn.

Brother and I

Recently I have had the chance to visit my home. I visited family and friends and lounged about. During this time I got to see my brother. He and I were adopted from different families. Growing up we had a, for lack of a word that will not alert the police, rough relationship. All siblings fight but most have a sense that they still love each other no matter how much they fight, or that is the story I have in my head. You fight a bicker and say things like "I hate you" or "I wish you had never been born". For the most part this is said just to hurt the sibling and not stated as an actual fact of true feelings. After the fight love is exchanged and wounds are mended.

For me that was not always true. I knew that my brother and I were adopted and that we had not come from the same birth family. This meant that the facts that everyone else grows up with were not present in my life and not only were they not fact but they were made into questions that might have very horrific answers. I was aware that he or I could decide not to clam the other as a sibling. We could choose to go our separate ways and not be family. We didn't get along and there were times when I didn't know if I even loved him on any level. There were times when I would be worried that he or I would walk away from each other and then I would be an only child.

I remember in High School. I was going to graduate in a year and I realized that the only times he and I would see each other would be when I came home for holidays. This was so worrisome to me because I still didn't know how he felt. For me, he was my brother. I had made the decision that he was my family and nothing would change that but I didn't know if he had made that determination about me. To him I could still be the girl that wanted to take his spot on the couch, or who would sometime eat the thing that he was saving. He could choose to not be my family. I tried so hard to be extra nice to him and orchestrate things that he and I could do together so that I could have as much time with my brother as I could before I left and might not have a brother anymore.

To some this may sound silly, of course he would still be my brother. Of course he loved me and thought of me as family. Of course... of course... of course...  But that was not how it felt. Only recently have I come to understand how much my brother loves me. Now I feel like he and I are siblings. This is a great comfort, knowing that no matter where our lives take us, we are still brother and sister and we will always be there for each other. However, when I think back to the way I felt when that was a question instead of the answer...

I hope no one ever has to feel like that and that those who do remember that family is a choice and we will always have the family we choose. It is not much help but then again nothing is when you feel like that.

The Sacredness of Stories

I had occasion to meet a young girl. She had been adopted and was in a happy home. I was out to dinner with several people and she was one of them. I knew she was adopted but I didn't know if SHE knew that I knew she was adopted. Suddenly I was confronted with a decision.

Many many years earlier my mother had told people something about my life. She didn't "out" me as adopted, I showed that off as often as I could. She shared something that we rarely spoke of outside of our family. We had told those who needed to know and who would not share the story with anyone. Well, she was in a group with women who were having trouble with some of their children. My mother thought that my story would help them and so respectfully she told them my story. A little later my mother and I were having a conversation in which she mentioned that she had told my story to them. It was like I had been kicked in the gut. My whole being went into a kind of shock. For a minuet I couldn't breath or see or talk or cry. I don't know if it was that they knew my story, if I had not been asked if they could know, or if it was something else entirely. I was so angry at my mother for putting me in a situation where I felt like this. I eventually forgave her but every time I saw those women who perhaps did not know that I knew that they knew my story I was overcome with anger, anxiety, and a little bit of shame.

With this little girl, I knew from my own experiences how precious stories are. It is ok for me to tell my story but it is not always ok for others to tell my story. I did not want this little girl to feel the way I felt. If she wanted to tell me that she was adopted then I would be there for her. If she just wanted to know that I was adopted and watch me, I was ok with that as well. We did not talk about it that night and I don't know what will happen in the future but I do know that some stories tellings should be up to the owner of the story. I have decided that everyone is welcome to my adoption story but not some others.

Thrown Away or Gifted

A friend of mine lent a book to read called the Through away daughter. I was put off immediately by the title because of the first tone. It seems to be the prevailing perception that if you were adopted that your birth parent died or "through" you away. Why? Is it not just as possible that the birth parent is "gifting" the child?

Too often we think that people are heartless or selfish. Perhaps what we believe is more important than the truth at times. I choose to believe that my birth mother gave me up as a gift. Not that she couldn't have raised me on her own, I'm sure that we would have done just fine, but she decided that I would have the best chance if I had two parents instead of one. I sometimes look at those stories that are everywhere of women who have children and decide to keep them without having any of the tools to help that child become the person they have the potential to be. I want it be understood that I am not judging ever girl that keeps their child. It is their choice and if both the mother and the child grow up healthy and happy that is all that matters.

I am thankful to my birth mother for the her selflessness to put me above her desire to keep me, for the gift of my wonderful life, friends, and family.

Loki

Loki: What am I?
Odin: You're my son.
*****
Loki: You could have told me what I was, from the beginning! Why didn't you?
Odin: You're my son. I wanted only to protect you from the truth.
*****
Loki: So why did he lie?
Frigga (the mother): He kept the truth from you, so that you would never feel different. You are our son, Loki. And we your family.


I went to see the movie THOR for the second time last week. The first time I watched it I was so smitten with ... well, several elements that I only barely noticed the underlining story. This movie depicts one of the most awful things that some parents seem to think is ok but always does damage. Odin has taken a baby from another people and raised him along with his first born son without telling him that he is adopted. He does not find out until he an adult. After examining this movie more I could understand why a parent would not tell their child that they were adopted. Frigga explains to her son that the reason for the silence was because they did not want Loki to feel different.

Here is the lesson. It is what it is. You cannot just decide that the story will be different if you make up another one. The story is the story. It is hard for everyone to come to terms with who they are and for adoptees the task is doubly hard because of the fact the our story of origin is most often unknown. In some cases it takes adoptees most of their lives to work through that fact. I cannot think of a more horrific thing than to start your life with one story and build on that foundation and then when you have built who you are on that foundation to have someone rip that out from under you. It is hard to know who you are so it is always better to know as much of the story from the beginning as possible.

My own parents presented my creation story as something to be proud of and celebrate. I can remember growing up and talking to my mother about my birth mother. My mom would always say that she was grateful to my birth mother because out of her tragedy and sacrifice I was able to come to our family. My birth mother was someone to be praised. This did not diminish my parents role in my heart because we had been sealed together for all eternity. As a Latter-Day Saint (The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints) my family held a ceremony when I was a baby that introduced me into that family as though I had been born naturally. This knowledge helped me to feel cemented in my family while being allowed to think about my birth family.

Being adopted is something that I must deal with almost every day. It gets easier because I have already worked through these issues before. If I were to go back to the beginning of my story at my current age . . . I don't know if I would ever be Okay.

Thank you Mom and Dad for not making this a secret story and giving me this wonderful gift.

A run in with a Doctor

Like many times in my life I bump up against a recurring theme, I DON'T KNOW! There are many things I don't know, such as the distance from me to the planet Pluto, the temperature in which petroleum jelly solidifies, or the movements of the Anisoptera or Dragonfly.

The other thing that I don't know is what "runs" in my family. I was at the doctor asking to be checked out for something when he asked me if it ran in my family. I say that I didn't know because I was adopted. He pays little attention at this and continues to ask if I had certain symptoms. I gave the best answer but added that I didn't know if some of the things my body did were exactly normal because I didn't have anyone to base my experiences off of.

Just because my mother didn't have many of the same biological ailments that I had did not mean that my biological mother didn't have something similar. Perhaps this is normal in my genetic relatives, I didn't know. After my explanation the doctor looked at me (for just a moment) as if saying "thanks for not being helpful". This is not the first time that I have gotten that look but I have not gotten it from an adult for a very very long time. It took just about everything in me to not reach across and give him a nice strong slap across the face for being so stupid.

Most of the time I am able to play up the fact that I don't know any biological or ancestral history as it being a wonderful excuse for me to make up what ever I want. "I don't know so I'll say I'm Irish, German, English, Asian, and Native American". It has become a joke that I can use to do lots of things (or not do things). At this moment I could not joke. All I could do was remember that as wonderful as I truly do think being adopted is, I cannot and may never know what "runs in my family".

Kung Fu Panda 2

I went to see the second Kung Fu Panda movie when I was home to visit. During the course of the movie Po learns that he is adopted (being a panda whose father is a duck). He is an adult and is suddenly plagued with violent flashes of his childhood and his family and community being destroyed. This sets Po on a tortured journey to learn what happened to him and his family. At the end of the movie Po comes back to his (adoptive) father after learning about the destruction of his family and has a wonderful moment of fully accepting his father as such because he is the one who raised Po. The last scene shows the audience that Po's family is actually alive.

The whole time I was watching this movie I tried to just enjoy it and not start to analyze every part because it was an enjoyable movie. I laughed at the hilarity of Po not realizing that surly he could not have come from a duck. However another part of me could not help but examine my own situation of not knowing what has happened to my birth family. I ask myself if I were to have any kind of flashes of what my birth family was like, would I feel differently? Would I be able to continue about my life the way that it is now? Much like Po I wonder if I would suddenly be consumed in my quest to find answers.

In those fleeting moments when I would leave the reality of the movie to examine what it might be communicating about adoption I was saddened by the film's final scene in which we see that Po's birth family is truly alive. This suggests that there will be a third movie where Po will discover their existence and eventually go to be part of that family. This seems to be a prevailing narrative that many have about adoption. I have always said that "I like being adopted", meaning like that I was adopted as well as I like being adopted by people I consider family throughout my life. Family is not just something that happens through the production of a life form. That is procreation. Family comes when people care about you and do what is best for you over time. My parents are not my family because they signed a paper or gave birth to me or allowed me to live through the years. My family is my family because they have cared about me, watched and helped me grow, and done the hard things that have made me a better person and continue to do those things. That is family.

That is what makes many people who do not have the name of Pinnegar my family as well.

The Start

The way this project started was because I decided to write a paper for a class that had to do with my adoption story. I looked at different literary works and found their adoption stories that were imbedded within them. The paper was not well done for the assignment but it sparked something within me and other people and so I decided to continue the work. On this blog I will be periodically writing my musings about being adopted. I hope that my parents will someday join me with this work, but until that happens I continue to write what I think.