Nature Vs. Nuture

     Your guess is as good as mine. Is a person fashioned more so according to their nature or the nurturing they receive in their formative years? It's a debate which likely has no definitive answer. Clearly, childhood experiences inform the people we become; likes and dislikes, beliefs, behaviors and even talents. But it's not all written in stone. As humans we can change our ideas on a subject or discover hidden talents to express our point of view. 

     When I was a youth, I often wondered where I got my zeal for attention and creative imagination. I would put on concerts and plays for my friends, sang and told jokes in talent shows, built stage settings in the basement, danced in show choir, and eventually went into broadcasting as a writer and a performer. From there I did theatre and improv, began writing poetry, short plays, and opinion pieces. While none of us are limited by what our parents did before us, there is certainly an argument to be made someone like me must've been inspired or influenced during their upbringing. My mom sang as a teenager and my dad taught himself to play the Lowrey Cotillion organ, but that was the extent of my family's artistic side. My parents were both encouraging and supportive, but I know at times they were left scratching their heads wondering where my ego and need to perform came from and exactly what they should do with me.  

     Finding my birth family and discovering who my birth mother really was as a person has answered for me many of these questions. Rosie was a singer, wrote plays, loved to laugh, had a sense of humor, and performed on stage many times throughout her life. And like many performers, she was also very shy. As I never met her, I would never assume to know her heart. But you can tell a lot from pictures and stories and I believe we shared more than DNA. I certainly don't mind being the center of attention, but I promise underneath my pudgy exterior is a fairly shy person. I think I've created a persona which allows me to step forward into the spotlight or be the clown and willing target for razzing. My skin is thick and it's not just from too many beers and chicken wings. 

     Last night my newly acquired uncle, Jerry, presented me with a stack of short plays Rosie wrote for her church. After reading a number of them today, I now know where, if I can be presumptuous enough to say, any aptitude I might posses for scribing came from. Certainly teachers, friends and even news directors and editors helped sharpen my tools along the way. They still do. But at the risk of being melodramatic, in her words I can vaguely hear my own voice. The works are ecclesiastical in nature, but even my secular sensibilities can feel her devotion to subject and can discern the care she used in placing each word precisely. To me, these works are truly a treasure and I'm honored to include them in my library. 

     My only wish, is there was video or audio of her singing or performing. Then there would be no doubt where I got my jazz hands. 

The Joy of Discovery

     A long time ago, as a child, I stepped on a rusty nail while exploring my grandma's farm. I've written about this on my blog and you can read the gory and hilarious details for yourself. I mention this incident because this past weekend, while meeting with my birth uncle and aunt for the first time, I learned my birth mother, Rosie, also stepped on a rusty nail as a child. As painful as the nail was to me, and as excruciating as it most certainly was to her (the nail came out the top of her foot), I found great warmth in the story. A coincidence for sure, but a connection none the less.  
     I've only begun to scratch the surface of who Rosie was. I know she was a singer, a performer, a writer, a jokester, a step-mom, and a sweet and caring person. I also know she was profoundly changed by giving me up for adoption, as were her family and close friends. From what I've learned, it seems as though the decision wasn't entirely up to her. With no support offered from her parents, she made the best, albeit difficult, decision she possibly could at the time. She wanted to keep me. Her brother (my uncle), her friend (my aunt), and others wanted her to keep me. It wasn't to be. Her mother and father sternly refused to help or support Rose. Maybe this was a bridge too far for them to cross at the time. Maybe they didn't think she could provide me what was needed. Maybe they were trying to look out and protect their daughter from the struggle of being a single parent. No one really knows all the private conversations which took place between them, but I can imagine they were painful. 
     Honestly, in the beginning of my search for my birth mother it was all about me. It was about me finding my roots. It was about me discovering where certain traits or talents came from. It was about me hopefully understanding some of my frailties and weaknesses. It was about me quenching a lifelong curiosity. This self-centeredness was somewhat warranted, having inquired twenty years prior about my parents and being told no one had contacted the adoption agency. As I've mentioned in other posts, I thought my parents were either deceased or uninterested in reconnecting. So, the moment I learned my birth mother's name and the subsequent emails describing her personality, traits, talents and the circumstance surrounding my birth, that lifelong curiosity was fed. But when I discovered I hadn't been forgotten or castaway without a second a thought, my self-centered outlook changed dramatically. 
     I'd been struggling to verbalize my feelings to my wife and others about recognizing the different perspectives of this circumstance; it's a heavy thing when you realize you are the center point of both great joy and great sorrow. My mom and dad and the rest were so happy to make me part of their family. On the other side though, there was great sadness and regret Rosie was pushed to give me up for adoption. I can't imagine the pain, living all those years with a big hole in one's heart. Not every year, but many of my birthday's were big parties with family and friends. And while we were playing pin the tail on the donkey, or putt-putt, or drinking too much on my 21st., somewhere Rosie and her family were thinking about me. They were wondering if I was okay. Wondering where I was and what I was doing. Wondering if I was happy and safe. They wondered, never knowing the answer to those questions. Every year while I looked forward to my birthday, I'm sure there was a part of Rosie and her family wishing they could skip that day. 
     What I realized over the weekend, with my own curiosities now quenched, from here on out this reconnection is really about Rosie's family. Yes, I'm curious to know more, but if it were all to end today I would be satisfied and grateful. And anything extra, like the photo album I received or the silver baby cup which belong to my mother, is icing on the cake. What I think this is really about, is helping a family find closure on a lifetime of sadness over letting me get away, and me working to help fill the emptiness they've felt for nearly 46 years. It's about beginning a new chapter for both Rosie's family--my family--and me. And I have a suspicion my 46th birthday this September 3rd. may be sweeter than most.

All In The Family

     What do you say to a long lost relative? In a few days, I'm going to find out for myself. My birth uncle and his wife are coming to Ohio to visit family in Darke County. This is an annual trip for them, but this year their travels will bring them a bit farther south to Greene County. 
     It kind of feels like I'm preparing for a first date or a job interview; get my hair cut, shave, polish my shoes, clean the toilets. Or perhaps, maybe more of an arranged marriage, of sorts. Kind of like, "here are your new family members...deal with it!" At least if you bomb on a first date or botch a job interview, you usually don't have to see the other party ever again. With family, this isn't necessarily the case (at least not in semi-functioning families.) 
     I don't anticipate any problems, but there is a certain level of anxiety associated with such meetings and/or reunions. Truth be told, we've lined up a number of "dates" over the next few weeks they're in town and I am trying to go into this without any expectations. I'm eager to learn about my late birth mother and plan to hopefully record some stories. I'm also excited to meet this "new" part of my extended family and will be taking plenty of pictures to post. From what I've gathered through our email exchanges and Facebook stalking, we have as many things in common as we don't. Which is awesome, because I think meeting people with diverse interests is what life is all about. And I don't think hanging out with people exactly like me would be very enjoyable.