(Me with my adoptive parents. My adopted daughter twenty-some years ago. Click on pictures for larger image.)
The folks I consider my parents adopted me. It must have been a private adoption since they were able to take me home directly from the hospital, Jackson Memorial in Miami, Florida. My father was in his first pastorate after graduating from seminary (and that was after practicing law for a while), serving a church in Hollywood, Florida.
I was still fairly young when they told me about my adoption, but the fact of being adopted didn’t bother me. In fact, I almost forgot about it.
Only as an adult did it occur to me to wonder who my birth parents were and what the circumstances were. Yet I didn’t get as curious as many adopted children do.
Good thing. My parents–my mother, anyhow–got really upset at the prospect of my searching for my birth parents. So upset that I set that idea aside until after my father’s death in 1993 and my mother’s the following year.
I know information about adoptions is supposed to be easier to find now, especially with tons of resources on the Internet. But I wasn’t prepared to spend countless hours on a project that might dead end or even lead to a family that wouldn’t welcome hearing from me at this stage of their lives.
So I’ve never pursued the search for my birth family. Since I’m 68 now, my birth parents would probably be fairly ancient–if they’re even still alive. But since I’m an only child and have very few family contacts left, I do wish I knew whether I had siblings.
But the desire to find out isn’t strong enough to make me start searching.
After all, I’ve always thought of my adoptive parents as my parents. Shouldn’t that be enough?
(By the way, I may have unwittingly passed up a chance to learn something immediately after my father’s death. He kept detailed diaries for a number of years, although I don’t know how far back they went. Although he willed those to the Virginia Baptist Historical Society, I could have perused them before turning them over.)
Note: My daughter is adopted. At one point she thought she’d want to try to find her birth mother, but I haven’t heard anything about that in years now, so I assume she’s either changed her mind or is too busy to start looking. Unlike my mother, I wouldn’t object to her looking, when and if she chooses to.
So, tell me. Are you adopted? If so, can you relate to my story? Please leave a comment about adoption even if you grew up with your birth parents.
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“On Aging Gracelessly” isn’t my only blog. I post lyrics of the Christian songs I’ve written over the last fifty years on “As I Come Singing”–check it out HERE. Free lead sheets (tune, words, and chords) are available for many of them. View the list HERE.