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by Hannah Andrews
Our theme at AKA all month has been, “Identity and Belonging.” It could be my theme for the year. Maybe several years. Identity and belonging (or lack thereof) seep into every aspect of my existence as a Baby Scoop Era, closed records, mixed-race adoptee. So here’s my two-cents, beginning literally with my two cents.
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by Janice Jones
My concept of family has always been different than most. I was adopted as an infant, and I knew I was adopted from a very early age. I was aware that while I legally belonged to my (adoptive) parents, I wasn’t related to them—biologically. My parents had several close friends whom I loved dearly. I grew up addressing them as “Aunt” and “Uncle.” My mother taught me to do this but stressed that they weren’t my real aunts and uncles. The real ones were her and my father’s siblings. This distinction did not matter to me because I knew that I wasn’t related to the real ones, either. Also, I saw a lot more of the honorary ones, than I did the real ones, so the honorary ones were more real to me. I thought of my father’s father as my grandpa. He spent time with me, and we had fun together. My father’s mother died years before I was born. Yet my father referred to her as my grandma. This made me angry, as I felt that she was no more my grandma than any stranger on the street. I believe I felt anger because his insistence that she was my grandmother seemed a denial on his part that I had a history before I was adopted. While my parents drew a sharp distinction between “us” and “them,” I thought of “them” as my big human family. I always longed to be a part of that bigger world because somewhere, out there, were my real relatives. About the Author: Janice Jones is a US domestic adoptee born in Ohio in 1949. She said it took her until the age of 77 to be able to write about her adoption experience, about how adoption colored every aspect of her life. “Writing my story is the bravest and most healing thing I have ever done,” she said. She encourages other adoptees to share their stories in whatever ways they can. Janice’s memoir is: “Dr. Beare's Daughter: Growing Up Adopted, Adored, and Afraid.” Here is the link to the Amazon listing:https://a.co/d/cwFL7Aq Jan is reading and speaking Monday, January 27th at a virtual event for our friends Adoption Network Cleveland. Attendance is free and open to all, but pre-registration is required. If you’d like to attend, click here Adoption Network Cleveland Calendar of Events and Programs AKA invites you to hear from members of the extended family of adoption and the surrounding community. While we take great care in curating the content, please know:
by Lake Calder
I wonder…do all parents think their kids are going to get married and have kids of their own to spend holidays with? Is that just part of the parental mentality? Most parents expect their children to outlive them. Sadly, that isn’t always the case. Research reveals that the risk of suicide attempt is approximately 4 times greater in adoptees compared with nonadoptees (American Academy of Pediatrics, 2013). I’m an overdose survivor, and for many years, my parents had reason to fear they might outlive me. Adoptees that do outlive their parents might still not go on to have children or families of their own. What if the child/future adult has a physical/mental illness or disability that precludes them from having a partner or children? What if they had a bad experience with their family and don’t want to risk re-creating it? Who will they have to spend holidays and special occasions with? Will they have cousins, siblings, parents’ friends, their friends’ kids, community?  by Corey Goldwaves
(Chaotic rhyme scheme to match my emotional state) As I enter the home to over-salted deviled eggs, loud dogs, and poisonous side conversations, the adoptive family quickly unleashes their shallow holiday greetings and stale smiles. The black sheep of the family has entered the home with the people-pleaser persona ready to please, and the scoffing house owners' covert resentment that you can see for miles. I go straight to the TV gathering because sports takes precedence over discussing the oddities of the human soul. Any emotional releasing of truth from an adoptee to a narcissistic narrative holder, to their image, may take a serious toll. Along with football being the shield to any true connection, the subject of jobs is always a safe bet. Employment talk is a sanitary substitution to life's passions, the path to which an adoptee's heart is truly set. I mention my joy of a piano gig to an adoptive sister's husband, who quickly changes the subject. God knows how many complaints they have shared about me as I stay in their minds, they're abundant. It's an unspoken rule that I am not to share my success unless it is theirs that is confirmed to be greater. Their ego is fragile, their understanding is short, and their comfort mindsets are baselined at haters. I pretend to be ok as I walk in circles, hitting the appetizers and surface-level relations. Only dreaming to myself of real connections and completely conscious of the apparent negative vibrations. It's time to eat and I sit at their kid's table with another outcast who is an overt racist. But not outcasted for his racism, it's his word against mine if I'd ever complain, and their distaste for bigotry is forever in stasis. It's time to go home, and alone, my depression hits, for I long for the compassion of another. I long for a family that knows me well, my pains, my yearning to uncover. I declare Thanksgiving is the last holiday with the adoptives; I refuse to bear them for Christmas. The adoptee chat is my new family now, my allies, my companions, my witness. About the Author: Corey Goldwaves is a Black, transracially adopted artist who expresses his emotions and heals through music. Listen to his music here: https://coreygoldwaves.bandcamp.com/ AKA invites you to hear from members of the extended family of adoption and the surrounding community. While we take great care in curating the content, please know:
By Hannah Andrews
First things first. As 2024 draws to a close, I want to express my gratitude to our guest bloggers. Your essays and poetry are a generous and precious gift to our community. Words matter. Stories change lives. Hearing a short piece of memoir from a Baby Scoop Era first mother jump-started my own search and eventually led me here. My thanks don’t end with the bloggers, of course. I continue to learn from so many in the community. Since beginning my mother of origin search six years ago, my journey “through the fog” and toward “adoption consciousness” has been, well, bumpy at best. It seems every time I think I have this whole adoption thing figured out, I don’t. I’ll read an essay or memoir, click into a conference or peer support group and BAM! Another a-ha moment smacks me right in the face. An “Oh, I never thought about it that way,” self-realization or a, “Wow, yeah, that happened to me too” bubbles up from my memory. |
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