It’s time for another serious post I think. And by serious post, I mean adoption. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
I went to a play on Tuesday night, called Rita and Douglas. It was a play about the somewhat steamy love affair between the artist Rita Angus and the composer and pianist Douglas Lilburn. This is all entirely irrelevant, aside from the fact that I came home in a rather thoughtful mood. I grabbed myself some cheese and flicked the telly on to see if there was anything mindless and boring so I wouldn’t have to think so much that night. (I was tired.) Sadly, the only thing I found that was worth watching was Missing Pieces.
Don’t get me wrong. I love the show. I really do. Sometimes I think about writing in to them to see if they can find long lost members of my extended birthfamily. I’m certainly curious. And I like how the commentary and their portrayal of the stories is refreshingly uncondescending. It’s not judgemental of the situations that have led to the absence of a family member, but it’s not overly soppy and emotional either. Also, they don’t use an excess of puns, which are well over-used on television at the moment. Especially by Mark Sainsbury. But I’m biased against him, mostly due to the fact that the “stories” he presents are not things that I would consider particularly note-worthy. For example, a woman that is working a job in what he would generally consider a male domain. Like anything to do with cars, for instance. Come on Sainsbury. Get with the times please.
However, Sainsbury and his endearing nose aside (Google it if you must), Missing Pieces is a damn good show. For those of you unaware of the concept, it’s a show that presents people looking for long lost relatives that they may have not seen due to adoption, divorce, or relationship breakdowns. They record a short video message for the relative, the Missing Pieces team try and find said relative, show them the video and ask if they want to get in contact. From what I’ve gathered, the answer is generally yes. Cue scenes of an emotional reunion. Or the first time two people have met, even. It’s quite touching, without being overly so.
On Tuesday evening, a man’s father said no about having contact with his son.
He was only a teenager when he discovered that his girlfriend was pregnant. However, her parents were about to immigrate to New Zealand with her (from Britain) and although the couple tried to stay in contact through letters, the girl’s parents wanted her to have nothing to do with the boy. When he was seventeen, it seems he had every intention of doing whatever he had to get to New Zealand and help her look after this baby, but he was only seventeen. She had a son. He was adopted out.
Thirty-something years later, the son is in contact with his birthmother, and through Missing Pieces, is interested in finding his father. They did find him, yes.
Things change, over time. People change. They grow up. They grow old. The boy who dreamed of following his girlfriend to New Zealand had become a man, with a wife now. Children. A job. Decades of responsibility.
“This is why it had to be put to rest all those years ago. I can’t do it. My wife knows. But my children don’t.”
I understand that, a little. I understand how situations change. My own birthmother is proof of that. I don’t really know what she was like when I came to be- it’s not something I’m ready to understand at this stage of my life. But at the moment, she’s just- normal. She’s married and has a normal job, and three sons and two houses, and she doesn’t look like the sort of woman to have had a secret, adopted daughter. A daughter who, in a sense, was also put to rest all those years ago. Of course she hasn’t forgotten- I know she can’t have. But she just continues, I think, like someone who has pretended to have forgotten. I imagine it must be easier that way. People ask questions. They’re curious. But people are also capable of being extremely insensitive in their curiosity. Sometimes it’s easier to just avoid that completely.
When the Pieces team explained to the son about why his father was choosing not to have contact, his reaction was nothing less than dignified. He said he wasn’t putting on an act, and that he wasn’t about to go home to have a cry (“I might have a few gins though,” he explained with a gentle chuckle) but that he understood and accepted that it could have happened. He’s not like me. I wish I could be more accepting of situations. But he’s an adult- well, so am I, but I’m not an adult adult yet. I’m still a teenager, too. But what watching it has made me realise that, although I have no idea where to start, I do want to find my birthgrandfather this year. Wish me luck.
In happier news, the next story was about a woman who found her birthfather, and he was keen to stay in contact. That cheered me up a lot.
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