I've been wanting to write another post on adoption ever since I wrote my first one, mostly because the whole thing is huge and there's so much more that I want to say. So, sorry. This will be a serious post.
I guess my thoughts were triggered the other day when I was talking to an old friend of mine who recently, at the age of seventeen, became a father. He told me they'd planned an open adoption, even going so far as to have chosen a family, but then she suddenly changed her mind. I'm unsure as to what exactly happened next, but from what I gather, she consumed a large amount of alcohol with the intention of harming the baby, opted out of the adoption, wouldn't have anything to do with the father of her child, then had the little baby boy herself, kept him, and named him after someone she had cheated with. Charming. Of course, I've only heard the biased version of events. But it got me wondering. And talking to my friend about it.
As much as I'm opposed to the idea of adoption on principle, an open adoption really might have been the best option. I don't know if he would be able to be much of a father at this stage and, judging by her meltdown, I wonder how she will cope as a mother. At least with an open adoption, contact is maintained. Like making the most of a difficult situation. I cannot stress enough how important it is to have contact with my birthfamily. Whether you like it or not, where you come from will always make up a part of your identity- even if you aren't aware of it. Even if I never met my birthfamily, I would still have aspects of myself that are similar to them. Not just physical ones, either. My point being that, in knowing my birthfamily, I am able to know myself.
As it is, this child is unlikely to know his father as of yet. He as chosen to stay out of the kid's life for now, drawing on his own childhood, and telling me it's better for the kid to have an absent father than a childhood dominated by conflict between his parents.
"When he's older, if he wants to meet me, I'd absolutely let him get to know me," he said, which reassured me somewhat, because I could relate it to my own experiences.
I met my birthfather when I was almost twelve years old. Heck, I didn't even know of his existence until I was eight. Which may sound pretty crazy, but I'd never had a birthfather before, so I'd never questioned why I didn't have one. I just never thought of it at that age, and had always assumed John, my birthmother's husband, must be my father. I took it all for granted until one night when my adoptive parents told me I had a father. Named Shane.
My world changed.
I was curious, desperate to know who he was. When you are young, and you don't know these things, your head fills with fantasies. That he's a rockstar, or famous for something, or, at the very least, rich and successful. That he's someone everyone will be jealous of when I tell them, "Oh, he's my dad."
Shane is none of those, but I don't care.
He's not a rockstar. He's not famous or rich or "successful"- whatever that word means anyway. He hasn't had a job in a while, and he's shy, and he lives in a small place in Corstophine with his son Kaleb, another of my half brothers. But when anyone hears me talk about them, I am proud.
I think Kaleb must be nine or ten now, and he's a bright kid, even though sometimes he's got more energy than he can handle, and he can be a bit weird. Kind of how I was at his age, though. He loves to draw, and to read, so every time I come to visit, he draws me a picture and proudly shows me the latest book he's reading. He got through Charlie and the Chocolate Factory fairly quickly.
Sorry, this has quickly turned from a serious discussion about adoption to me showing off about my little brother in an almost mum-blog way. Back on task, Bell-ez!
Meeting my dad when I was twelve, and not growing up with him has given me a different perspective on him, and when we hang out, he's more like a friend than anything else. And I know parents aren't supposed to be your mates (cringe) but he never really got the opportunity to be my parent, either.
I wonder if this will be the experience of my friend's kid in years to come, should he decide to meet his father. And I sure hope he does, purely for the reason that knowing family = knowing self.
Blood is thicker than water, but you need both to survive.
