I Call Her My Mom

     Much of what I've been writing about my adoption story has focused on my finding my birth mom and her family. I would be remiss to not write about the wonderful family I was adopted by, however. Especially, my mom. To understand how I arrived in her arms, let me start at the beginning.
   

My mom and dad's wedding day, September 2, 1961

 On September 2, 1961 my dad (Larry Hollst) married my mom (Jeannine Fryman) and from my perspective they were from two very different worlds. My dad was a city boy raised in Dayton by two hard working factory workers who enjoyed the finer things in life; gambling, drinking, bowling, playing cards and speaking their minds, often to the detriment of others. He was a standout baseball player who turned down a try-out with the Cincinnati Reds in favor of attending Northwestern University (he only stayed one year). My mom was raised on a farm near Brookville, Ohio and went to church every Sunday with her family. She rode horses, sang in the choir, was a member of her mother's 4-H club, and studied ballet under Miss Josephine Schwarz at the Dayton Ballet.

Mom working the phones

     They met sometime around 1960 after my mom began working in the ordering department and on the switchboard at the Monarch Marking Company in Dayton, Ohio. Three of my grandparents worked for the company. My Grandpa Dorwyn Fryman was a chemist who worked on improving the quality of ink and dyes. My Grandpa Edward and Grandma Theresa Hollst both worked in the manufacturing wing of the building. My grandpa even lost two of his fingers on a punch press in their factory. My dad also worked there in the shipping department after returning from college and that's where he was when he says he saw my mom the first time. On her first day of work there she went on a tour of the facilities and that's where they met. After a brief encounter, which included my dad dropping a load of boxes after first spotting her, he told me it was right then and there when he decided he was going to marry her. After a few years of courting they married and began their life together in Dayton.
     Both were eager to be parents and after dad secured a financially lucrative sales position in the emerging computer industry, they decided the time was right to begin their family. However, in the spring of 1967 mom suffered a tubal pregnancy and nearly died. The doctor told them it was unlikely they would be able to have children of their own but to try one more time. After six agonizing months without a positive result however, they came to conclusion the only way they would be able to have a family was through adoption.
     In January of 1969 they finally contacted the Red Feather Adoption Agency in Dayton. Friends of theirs had adopted two children through the same agency and it came highly recommended. Throughout the rest of the year they took a variety of parenting classes, sat for interviews with social workers, and opened their home up for home visits. Finally in December they were told about me and were assigned a social worker named Mrs. McCullough. She would guide them through the final process of adopting me. Before they brought me home, mom and dad got to go through some of those fun traditions many expecting parents experience. They debated and picked out my name, put the final touches on my nursery, and my mom's co-workers threw her an office baby shower. All they needed now was me.

The day I came home to my new family

     On January 22, 1970 the temperature in Dayton never reached above 20 degrees. My mom and dad arrived at the agency to meet me for the first time. They had not even seen a picture of me before this day. My mom says, though it was never a consideration, she and my dad had the option of refusing to take me home if for some reason they didn't think I would be a good fit for their family. Though, I suppose if you're going to spend several thousand dollars on an adoption they should at least be afforded the chance to inspect the merchandise. Kick the tires, so to speak.
     My mom says during our first meeting it became obvious I needed a diaper change and that's when they noticed I had a bad case of diaper rash. According to her, the nurse who was in the room with them was none to happy and was going to take the foster mother to task. My mom's first attempt at changing me was a miserable and messy failure. She says now she had little experience taking care of a baby, as she was the youngest in her family and never had the opportunity to babysit like other teenage girls. My Aunt Yvonne and Grandma Mary Fryman were there too and Yvonne stepped in to save the day. As I would get older, her daughter Cindy, my only female cousin, would do the majority of my babysitting. Yvonne also stepped in as photographer and filmed my parents leaving the agency with me in their arms on my dad's Super 8 camera. I still have it my box of archives. 
     From the moment the nurse brought me in to meet my mom and dad I was surrounded by love. I argue their love for me probably began the moment they were told by the agency a baby boy had been found. Just like I fell in love with my son the moment I saw him on the sonogram. My mom says they would've been happy with either a boy or girl, but specifically asked for a boy because she knew my dad really wanted a son. As the father of a son myself, I certainly can understand this desire. He needed someone to play catch, teach the game of baseball, and build model train sets with. Of course he could have done the same things with a girl but this was 1969 and my mom and dad, while very accepting and openminded, were raised with very a traditional outlook of gender roles.

Me and my mom on my 1st. birthday

      Both my mom and dad were and are wonderful parents. I will admit though, I had a very different kind of relationship with both of them. My mom was the nurturer and to this day puts her self-second when it comes to her children and grandchildren. I've never known nor will I ever meet someone who is as selfless, more supportive, kinder, warmer or as loving as my mom. If my birthmother Rosie would've had the chance to pick the very best person to be my mom, she would not have been able to find anyone better. From an early age I was right in step with my mom; literally and figuratively. If she would ever find herself in tears and I was there, I too would begin bawling and we'd console each other. We remember family outings where my dad and sister Tracy would walk ten feet in front of us together while we trailed behind, together. I was and am a mama's boy and I'm okay with that label.
     Hopefully every child, regardless of whether they're adopted or not, has a mother who will advocate and stand up for them without fail. My mom recalls the day when I found out I was adopted. She had confided in a neighbor about my being adopted but then the woman spilled the beans to her own son. One day when we were playing at his house he gleefully announced I was adopted. When I told my mom she marched down to their house to confront the blabbermouth and her son. She wanted to know exactly what was said, fearing the bratty kid may have tried to make me feel bad about being adopted. To my recollection, I don't remember feeling bad or what was even said. And I've never felt ashamed being adopted. My mom says she and my dad always planned on telling me the truth but not at the age of four. When this happened they were planning on adopting my sister and were going to explain it all to me then.

My first Christmas with my mom and dad

     I suppose in hindsight it could be suggested she was overprotective at times. But can you really blame a woman who almost died in childbirth and was lucky enough to adopt a child for being overprotective? I suppose you could, but I don't want to be standing nearby when you do. Not everyone during that time--or any time for that matter--had the means to adopt, especially a white baby boy. If I were in her shoes I'd probably bend over backwards to make sure the child was cared for and protected at all costs. She's told me the first year or so they had me she feared if a social worker came by to do a check up and found anything questionable she would lose me. I can't imagine living with such anxiety. I recall a few neighborhood bullies who felt the my mom's wrath. For a few, our street was off-limits. Though, my mom and dad never interfered with my teachers or coaches. They understood the value of allowing me to fight some of my own battles and living with the consequences of my own failures and lack of responsibility. I had my moments. 
     There are many things that remind me of my mom. She loves humming birds and keeps feeders on her front window. She used to make fancy decorated cakes for extra money and people raved over her talent. Her laugh is probably the most amazing sound I've ever heard. If I can make her laugh to the point of crying I know I've done my job. She makes the most delicious pecan tarts, magic cookie bars, and waffles anyone could ever want or need. And the turkey tetrazzini she makes with leftovers is my favorite part of Thanksgiving. And at forty-five years of age, she still gets me a card on my birthday, Christmas, Father's Day and Valentine's Day. I think I've even received a few Easter cards throughout the years.
     When I was a young adult and got warped and wrapped up in a certain "religion" she didn't necessarily agree with, she still came to my baptism and came to hear me talk in church. She may have not agreed but I was still her son and she knew love would eventually bring me back from the darkness. The day she came to me, pleading with me and in tears, wondering "what happened to her son," was the day I realized the gullible fool I had been. She's saved me more than once in my life. 
     My mom embodies the notion that a mother's duty is never done. After my first wife and I divorced and I ended up with primary custody, she, along with my dad, stepped up and helped raise my son. There's no way I could have managed without her help; both financially at times and in every other way possible. When I had to work late she'd pick Alex up and feed him dinner and keep him until I could get home. When I lost my job she opened her home up to us with no questions asked. We would have been on the streets without her. And, like she did me, she kept an eye on Alex when he was at school. When I began junior high she got a job in school lunchroom as a lunch lady and I got to see her everyday. Alex got to experience the same thing throughout high school. She finally retired last year after nearly 30 years of serving food to thousands of Beavercreek students. She has developed a very close and loving relationship with Alex and seems to be one person he can open up to. She's also a very big fan and supporter of my wife Mary. She's told me a number of times how happy she is I found her and believes she is one of the best things that's ever happened to me. I look forward to making her a grandma to a few more children in the not to distant future. 

My mom meeting my Uncle Jerry and Aunt Kathy

     And, if I can be so bold to speak for both of my birth families, they too are lucky to have had my mom touch their lives. I've mentioned this before but the story is worth repeating. Around Christmas 2014, Alex and my mom were talking one day and he mentioned something to her about a conversation we had about me being adopted. He conveyed to her how many times I've told him how much I value him, not only as being my son but as my only genetic relative. This is an emotion many adopted adults who have children can relate to. A few months later after reading Ohio was going to unseal adoption records, she unequivocally told me to investigate and uncover my story. She says she believed it would bring me more joy and happiness than I could possibly imagine. 
     The day she met my birth uncle and his wonderful wife, my soul was filled with the pure joy and happiness my mom had promised. To hear them both thank her for raising me so well and then her saying it was "her pleasure," and that she wished Rosemary were still living so she could thank her for giving her a son, was, is and will forever be overwhelming. If it weren't for her encouragement none of this would be happening right now. The mystery might never have been solved and the gratitude and love felt by so many right now would be nonexistent.

     I'll be tackling the topic of my late father, next.