As a child, I couldn’t find the words to tell my parents how I felt, what growing up adopted was like, or why I needed to search. Now I have the words to help others. I hope this letter will help all of you resolve adoption issues before they become problems.
First of all, your child could be calling anyone Mom and Dad: But for time and space anyone could be his or her parents — adoptive parents or birth parents. B-parents and A-parents. Before parents and after parents. Before has no meaning without after; after has no meaning without before. You cannot exist without each other. Your child will arrive in your home helpless, in need of your nurturing.
Let’s get right to the point: You will be the parent. He or she will not be there to heal the pain of your infertility. You must resolve that baggage before you decide to parent. Unresolved infertility will leave the whole family grieving for the unrealized biological child, and will leave your child feeling second best. Unresolved infertility puts adopted children in the difficult situation of trying to be the “perfect” answer to their parents’ infertility while dealing with the “imperfect” reality of being given away.
You must tell your child he or she is adopted or risk a terrible breach of trust. I’ve seen men in their fifties destroyed when, at a parent’s funeral, some relative spilled the beans. Talking about adoption will defuse its effect. Your child will ask more than once, reflecting different needs at different ages. So get information, meet his or her birth parents. Be honest but not critical. Remember, your child will incorporate your interpretation of his or her birth parents into his or her self-identity.
People will say your child is lucky to have been adopted by such wonderful people: who knows what his or her fate may have been if you hadn’t taken him or her into your home?! Note how this sets your child up to be eternally grateful to you. It’s easy to fall into parental martyr syndrome, but you are not just parents — you are adoptive parents. Remember, there but for time and space…who knows, maybe another family would have suited your child better. Asking for his or her gratitude will put you in opposition. Remind those who would have your relationship based on guilt that you, too, are lucky to have found your child.
Adopted children constantly wonder what could have been. I spent my childhood thinking: these people could have been — or could be! — my parents; this could have been my home; those could have been my toys; I could have had to wear this outfit!? One thing was not arbitrary — I was born to someone. Adopted children believe in things we’ve never seen: birth parents in the guise of guardian angels, fairy changelings, and storks who deliver babies — how else did we get here? We’ve never heard the story of our quickening, our labor, our birth. Adoptive parents compare themselves to birth parents, but adopted children compare themselves to the unrealized biological child. My parents told me they lost a child. I thought they went out and actually lost the child somewhere. I felt guilty because I thought if they found him, they might take me back. I didn’t want that — they were my family. We adoptees refer to ourselves as “adaptees.”
My natural laugh is a barking sound, but I tried to imitate my adoptive father’s dry hissing laugh my whole life. I was 37 when I learned the origin of my barking laugh. I was at a birth family reunion. My birth mother had not arrived yet. I laughed, the barking laugh, and the relatives gathered. They thought I was her.
Adoptees procrastinate, are pack rats, and aren’t good decision-makers. We don’t have the facts about our lives. We don’t know the significance of anything, so we put off until we get the facts. Excuse me if I’m a little paranoid and indignant about secrecy. I am the product of sealed records. A commodity passed from one party to another with no say in the contract. The physician, attorneys, hospital staff, agency staff, court house staff, and of course, the staffs guarding my sealed original birth certificate and records all know more about me than I know about myself. Excuse me for being angry.
The non-adopted can get their original birth certificates. Mine is sealed from me. Mine is the falsified document registering who I was after my adoption — but I existed before that. The system makes adoptees angry, but you, Mom and Dad, will bear the brunt of that anger, because you are the closest authority figures. What makes adoptees angry is being treated differently and the lack of control over these circumstances.
I promise you, about the time your child reaches puberty, he or she will say the dreaded words, “You are not my real parents.” This is not anger. It is insecurity. With puberty comes the challenge of individuation. Your child must start rehearsing his or her independence. He or she will hurt and insult you to see whether you can be counted on when the going gets rough. Convoluted? This is normal for teenagers, but intensified by the adoption experience.
Moses, Oedipus, King Arthur, the Ugly Duckling, Superman, and Luke Skywalker all have somethings in common. They were all adopted and they are some of our culture’s major self-realization archetypes — without the search, there would have been no story. Society sends adoptees the message to search. There is no society on earth without religion. All of mankind is searching for the creator, isn’t it natural adoptees would, too? Search is the adoptee’s active part in the process of adoption. Usually it’s the childbearing years, late twenties, early thirties, when adoptees actively search.
I had an intense desire to know before puberty but didn’t want to search during my late teens, college years, or early twenties. I was too busy separating from my adoptive parents. But if contacted, I would have wanted to make the decision. Adoptive parents, please don’t search for your child unless asked to, or unless there are real problems you feel may have stemmed from his or her genetic history or experiences before joining your family. The search isn’t about you. It is a search for self. I wanted to know my story, who I looked like, ethnic background, and medical history. To meet the creator and say, “Look at me! I’m okay. I turned out all right. You made the right decision.”
The adoptive parents’ role in an adoptee’s reunion? It is not to voice your insecurities over your ability to parent; your job is to be there for your child. To give him or her the gift of trust. At one of the most intense moments of his or her life, it is unfair and selfish to play the wronged parent. What does it say about your relationship if your child searches after you die? The most consistent outcome of adoption reunion is the strengthening of the supportive adoptive family. Why be an adoptive parent? Because it makes a difference.
Children need homes, and parents need children to create a family. Teach how to fold towels, grandma’s recipes, to play fair, and introduce us to literary classics, teach how to drive, to handle conflict, favorite ball teams, and the best political party. I’ll sleep in your arms, play peek-a-boo, bring “I love you” drawings to put on the refrigerator, alarm you with my adolescent fashion sense, and ask for the car keys. Families never stop growing and learning from each other. Understanding teaches courage; courage teaches stability; stability teaches trust; trust teaches acceptance; acceptance teaches love; and love makes the human heart elastic enough to make adoption less of a commodity transaction and more of an extension of family, and that is an adoptee’s advice about good adoptive parenting.
This article is excerpted from a speech at a RESOLVE conference in Philadelphia.
