What's That You Say? ~ NaBloPoMo ~ November 14

Writing prompt for today:

The Things People Say

What is the strangest thing anyone has ever said to you or asked you about being adopted? What is the most insightful thing anyone has ever said to you about being adopted? Has anyone ever shared your story without your permission? If so, how did that make you feel? Who “owns” your story and what part of your story do you share with others in your adoption “triad”? Is there a line when it comes to sharing? If so, where is that line drawn for you?

I'd have to say that the strangest things I've heard regarding being adopted have been since I started blogging. 

"You should be grateful that you were adopted..things could be so much worse."

Ummmmm...read some of my more raw blog posts and see how worse life was for me because I was adopted.

"My adopted child will never be bitter and angry."

This one kills me.  I mean, there are some things in life you can control, but someone else's feelings isn't one of them.

"Your adoptive parents ARE your real parents."

< style="text-align: left;"> Yes, such as they were, my adoptive parents were real.  But no more real than my natural parents.  Love isn't endless.  Love can multiply. 

The most insightful thing anyone has said once they've found out I was adopted came about when my fiance was talking to his aunt about my reunion with my mom and family.  He told me that she got this serious expression her face and said, very simply, "That's fantastic.  Now she knows her people."  Amazing.  She got in ten seconds what some people will never understand. 

So the answer to, "Has anyone shared my story?" would be yes.  Steven has shared my story with his family and they were nothing but supportive. I didn't mind him sharing because I know he truly gets how being adopted affects me.  He wasn't looking to get validation that I'm crazy.  He wants his family to know me and that makes me happy.  

Ultimately, I own my part in my story...just as my natural mother owns hers and my adoptive mother owns hers.  But our stories are all intertwined together, for better or for worse.  But the odd thing is, I don't share everything of my story with either of my mothers.  I just can't.  It goes back to not wanting to anger my adoptive mother and not wanting to hurt my natural one. 

I'm not sure where my line of sharing is.  On my blog, I don't censor myself.  I spent too many years being silent and not being my true self.  Here, because my mothers and extended family members don't read my posts, I can be authentic.  Perhaps someday I can share that with them, but for now, I'm content to share myself with you.



A Novel Idea

“Here’s a bone for you.”

I felt like I’d been slapped across the face. Surely, Kevin hadn’t meant to throw the stuffed dog’s bone on my desk, right? Right?? I looked up at him and saw a derisive grin spreading across his face as the other kids sitting around us in English class realized what he’d done.

I shouldn’t have really been surprised. So far, seventh grade had been horrible. It had started on the very first day. I’d been so excited to go to the Junior/Senior regional high school with the kids I’d grown up with since kindergarten. We’d finally meet the students from the other small town that would be transitioning over from their elementary school too. New faces, new friends…so exciting!

A few of us had gone to my best friend Tabitha’s house a week before school started for a sleepover. We’d spent the night dancing and singing and talking about all the fun we’d have in Junior High. Tabitha and I had made plans to save a seat for each other if we got to our classes first.

The first day of school dawned crisp and cool. I got dressed in my jeans and my sister’s hand-me-down sweater and walked down to the bus stop with her. She was in eleventh grade and had told me that things would be radically different from elementary school but I brushed off her warning and hopped on the bus.

There wasn’t any time to find Tabitha once we got to school. I had to find my locker, find my homeroom and get dismissed to my first class…English. Finally! We had compared our schedules at the sleepover and had been relieved to find that we were in a lot of the same classes. I rushed for the classroom and saw that she was there first. I walked over to the empty chair next to her and started to put my book down on the desk.

“That seat is taken.”

“Hahaha…good one T..”, I said.

“No, really. That seat is taken.”

I looked over at her but she wasn’t looking back. She was staring at the front of the room. It was in that moment…that horrible, gut wrenching moment, that I realized what was happening. I slowly grabbed my book and turned towards the back of the room, found an empty desk in the back row and sat down. My eyes welled up with tears as I watched another one of our friends, Sarah, greet Tabitha and sit down next to her in what should have been my seat.

I stared at Tabitha for a bit…wondering what exactly was going on with her.  We’d been friends for several years.  Her mother was our Girl Scout leader and I’d spent hours at her house, playing out in her backyard with her and her little sister.  We attended the same church and were in the same Sunday School class.  Just two and a half months ago we were passing notes back and forth in sixth grade, proclaiming our status as BFF-4-Eva.  Now, she was sitting next to Sarah, talking and laughing with Sarah, Bethany and Jessica.  What would I do now?

The rest of the day passed much the same.  There were more classes, more teachers who outlined the year ahead for us.  And then lunch.  I sat by myself, with a clear view of Tabitha and her table of giggling girls.  I spent that lunch writing a letter to Tabitha.  If I could just say the right thing, she’d HAVE to be my friend again.  Or so I thought anyway.

In retrospect, the letter I wrote was pathetic.  I was pretty much begging her to talk to me..to be my friend.  Pleading with her to tell me what I’d done to make her turn her back on me.  I knew that we had Latin next period so I hurriedly finished the note, folded it carefully and left the cafeteria to find the classroom.

I stopped at my locker first to drop off some of the books I’d accumulated over the course of the morning and headed to class.  Tabitha was again sitting next to Sarah, whispering and laughing over something apparently hilarious.  I walked past her desk and dropped the note in front of her and headed to a desk in her row.  I watched her carefully as she unfolded the note.  She read it, handed it to Sarah who read it as well and gave it back with a snicker.  Tabitha stood up and with a flourish, dropped it in the trash at the front of the room.