Why I think he said no

I read in this blog that open records is the thing. That secrecy, refusing adoptees the right to know who their biological parents are is really bad, that it leads to all sorts of mental problems, that -- the theories are all there. And I understand and agree even. Mainly because as a person of quite liberal attitudes I can't see what the fuss is about, why there's supposed to be so much shame involved over a pregnancy. I'm not even sure the shame is about the baby, but that -- guess what -- now everybody knows you are sexually active! What a blow to mankind!

Well, it's a real shame when that leads to a 13-year-old getting pregnant, but that is what the abortion laws should be there to solve (and decent sex ed should help prevent). But why should there be so much shame involved once the pregnancy is a fact? And why so much legislation to keep the children from finding out where they come from? After all, it's not their fault.

And that was pretty much what I thought, that this is not such a big deal, that unless the 'kid' is a down-an-outer who is now going to come running demanding money and generally harass us, there is no reason to refuse him contact with the family, perhaps even regular contact, involvement as 'one of us'. What's the harm? Why turn it into a tragedy? WHAT'S THE BIG DEAL?

So I downplayed it. Fine, someone else came first. What's he like? You haven't met him? Ok. Would you like to meet him? No? Ok. I take it he would like to meet us, though? Does he have any contact with his birth-mother? No? She said adamantly no. Right. That must be a tad disappointing for him, don't you think? You said no to contact too? Oh.

It was this last bit that got me. The gut reaction 'no'. Because, you see, it felt all wrong. And now comes the bit where I'm going to philosophise over why he said no, based entirely on my own imagination. Because one can never really know what is going on inside another person's head.

I think he said no because of the way he was brought up. By a deeply religious mother who never admitted to ever having had sex despite the overwhelming evidence to the contrary. Immaculate conception perhaps? OMG! The return of Christ, and none of us knew! Sorry.
I think he said no because of the place he grew up in. A deeply pious area, a tiny community where tongues easily wagged, and rarely in a kindly way. A place where gossip was the main form of entertainment. Where those who put a foot wrong received the highest gawk-factor and presented a free-for-all to be laughed at, talked about, sneered at...
I think he said no because he spent a lifetime getting away from that, building a career, creating a life and a lifestyle that he'd always dreamt of, taking control over his own destiny.
I think he said no because he lost his own childhood through the loss of a parent and was left with the main responsibility for his siblings (shouldn't this have made him more compassionate? ah! psychology takes no hostages -- he was trained through the death of his father to be completely reliable, to never let anybody down, least of all his family -- quite a burden for someone so young).
I think he said no because when A was conceived, he was busy trying to survive on next to no money while studying and he could see no way of adequately supporting a wife and child.
I think he said no because he let them down. And that has stayed with him ever since.

Though of course he did his best to forget. And the rude awakening, that the past always catches up with you, was something he could not bear having to face after half a century of burying his one mistake in life.

Oh, if we could all be blessed to only have made one mistake. :-)

But that decision was taken out of his hands by someone who, through circumstance, is essentially a stranger. And all his old fears resurfaced. How would it be received in that tiny, intolerant community?

Don't say it. 'Who cares?!' Someone who's cared all his life, cares. Someone who's painstakingly crafted a rich life out of nothing, cares. Someone who really, really doesn't want to let anybody down, cares. Someone who fathered an illegitimate child in the 50s, cares. Someone whose life was irretrievably coloured by the values of the 40s and 50s will not easily adapt to the more carefree 60s or 70s (I personally believe we have gone into reverse since then, starting in the 80s). Because back then, 'illegitimate' actually meant something. Something bad. Something that could ruin your life, your career, your future relationships.

So his face clouded over, life went from his eyes and he looked into the abyss of having failed, both the birth-mother, himself, but most of all the child who was given up. Rejecting him again was not as bad as having to face all that failure.

But inside every adult is the child that was rejected by someone, at some point in time. And I was not about to let it all fizzle out into my dad shoving his head back in the sand and my sister clamming up and being awkward. The only one who seemed to be perfectly laid back about it was my mum who said, well, it was before my time and I didn't exactly expect to marry a virgin.

But I think he said no because he still felt ashamed.

It's so easy to instruct others to feel differently to what they actually feel. I didn't feel any shame, so why should he? This is the twenty-first century; people don't think like that any more! This is NO BIG DEAL! Get over it! But the habit of a lifetime tells you differently.