Courting’s good friend, Anna, has already solved one huge computer problem today, so we’re not going to ask her for help again until tomorrow! Anna’s a great writer and blog designer. Because she is so good at both, she is the only person who has helped me understand the mysteries of HTML and WP2
Loved this article by Julia Glass, Meanwhile what is truth? She write fiction which presents metaphorical truths at least, but it’s never presented as pure fact. Though I thought she made some excellent points, I believe that a memoirist has a responsibility to present perceived truth. Several hours does not equal several days, and can’t be perceived as such. It’s out of the realm of believability unless the author has some kind of mental disorder.
For some reason somebody nominated Courting for a Koufax award, best writing, blog. Will try to put this on the side bar tomorrow. There’s no way we can win this as other contenders write for The Daily Kos and other big blogs. Sheer numbers helps them win.Â
We don’t believe in pitting bloggers against each other in nominations. Yet we feel since the “big blogs” make money while we lose money blogging, we need all the recognition we can get. Sue us, at least we’re honest. We have been at our desk doing blogging stuff since nine AM and now it’s 3:52 PM. Since we don’t take breaks except for an ocassional email, that’s an entire working day. And we haven’t even begun to work on our memoir, and do other things
Also and this is important. For a long long time, Courting was the radical right’s favorite target. We have been humiliated, made fun of, called “stupid” and so many other things–our BIO post yesterday touched on that. We grew scared that only radical rightists and a few good people would comment on Courting. We took on each challenge though our stomach would become sick. So when The Daily Kos says that they can’t understand why some people were nominated, we say, try to look at life in our shoes
The Fat Lady Sings is great; so is the heritik. If we know anybody who was nominated and left them out–well we’re super spacy today. Monday, amigos and amigas!Â
When my sister and I were children we would ask my dad to play the tape of my adoption over and over again. My sister was born to my parents two years and one week after I was adopted.
My sister was a typical younger sister. She tormented me and copied me. Her daughter does that to her now. so she understands how revolting it was
But I was the golden haired chosen child. Though my parents presented being adopted as normal, my agency social worker had written the book The Chosen Child. Whether that was good or bad, I don’t know. My sister cried because she wanted to be adopted also! She got over that.
When I was eleven or twelve I went through my father’s files. He had the whole story written with one more pivotal detail: “adopted for the usual reasons.” I had read Peyton Place; I knew that meant I was born out of wedlock*Â
I was forever cured of the notion that my mother was a princess and my father was a prince and their kingdoms couldn’t meet. My father told me years later that he probably left it where I could easily find it. I was, also, forever cured of snooping. If people want me to know something, I think they will tell me sooner or later.Â
I can say without Freying that I never went though any of my boyfriends things. While I have a myriad of neuroses, I have never been jealous. Guess I was too loved as a child for that. Â
Am very out of it today so I’m going to ping myself. This pings to something my dad wrote the day after they brought me home from the foster home. It is very beautiful and makes me feel joyful.
 *Stupid expression, “out of wedlock,” as is “illegitimate.” We’re all legitimate. For that matter, I hate the word “adoption” being used for pets.Â
Yes humans are animals, and yes some people treat their pets better than they do their children. That doesn’t make it right. Perhaps if some of the language of adoption was changed people would see it as normal.
Whenever I hear anybody say “I want one of my own,” I cringe. I was my parents child. They are my only parents as far as i”m concerned.  Do believe very strongly in open records. Without them we are our own mystery.
It’s hard enough being young with the added very real burden of “who am I?” Doesn’t matter how much you are loved or anything. Without that knowledge life becomes more difficult. I accepted the fact that I might never know while in my 20’s. Didn’t relate to most people in adoption groups. They were too bitter and angry for me. But I had always known and had always been loved
Have come to believe that every pregnancy no matter how planned is a miracle. Who knows what sperm will meet what egg? Same with in-vitro; we can control certain aspects but not who the child will be. Personally I hope that never comes to be.
Also while I am a big believer in adoption; I will always believe in a woman’s right to choose. Who are we to tell other people that they must obey our moral values? Yes, thou shall not kill; a living being. Won’t go the next step here to Terri, plenty of time for that next month.Â
This is about me, me, me. It’s about my incredible family, including my sister who no longer cries because she wasn’t adopted.
If you don’t like my moral stances, don’t comment. It’s that simple
Your dad’s letter was so beautiful Pia. It had me in tears. It reminded me of when I had my second child. My first was the only child I knew. We did have to get to know each other but that did not stand out so much to me. When my second came, I had had 2 years and 4 months of intimacy with my first. She was my best friend. So it stood out to me to hold this new life, to have him labeled mine and not know him. I held him tight, we were alone because my husband had to go home to our daughter. We were two familial strangers, getting to know each other yet in love with one another from the start… know it was the same with your parents… I don’t think it has anything to do with blood… we are connected as souls and destined to meet… with your parents it was a matter of them finding you, of destiny fulfilling her duty to take you home…
Pia- You are so lucky to have been brought home and loved by such wonderful parents.
My father and one of his brothers was adopted when he was 4 years old. There was never any indication that they were anything other than “the adopted boys.” His mother was a shrew. His father was a kind and good man, but dominated by the mother-shrew.
When my dad turned 18 and graduated high school, he was shown the door.
He found his original parents and remaining living family because he never got to have one, even though he had been adopted.
I think for each person adopted, the option should be available, but I realize that it is also an individual choice.
Wow Pia! What a wonderful story and soemthing very close to my heart. I was never leagally adopted. But I found my family of choice at teh age of 20 and teh “adopted” me and I still live with them and learn all teh thing s about love I have missed and never experienced.
I think both you and your parents were very lucky to have found each other that day! I am happy for all of you!
On a toatlly different note, how is that birthmark coming along?
I love your writing, your thoughts and feelings are expressed gracefully and and you have a lot to say that I haven’t heard before.
I’m one of those who grew up wishing I was adopted, but not like your sister. I wanted another family.
You mention you’re a baby boomer and I see you live in NY…I’m a humor writer writing a piece about Boomers Who Blog but for now they must live on Long Island or Queens.
Do you fit? Any interest?
Carol
http://www.Grandma-Boomers.blogspot.com
Pia, I may not agree 100% with your moral stances, but I love your writing and hope you’ll let me continue reading and commenting (and that my sarcasm doesn’t get me into too much trouble).
Your father’s letter was wonderful. You are blessed. One of my favorite possessions is a letter my mother wrote the night I graduated from high school (a feat she sometimes wondered if it would happen–I can now say after having had several more graduations). She wrote about how it felt when I was born.
I love ya girl! You know, my hubby and I were considering adoption when we thought I couldn’t get pregnant. I had tons of literature, had done tons of research. We didn’t care if the child was adopted or our own. We wanted a child to love. We were able to conceive a beautiufl son. BUT… we are still open to adoption, if we are not able to have another child on our own. All I know is there are children out there that need parents, love and a chance for a happy life… I have always been willing to give that.
You are very lucky to have the parents/family you did. They seem to have been VERY special people… which proves in your writing about them.
Thank you, Pia. x
i like your blogs layout
I really enjoy your writing about adoption. I’ve noticed it’s the thing you write about in the most consistenly light tone. It shows how well it worked. My nephew’s adopted and when he’s older I’ll send him links to you.
Koufax-lefty: I get it. I look forward to voting for you.
Hi Pia. I’m of like mind with you. My brother & I are also adopted but we never really thought of the word adopted.
He once met someone who introduced their sibling as “My adopted sister” (or brother…can’t remember). He just looked at them with this weird look in his eyes. Then said “She’s my sister. No qualifiers are needed,” when that person referred to me as his adopted sibling. well, he didn’t use the word qualifier – what he said isn’t really publishable. *cough*.
My parents are my parents, Bro is bro. No ifs, ands or buts about it. I still love it when a friend and I had gone for lunch at my brother’s restaurant. She had never met him. He’s these massive mutant, I’m a little thing. She looked from Bro to me then to Bro and back again. “What,” she burst out, “are you two adopted?” “Well, yeah,” we said at the same time. She had this horrified expression on her face as if she had committed some faux pas. What? I’m to look like him? Good grief! lol.
ive always hated it when people say “don’t you want to know your REAL parents”. It makes me want to scream. Real=the ones who cared enough to love me. Thats all that matters.