by Hannah Andrews
I grew up the youngest of three, but I’m really the oldest of two. I was the last child adopted in one family, as well as the firstborn and only surrendered child in the other. Or is it vice versa? I grew up with two brothers and recently met a third. I call my adoptive brothers my “brothers,” sometimes even my “real brothers,” and my biological half-brother I call my “half-brother.” Always with the half. Three of my four parents are deceased. I never met my first mother. I’m still looking for my biological father. My biological grandmother is 91 and refuses to acknowledge my existence. It’s complicated, but also, this is my normal.
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by Alice Diver As an adoptee, this is the season to be careful – multiple triggers abound. various forms of ‘orphan’ or adoptee fiction seem popular this time of year (Elf, Star Wars, Harry Potter, Anne of Green Gables, The Little Match Girl, much of Dickens’ work, and many Disney films). Often, key aspects of such stories emphasise the value of ancestral connections, knowable identity, accurate histories, newly discovered kinships, and the need to preserve those near-sacred, shared traditions which serve to mark familial acceptance and shelter us from an onslaught of seasonal loneliness. The sanctity of the family hearth space – with or without a row of Christmas stockings or an abundance of candlelit embellishments – can itself be double-edged. It offers warmth and comfort but generally only to those who are in possession of a legitimate invite or an excuse to briefly intrude, armed with an appropriate gift. All others are in danger of remaining just that, an other, and somehow less than, trespassing upon close-guarded physical, emotional, and familial territories. – by Akara Skye Most of society wants young children to believe in the magic of Santa Claus, the gifting of the Tooth Fairy, and perhaps the joy of the Easter Bunny. But when the child pushes the envelope to determine if these entities are indeed true, should the false narrative continue? And for how long? Most of society also wants adopted children to believe in the beauty of adoption, the selflessness of the parents, and the luck of the infant to have been saved. I was adopted as an infant, but when I pushed the envelope to challenge that story, my curiosity was not honored or appreciated. Should this false narrative continue? The following stories are true. The first was given extensive coverage in 2023. It was featured on NPR and Today, The second story is my lived experience. By Liz DeBetta, Ph.D. As an adoptee, one of the things I obsess about is the concept of home. I have spent many years trying to find “home.” I moved across the country, almost married the wrong person, moved back to my parents’ home with my two cats, moved into my own apartment, got engaged (again), married the wrong person, moved one state over, got divorced, moved back to my “hometown,” moved twice more in that same hometown, met the right person, moved across the country together, moved three times in the new state we lived in, moved across the country again, finally bought our own home. And now we are spending our second holiday season in the home we found together, after many years, and many miles of searching. But what is home? And why does it feel so much more complicated this time of year? In my book, Adult Adoptees and Writing to Heal I wrote, “The concept of “home” is fraught for adoptees. What, and where, is home when you have been separated from the only home you ever knew — your mother’s womb? When you have been taken from your country of origin? When you have been placed in temporary foster care or an orphanage before being placed in an adoptive family’s home? Each of these disruptions creates a sense of insecurity and impermanency. Nothing is safe. Nothing is stable. Nowhere is home.” By Janell Strube Most December babies get called Christmas babies, but I was no Christmas gift– unless you consider regifting a baby to be a valid present. Ah, adoption. Years ago, I stumbled across the book, Twenty Things Adopted Kids Wish Their Adoptive Parents Knew, by Sherrie Eldridge. A blurb on the back cover said something about birthdays being painful, and something twanged inside me. It was the first written material I’d seen on the subject of adoption outside of a newspaper article I’d read while living in Europe in my early 20s. That newspaper article had stated that adopted girls often had eating disorders and some adoptees described themselves as coming from another planet. At that time I thought, Do you mean to tell me someone else did that too? |
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