From what I have been told by my now widowed mom (we lost Dad two years ago to a heart attack that shocked everyone he knew),who I love dearly, and have yet to tell of my current quest to find my birth parents, only with hopes to protect her from any further pain that may soon exist, the process of adoption was an arduous task. It was something that married couples did for whatever reason, I can think of a few off the top of my head that are fairly obvious,when they desperately wanted children and had the means to support a family. It was not, and still has proven not to be an option for people, who although may have the biggest hearts, have the thinnest wallets. As unfortunate as it is, and I fully disagree with the enormous costs associated with adoption, the only people who can afford to legally adopt a child are the people who have money, and most likely will almost expend a surmountable portion of their life savings to do it. You have the lawyers, who understand the legal mumbo jumbo, the social workers, who put their heart and soul into it for a small fraction of the pay that the lawyers get, and the foster parents, who do it for a variety of their own reasons, which we all know can be both good and extremely questionable, sometimes even downright despicable. You have the medical costs for the birth mother, not to mention the future lifetime of counseling, which most likely will be needed for the birth mother and possibly her family members who may or may not have advised her on the adoption, but will most likely and neglectfully, be dually ignored. No matter the inflicting costs, either financially or emotionally, adoption has its rewards and its disadvantages, like most of the finer and sometimes grimier things in life that humans tend to gravitate to unassumingly and unobjectively by nature.
No matter which lens you are looking through, A or B, a small joke for those of you, who, like me, couldn't see a giant pendulum swinging at your coconut if your life depended on it, adoption is something that is an option for people who have more opportunity in life. It's for people who have moola, and supportive family, and come from loving environments. So I thought, until two weeks ago.
What actually prompted me to look for these people with whom I share a common blood line is disturbing. A new "friend" of mine is adopted, and did not have a happy story to tell me of going to the park on Saturdays, and getting ice cream when he made an A in a tough subject at school, or when he might have simply done the right thing. He didn't have 7am soccer practice with sleepovers and pizza, sneaking out and stealing mom's car was not even a distant thought. The repercussions of getting caught doing something like that were not like mine were- a grounding for a month. Whoop-dee-doo. Instead, he would get a switch to his behind, which on many instances, would creep up his back, bruising a lot more than his body, scarring much more tissue than what the naked eye could see. He was not loved, not taken to McDonald's for chocolate dipped cones that would melt down your chin, and insist on the look of an unshaven man who just got off a two day stint in a coal mine. He was an only child, unlike me. He didn't have anyone to teach him what people were like, other than his peers at school, whose motives might also be questionable. And, thank the Good Lord for good people, who did show him the uncharted paths. We all need good people in our lives, don't we? He didn't have someone giving him an attaboy for the things he accomplished, big or almost invisible. They all matter to a good parent. It's a life of solitude that he has lived, a leper's life, and I do not envy him one bit. The happy ending to his story, although it is far from over- he is only 32 years young, is that he is a wonderful person despite his incredible misfortune. He has made something of himself and can recognize beauty. He has turned out good, as people love to say. Maybe it's the nicer, more politically correct way to say, "poor fella". In this instance, my friend really has been a survivor, and continues to grow everyday despite his lonely circumstances. He is inspirational,although possibly unaware of his grandeur.
I'm told these people, my biological relatives, are from an area of North Carolina, that I am unfamiliar with. Being raised in Charlotte, as I was, as odd as it sounds to most people who currently live here, it's even odd to me, that I am not full of knowledge on this remote area of the state, only 200 miles from me. I am so unfamiliar in fact, that after having looked at a MapPoint program of the directions a few times, I am still not sure what highway to take to get there. That's not saying much, because I still get lost in Charlotte from time to time. I blame that on the, um, the drugs. There, I'm honest- I used to smoke pot. I'm blaming it on the burn out/slightly forgetful syndrome.Charlotte is a melting pot of sorts. I'm not sure why people who are born here leave and why people who are not from here stay, but it is a well known fact by most inhabitants that if you are born here, you do not live here still. Either way, I have found it to be a nice place to raise my daughter, Sarah, who is four, and my Mom still lives here, and I can't see myself leaving anytime soon, even if I saw an incredible rate hike in my salary.
Nevertheless, these people hail from the eastern part of North Carolina, in a county called Lenoir, which is peppered with little townships, of which one might call a neighborhood or subdivision, a common description by Southerners, I'm told by my good friend from NY who likes poking fun of unnoticed coloquialisms. And from what I understand from talking to a few of its longtime inhabitants, is a county in which everyone knows everyone. Great! That is exactly what I need to accomplish this task of finding a needle in a haystack, to borrow the age old addage that people have over the years worn out to the point of disgust. But, in this case, I think that is the perfect cliche for what I am describing.
No matter which lens you are looking through, A or B, a small joke for those of you, who, like me, couldn't see a giant pendulum swinging at your coconut if your life depended on it, adoption is something that is an option for people who have more opportunity in life. It's for people who have moola, and supportive family, and come from loving environments. So I thought, until two weeks ago.
What actually prompted me to look for these people with whom I share a common blood line is disturbing. A new "friend" of mine is adopted, and did not have a happy story to tell me of going to the park on Saturdays, and getting ice cream when he made an A in a tough subject at school, or when he might have simply done the right thing. He didn't have 7am soccer practice with sleepovers and pizza, sneaking out and stealing mom's car was not even a distant thought. The repercussions of getting caught doing something like that were not like mine were- a grounding for a month. Whoop-dee-doo. Instead, he would get a switch to his behind, which on many instances, would creep up his back, bruising a lot more than his body, scarring much more tissue than what the naked eye could see. He was not loved, not taken to McDonald's for chocolate dipped cones that would melt down your chin, and insist on the look of an unshaven man who just got off a two day stint in a coal mine. He was an only child, unlike me. He didn't have anyone to teach him what people were like, other than his peers at school, whose motives might also be questionable. And, thank the Good Lord for good people, who did show him the uncharted paths. We all need good people in our lives, don't we? He didn't have someone giving him an attaboy for the things he accomplished, big or almost invisible. They all matter to a good parent. It's a life of solitude that he has lived, a leper's life, and I do not envy him one bit. The happy ending to his story, although it is far from over- he is only 32 years young, is that he is a wonderful person despite his incredible misfortune. He has made something of himself and can recognize beauty. He has turned out good, as people love to say. Maybe it's the nicer, more politically correct way to say, "poor fella". In this instance, my friend really has been a survivor, and continues to grow everyday despite his lonely circumstances. He is inspirational,although possibly unaware of his grandeur.
I'm told these people, my biological relatives, are from an area of North Carolina, that I am unfamiliar with. Being raised in Charlotte, as I was, as odd as it sounds to most people who currently live here, it's even odd to me, that I am not full of knowledge on this remote area of the state, only 200 miles from me. I am so unfamiliar in fact, that after having looked at a MapPoint program of the directions a few times, I am still not sure what highway to take to get there. That's not saying much, because I still get lost in Charlotte from time to time. I blame that on the, um, the drugs. There, I'm honest- I used to smoke pot. I'm blaming it on the burn out/slightly forgetful syndrome.Charlotte is a melting pot of sorts. I'm not sure why people who are born here leave and why people who are not from here stay, but it is a well known fact by most inhabitants that if you are born here, you do not live here still. Either way, I have found it to be a nice place to raise my daughter, Sarah, who is four, and my Mom still lives here, and I can't see myself leaving anytime soon, even if I saw an incredible rate hike in my salary.
Nevertheless, these people hail from the eastern part of North Carolina, in a county called Lenoir, which is peppered with little townships, of which one might call a neighborhood or subdivision, a common description by Southerners, I'm told by my good friend from NY who likes poking fun of unnoticed coloquialisms. And from what I understand from talking to a few of its longtime inhabitants, is a county in which everyone knows everyone. Great! That is exactly what I need to accomplish this task of finding a needle in a haystack, to borrow the age old addage that people have over the years worn out to the point of disgust. But, in this case, I think that is the perfect cliche for what I am describing.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment
Please don't be shy to comment. It's our struggles that unite us.