Recently, sitting around with my wife and some friends, our conversation turned to our childhoods. After comparing notes, it was decided I was the odd man out. They all came from humble beginnings and experienced some level of family trauma in their formative years. Aside from some spirited quarrels with my younger rebellious sister, my childhood was near idyllic;parental units intact; material abundance; a nice home in a safe neighborhood; no violence or incarceration; countless opportunities;and enjoyable life experiences. Beaver Cleaveresque.
My upbringing instilled a confidence and sense of self-worth which helped me succeed in life, both as a father and husband, and in my professional career. None of the life I love and value would've been possible without my parents; specifically, my adoptive parents.
When friends learn I'm adopted, the most asked question is whether I want to find my birth parents. My standard answer has always been, maybe – but only after my mother passes away (my father passed away in 2002). But even then, the adoption records are sealed and there's no point in pursuing it. But as you may have heard, that stumbling block has been removed by The Ohio Legislature.
This past Friday,March 20th, hundreds of thousands of sealed adoption records were opened to those adopted between 1964 and 1996. From whatI've read in the Dayton Daily News, the records may include an original birth certificate with the names of birth parents, a social and medical history, and, if they choose, how the birth parent prefers to be contacted. They also have the choice to opt out entirely and have their identity redacted from all documents.
I'ver never had a burning desire to find my birth parents. I don't mean to sound glib,but I figure they both made a choice in September 1969, particularly my birth mother, gave me up, and moved on with their lives. Make no mistake—I'm thankful for their decision everyday of life, but I never found the need to revisit that part of my past.
However, a small ember of curiosity ignited shortly before my son was born 18 years ago. In an effort to discover any potential health concerns, I contacted the Montgomery County Job & Family Services for information. Though I was born in Cincinnati, Ohio, my adoptive parents lived in Dayton, and this agency handled the adoption and had some records available for research.
After a few weeks I received a letter with the requested information. There were no health concerns, but I did get a short description of my birthparents' physical traits. Both were short in stature and overweight.This bit of information explained a lot. My struggle with weight wasn't only because of my love of chicken wings and beer, but because of my pesky parental genes.
Also included in the letter was a form I could fill out and return if I wanted to make contact with my birth parents. I called the agency to learn more about the process, and while the social worker didn't give me specific information about my birth parents, she did reveal there was no record of either birth parent attempting to make contact through the agency. Afterwards, I put the letter and form in my safe and its been there ever since—untouched.
What I've gleaned over the years from conversations with my parents and the few tidbits of information I did receive from Family Services, is my birthparents were young and married briefly, but then divorced. At some point either during or after the divorce proceedings, my birth mother discovered she was pregnant. Instead of raising me in a broken home,she thought it better I be put up for adoption. At least this is whatI recall being told.
My interest in my origin also increased after the passing of my father in 2002. After about a year of therapy, I came to terms with his death and an emotional gap I felt existed in our relationship while he was alive.I thought it was because I was adopted and it was impossible for him to show me the warmth and love I try to show my own son now. But I think in hindsight, any disconnect in our relationship had to do with my own feelings of inadequacy and failing to rise to his perceived standards. Now, more than ten years later, I shrug it off.
But now that the files are unsealed, I have a heightened curiosity as to what secrets might be revealed. Is my birth mother and father still alive? Do they want to be reunited? Will I find the documents have big black sharpie marks blocking out their names? Maybe they both remarried and started new families and I'm someone's long lost half-brother. Maybe there won't be anything in the file I don't already know. All very real possibilities.
I'm sure every adoptive parent has wondered how they would react if their child were to find their birth parents. Some would probably embrace this curiosity and support their child, while others would feel compelled to dig in and defend their turf. Before doing anything, I decided I needed to talk to my mother. But even the prospect of that conversation was daunting.
How do you tell the woman who raised and cared for you, you want to find your “real”mother? The mere thought of hurting my mom's feelings or inflicting any anxiety her direction breaks my heart. As a child, if I saw her crying—even if she was just pretending—my eyes would well up,too. I'm a mama's boy, through and through.
To gauge what I might expect, I spoke to my younger sister. Who, through some clever sleuthing of her own, found her birth mother several years ago. She told me both of our parents were incredibly supportive. In fact, she revealed our father put together a photo book of her life to share with her birth mother. Hearing about this lovely gesture for the first time, brought me to tears and I was an emotional mess the rest of the day.
A few days later I visited my mother but had no plans of bringing up the subject. But asI was leaving, she stopped me and told me she knew about the new law and expressed her desire for me to find my birth parents. She hadn't talked to my sister—this had been on her mind for sometime. She told me she believes I would be a happier person if I knew where I came from. Her candor and expression of love left me a mess for the rest that day, too.
My mother was hesitate to bring it up, because a few events during my childhood gave the impression I was sensitive about being adopted. When I was around 10 years old, someone gave my mom a wall-hanging with a lovely verse about adoption. For some reason, when I saw it hanging in the living room, I felt a wave of despair and was inconsolable until she took it down. It's been in the bottom drawer of her dresser for the last 35 years.
Another time, when participating in a high school class discussion, a classmate stated she'd rather have an abortion than put a child up for adoption. While I've always supported a woman’s right to choose, I came very close to being kicked out of the class for expressing how self-centered and thoughtless I found her statement. I'm glad I was born prior to 1973.
After speaking to my family at length and reading a number of positive reunion stories in the newspaper, I've decided to go ahead and search for my birthparents. Particularly, my birth mother. But I feel as though I'm a child taking his first steps, as it were. At this point, I only want to know names.
Along with the positive stories, I've also read the horror stories. I'm not ready to jump into any new whirlwind parental relationships, but it'd be nice to see at least a picture of someone who looks like me. And if it feels right, then maybe I'll push forward a little more.
