Sometimes you have to laugh. Just a little.

We didn't meet

And I could end this post right here. I said it all. Ok, a little more. I sent him an e-mail suggesting we meet each other half-way. I received an e-mail in return telling me he was a little too busy to make the trip, followed by an outline of the many things that were bogging him down (not really necessary, I'm rarely upset by a simple 'no'). But he also write a small PS that his wife was mumbling something about a weekend trip to W (where I live) in the course of the autumn.

I'd love for them to come here. But as we have never met, should I also offer to have them stay with me? Would that be too intense for a first meeting? I can talk with A on the phone and feel totally at ease but I know from B's description that as types we are rather far apart and I worry that we might experience a lot of awkward silenced that I, being who I am, may attempt to fill with slightly hysterical noise and say lots if idiotic things.

Oh well. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. For now I'll just get myelf back into the swing of things -- you know, work and all that. And then we'll see. :-)

Status quo

I realise it's been months since I posted, but very little has happened. That is just the way it is when geography prevents progress. But I am on the steps to go home on holiday. And this time it's a properly long holiday which allows for a little travelling here and there, seeing friends, and why not also see A while I'm at it?

We talked briefly on the phone a couple of weeks ago. Our tone is relaxed now, and we talk like friends. I like that. And now it's me wanting to meet him. I am ready. So tonight I am going to send him and e-mail telling him when I will be in the country and ask if he's around at the same time and if we should perhaps try to meet.

I'm optimistic. And that's a good feeling, isn't it?

Open records

It is clear to me that most of the readers of this blog are American. And that means that you are used to adoption being part of a free market based economy which again is based on demand and supply. And within that market, babies are little more than another commodity to be sold and purchased as dictated by supply and demand.

Suz: I have not stated my country of origin. But you can check out the laws of various European countries and find my country among those with open records. All A had to do was send a letter to the authorities stating that he wanted to know the names of his birth parents, and whether or not they were still alive. The law of open records, which also worked retroactively, was implemented in 1993.

A sent a letter, and was in return sent the requested information supplying him with the names of his birth parents and that they were still both alive. Simultaneously, letters were sent to each of his birth parents informing them that A had requested, and been sent, this information, and were they willing to have contact with him? please fill in this form and return in the enclosed pre-paid envelope.

Both reacted with a resounding 'no!'. They both thought they had buried their past mistake. Their replies were passed on to A.

A was too curious about possible siblings to let it go at that, and B and I were easier to find than his birth mother's children because of our surname, and as my sister is as easy to Google as myself and dad, and she can be traced to the same area as my dad, A correctly surmised that B had to be his sister.

The detective work required on A's part was pretty much non-existent.

That is what open records can do for you.

I am personally all for the open records law of 1993. Over time, I hope it will contribute to diminish all forms of shame in connection with adoptions. There are, of course, far fewer unwanted pregnancies in my country than before because sex ed is thorough and most young couples know how to practise safe sex. Abortion is also a free choice and we are luckily spared the oppressive presence of militant pro-lifers.

You may then wonder why my dad finds this situation so hard to deal with in such an open and liberated society.

All this happened after his contribution to the world of adoptees. And no matter how many laws and regulations introduced from top-down, and no matter the amount of sex ed, there will always be those who are ashamed to admit to having been sexual beings before marriage. There will always be smaller societies where various religious rules go before any form of common sense and shame is doled out in generous helpings following ancient scripts that have been interpreted and re-interpreted by narrow-minded men for as long as the same scripts have been in existence.

There will always be those who demand the right to point a finger.

And Suz, you may find it shocking that dad can't remember the name of the birth mother, but at least I am willing to admit that I can't remember the name of every guy I've slept with. I've had the odd one-night stand not worthy of mentioning in my memoirs. If that makes me a 'slut', a 'bitch' or just cold-hearted, so be it. I really couldn't care less. I guess I can just thank my lucky stars (+ condoms and the pill) I never had to find one of them to stick his name on a birth certificate. Sex is great, but let's not get all forms of sex confused with either love or rape.

Pat: thanks. I hope so too. It would be nice. Most of all, it would be nice if dad could shrug and say 'bygones' to the past and then see A as a valuable addition to an already rich and eventful life. I think they both deserve that.

Dear all adoptees, from a halfsister who doesn't know you

Suz, it is bad. But not because dad is ashamed of A. He is not. His shame is of a far more general art. He is ashamed of having abandoned a young pregnant woman, and a child. He is ashamed of what A represents in his life, not of A.

This post says a little about where dad comes from; the 50's setting during which A was conceived. It's all of THAT which has added up to dad's shame, multiplied it to a degree where he can't face the past.

He's an old man. He has worked hard all his life, been a wonderful dad to me and my sister (something A never got to benefit from), and not being able to take care of his firstborn is something he has tried so hard to forget. As daddy's girl I am more than ready to both forgive and comply with his wishes.

But I think it is sad. Not because of my split love -- I can honestly say that I don't love my brother. I don't know him, have not met him, and what little I do know about him has only served to demonstrate to me how differently we have grown up. Love? No. There's been no time to develop those feelings. Yet. I did not carry him inside me to then be forced to give him up to adoption. There is no unconditional love between a half brother and half sister who have never met.

But I have enough imagination to be aware that if he knew just how ashamed dad felt, he would be devastated. Perhaps he might even take it personally. Because, you see, it is not personal. That shame, that horrid thing that hangs over dad, is not personal, not about A. It is only about dad, the time in which he grew up, the way society (that would be 'us') treat those who put a foot wrong. It's reflected and magnified today in the way the tabloid press treats people like Britney Spears and Amy Winehouse when they crack under the pressure, turn to drugs or alcohol or just happen to feel shit and go out into public without makeup. I too cringe with embarrassment when I see the glee with which acquaintances buzz around the honey pot of gossip.

Everybody loves an unhappy end.

It is easy to say that dad should rise above all that, be the greater person, shrug and face the facts; he failed, but here is his son, and it's ok. Laugh if you want, but there's nothing to be ashamed of.

It's not for you to decide that on his behalf. And it is not for me. I would love it if he could do it, I would love it if A could be a natural part of the family now that we know about him and have regular contact, I wish I could mention him on my regular blog. But it is not for me to decide for my dad. He is a separate person to me, and I do not have the right to take over his life. If I want to include people on my blog I have to have their blessing and agreement with all that entails. A personal blog like mine takes your personal life into the public sphere, and you have to think carefully before you write about others. I have no idea who reads it. But I know that enough people in my parents' social sphere read it to know exactly who I'm talking about.

I'll give him time. Dad. He usually comes around once he's had time to think about things. Because, you see, he really is the greater person. In the meantime I'll stay in touch with A via e-mail and perhaps, just perhaps, we'll even manage to meet this year. Who knows.

That thing called 'shame'

So I asked my dad if I could refer to A in my main blog. Nothing special, just casually as I generally refer to people. Not making a big deal out of it, just, you know, "got an e-mail from my brother this morning. He said nothing new, but it was nice to hear from him." That sort of stuff.

My question was met with a long silence, and then the answer I expected. No. He had been hoping that his mistake, his biggest mistake in life, could go to the grave with him. That his shame would not be held up for public scrutiny.

His shame. His mistake. That is what A is to him. And because I love my dad so much my heart could break I accept this. Even if A would never want to be seen as someone's shame, as another man's mistake. I have no wish to burden A with being dad's shame. But how can I not?

Normality

As I said I would, I slept and read. And then I ate and slept some more. It was a totally uneventful Christmas.

A is now part of normal conversation. I think the bad feelings are gone, and whatever happens next will presumably be pretty unremarkable. Both dad and B have met him, B even visited when she was on a job in the city he lives in. Her report, if I can call it that, was that it was a little tense. A's wife had at one stage left the room to give A and B the opportunity to 'bond' in some way, which lead to some rather awkward silences and bland conversation instead.

We all received a Christmas letter from A's wife. A round-robin poorly laid out with a bad picture of the family (not their fault, entirely the photographer's fault -- there are some shit portrait photographers out there in the world) and one factual sentence for each about the doings of each of them. My friends are probably too clever; I have high expectations of round-robin letters, even of the Christmas kind. Of course, I have no excuse. I didn't send out a single Christmas card this year, to anyone, A inclusive. And I have no idea when I can make up for that. Perhaps I have to sell my body to the highest bidder and then make the trip to visit him instead. I'm sure that would make me feel a whole lot better.