Who's My Daddy?
Will the missing piece to the puzzle that is me please stand up?
Hey you, the tall blond Mexican national working in construction with the pissed-off American ex-wife step forward. Yeah, into the lineup, thank you very much and shut the f___k up because I have some questions to ask, dammit.
Did you really have light blue eyes?
Were you really of German and Mexican ancestry?
Did you really wear size 13 shoes?
Did you really have fair skin and a nice body build with an oval face shape?
How old were you? Just over 30?
Were you really an "irrepresible" playboy with "good expression and sentence construction"?
Did you really tell her you were "sterile?"
How much liquor did you actually consume the night my mother told you she was pregnant?
And you did what? Pretend she'd said nothing at all?
Did you know she was pregnant or not?
Do you know I even exist?
You see, I'm having a little problem. My mother - after 47 years - can't remember your last name and I can't find you. I tracked her down. Mission accomplished. Now I'm setting my sights on you. I feel it's my right to at least know your name. Maybe even find out what you're like. You are my missing fifty percent.
Meeting my mother wasn't easy. It still isn't. You see, I just reread my non-identifying information and came across the paragraph that, until now, I've only skimmed over because it's just too painful. But I dragged it out just now and made myself read it. That and the description of you.
Here's what it says, so we're on the same page:
"Your mother suffered great guilt after your birth. She wondered if she was doing the right thing. She had considerable pressure from her mother to keep you as her condition became more noticeable. She took ten days to make her decision and stated that she needed to give you up for adoption. She stated that it appeared her older daughter had tuberculosis and would need a lot of care. She thought it would not be fair to either of you for her to take you into that situation."
Oh, and here's the sentence that I haven't been able to read since I first received my non-identifying information:
"She (my mother) described herself as being called "heartless" by her mother and her stepsisters for her plan of adoption."
At least, my mother had a plan.
Did you have a clue?
Hey you, the tall blond Mexican national working in construction with the pissed-off American ex-wife step forward. Yeah, into the lineup, thank you very much and shut the f___k up because I have some questions to ask, dammit.
Did you really have light blue eyes?
Were you really of German and Mexican ancestry?
Did you really wear size 13 shoes?
Did you really have fair skin and a nice body build with an oval face shape?
How old were you? Just over 30?
Were you really an "irrepresible" playboy with "good expression and sentence construction"?
Did you really tell her you were "sterile?"
How much liquor did you actually consume the night my mother told you she was pregnant?
And you did what? Pretend she'd said nothing at all?
Did you know she was pregnant or not?
Do you know I even exist?
You see, I'm having a little problem. My mother - after 47 years - can't remember your last name and I can't find you. I tracked her down. Mission accomplished. Now I'm setting my sights on you. I feel it's my right to at least know your name. Maybe even find out what you're like. You are my missing fifty percent.
Meeting my mother wasn't easy. It still isn't. You see, I just reread my non-identifying information and came across the paragraph that, until now, I've only skimmed over because it's just too painful. But I dragged it out just now and made myself read it. That and the description of you.
Here's what it says, so we're on the same page:
"Your mother suffered great guilt after your birth. She wondered if she was doing the right thing. She had considerable pressure from her mother to keep you as her condition became more noticeable. She took ten days to make her decision and stated that she needed to give you up for adoption. She stated that it appeared her older daughter had tuberculosis and would need a lot of care. She thought it would not be fair to either of you for her to take you into that situation."
Oh, and here's the sentence that I haven't been able to read since I first received my non-identifying information:
"She (my mother) described herself as being called "heartless" by her mother and her stepsisters for her plan of adoption."
At least, my mother had a plan.
Did you have a clue?
posted by Nina at
9:20 PM
9 Comments:
Oh Nina, there is just soo much, soo much.
And we have to learn to assimilate, it is a lot, reading your reunion brings back memories of mine.
I don't envy the process, but am glad at least you get to go through it, hard to believe we are the lucky ones hunh?
Nina...I do hope you find your dad, that he is alive and that you get to meet him. He, as you rightfully say, is the other half of who you are. Another part of the journey (hugs).
Joy,
As much as I KNOW it's a process and an important one at that, somedays it's hard to remember. But you're right. At least we have the opportunity to integrate and deal with reality - and I already do feel more real - and how pathetic it is that some people can't.
Thank you, Leroy. I hope I can find him, too. A person can change a lot in four decades and there's a vague sort of suspicion I have that maybe my mother never told him because she'd already written him off as a party boy.
Hi Nina,
Would it be alright if I email you?
"Do you know I even exist? "
Yeah... just... yeah. I always wonder that one too about my first dad.
Hi Nina,
I question whether my father even knew of my existence, since he was never named, and whether or not the non-id info was another fairytale. I also believe we have a basic right to this information.
on another note, I'd also like to thank you for dispelling the stereotype that all adoptees are adopted into wealthy families: many of us struggled financially, paid for our own educations,respect.
heart, bijou
Yes, Mia, please email me at ninadlf@yahoo.com. I look forward to it!
Ungrateful LB: Somedays, I believe my 83 year old mother when she says she can't remember his last name. On others, I suspect she won't name him because she knows she never told him.
Bijou, Yep. I wonder about that non-id info. and its accuracy. What really drives me even more crazy about being adopted into a low income family is that I was placed with parents who never read a book in their lives, couldn't write a sentence, had no intellectual curiosity and who didn't value education. I hear about some poor and uneducated people who strongly encourage their kids to do well in school. I grew up in a culturally impoverished home.
You know, reading your thoughts on your birth-father almost makes me want to meet mine.
Almost.
I'm just not sure it's worth the hell. I'd really love to work up enough anger to just do it.
I'll keep reading this post, maybe that will help.
Thank You Nina, you said just about what I wanted to say.
tattoo fever -
team idemise -
the bad breath report -
the cb code -
thedietsolutionprogram -
the diet solution program -
the rich jerk -
the super mind evolution system -
turbulencetraining -
turbulence training -
vincedelmontefitness -
vince del monte fitness -
warp speed fat loss -
wedding speech 4u -
windo fix -
wrap candy -
zygor guides -
7day ebook -
360 fix kit -
advanced pc tweaker -
adware bot -
affiliate naire -
art of approaching -
beating adwords -
believe and manifest -
blogging in action -
body building revealed -
burthefat -
burn the fat -
carb rotation diet -
cheat your way thin -
cold sore freedom in 3 days -
conversationalhypnosis -
conversational hypnosis -
Post a Comment
Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]
<< Home