Don’t usually plug my own posts! Read my post under this “on my father…” It’s a tear jerker, or tears of enjoyment.
It was a pleasure to be my father’s daughter–even when we were driving each other crazy, which was often. But not many daughters are given a legacy such as this letter. It is the must treasured part of my parents legacy to me for my parents were almost as one. Very in love; even as a baby I knew and enjoyed their passion for each other (or my mother said that I enjoyed it!)
Then read the post below it “The sisterhood of the traveling picture.” Sometimes I’m clever; sometimes profound; sometimes witty, sometimes horrible. Here I think I’m…well draw your own conclusions. Yes more about that picture
Will probably have a new post up this weekend; though I might really try to hold out until Monday. Trying to become a less obsessive blogger. Not easy.
For every one Jew who blogs there are at least 20 stories about why said person blogs.
I’m going to try not to post for the rest of the week because I’m thrilled to be included in this; and there are two posts beneath it I love.
The second–the sisterhood of the traveling picture is about my discovering a picture of me in a large national national magazine. It wasn’t captioned, and it took me two days to believe that it was me! The picture was taken over a year ago at a magazine launch party–not this magazine. Remember the party very specifically for two reasons: people kept on taking my picture and they had the best crab balls I have ever tasted. Probably shouldn’t say that in this post, crabs are probably the least Kosher of all foods! So of course they are my favorite food.
The post under this one is not by me! It’s by my dad. It feels great to be able to share it with people at a time when adoption is less of a charged issue. (Probably the only thing that is now).
I was adopted from a Jewish agency so it fits in this. Always knew I was though many people refused to believe it because I fit in too well with my family. Like adoptees are supposed to have antennas on the top of their head or the horns many people once believed Jews had. (Guess I had a double dose.)
Didn’t have the birthmark on the back of my head; do have one on my neck. Didn’t have much hair until I was over a year old. When it grew in, it took over! That was the only thing that was slow about me. My parents claimed I walked, talked and almost read before my first birthday. Did read before kindergarten.
My parents were amazing people. I miss them every day. I had always felt uncomfortable in adoption groups because I never had a litany of complaints, and thought that being adopted by my parents was a miracle. Now I have to say this–I’m very strongly pro-choice.
My birth mother gave me up for adoption because my birth father wasn’t Jewish. Her family was Orthodox. As only the mother counts in the Jewish religion in determining if a baby’s Jewish–I’m one hundred percent certified Jew, and very proud to be a member of the religion that is also my culture and heritage. Since my family were never citizens of what they called Russia Poland their traditions defined them in ways that–well many books have been written about that.
For the first time in the two centuries my family has been living here, our rights are being trampled on. To most Jews, The First Amendment of The Constitution is another Bible. It guarantees our right to practice our religion, and for our government to be secular. That’s right; The First Amendment guarantees that, and if you wish to fight me on this, please go to Bring it On!
Right now I’m levelling in family pride; kvell means pride but something more. Asked Library Lady for help defining it.
Being adopted isn’t going to be front and center in my memoir but I did search for my birth mother at various periods in my life, and found her in 1988. She’s a very nice woman but she wasn’t my mom. I searched more out of curiosity than anything else–and a need to know about potential health problems. I strongly believe in open records. But people seem to have a need or want to rewrite history. I was adopted at a time when many people didn’t tell their kids, or told them that their birth parents died in a car crash.
My parents shared all the info they had with me. My dad made a tape recording of the events in the following post that my sister and I would have him play over and over again. There was one thing that wasn’t put in, and they didn’t tell me about until I was an adult. You’ll figure that one out