Friday, January 29, 2010

I've Come A Long Way, Baby

Below is something I wrote just two short years ago. I still have some of the same feelings about my son's adoptive mother. I think it is obvious that I was moving through the adoption fog, but I was still deeply ensconced closer to the other side of things than I am now.

Enjoy, and please don't laugh too hard. ;)

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

January 22, 2008

I recently contacted my son that I gave up for adoption 19 years ago and have yet to receive a reply. I'm good with this. The entire situation is overwhelming, to say the least. I can wait.

But that's not what this blog is for; it's only the catalyst that has spurred my musings. I've read and seen and heard a lot about "birth mothers" and all the other terms that are given to women who have signed papers to relinquish their parental rights.

I recently came across this quote that I can't get out of my head. It's not that I embrace this view point, but there are some very specific points it makes that have made me think.

"Exiled mother: A natural mother who has lost her child to adoption solely because of her age and/or lack of support, information or resources. An unrecognized mother, she has been thrown away, banished and discarded by her parents, the adoption industry and society, who deemed her unworthy to raise her own child. "

First, I don't consider the woman who adopted my son to be "unnatural". I met her. She was as human as I am. What makes ME natural and HER unnatural? I'm perhaps the FIRST mother, but that doesn't make me MORE natural. If it did, would that mean that I'm SUPERNATURAL?

Second, "lost her child"...hmmmm...I knew where my son was after we were released from the hospital, prior to signing the papers. Up until then, I had every right (by law, until I signed papers saying I was no longer legally a parent) to see my son. I didn't misplace him. And while I may not have known exactly where he was his entire life, I didn't LOSE him.

Third, yeah, I was placed into a position by my family, my son's father's family and what seemed to be society in general to put my son up for adoption. I felt maneuvered. Not by this supposedly all powerful "Adoption Industry", but by those around me whom I needed support from the most, and who abandoned me in my biggest time of need.
Fourth, “An unrecognized mother”: Ok, this is right on the money. I spent years without my son, and if I ever talked about him (and when I made friends, or even just chatting it up with someone, I talked A LOT about him), it was difficult to explain what happened. It’s different than it was when I was adopted. In 1969 people still had some of the “unwed mother” prejudice in place. It is suspected that my birth mother more than likely was made to move to the Sacramento area to have me. So, there must have been a lot of shame in her family concerning me. But in 1989, “things were different”, I had other options. Heh, see the third explanation. Some options. Back to the point; I WAS unrecognized! One thing I will agree with is that adoption has made me a first class liar. When asked how many children I have, my knee jerk reaction is 2. But I don’t have just 2 children. I have 3 children.

Fifth; ...and society, who deemed her unworthy to raise her own child.” Yeah, got a lot of issues here, too. I was unworthy on so many levels. Unworthy to be a wife to my son’s father (after the adoption we were married; however, his family strongly disapproved of me for getting Mark “into trouble”. That marriage was doomed.) I was unworthy of being my son’s mother by so many people. In short, it left me feeling like a totally unworthy human being. Within the three months of relinquishing Andrew/Timothy for adoption I sunk into an abject misery. Looking back at it now, I was clinically depressed. I eventually yanked myself up by my boot straps and got myself out of it, but I did just about everything known to man to self destruct. I wasn’t worthy to be a human, so why should I remain in this life? I’ve always felt that suicide was wrong (that’s a different blog), but I sure did one hell of a job to get there anyway. Just not consciously, that’s all.

While I don’t agree with the extreme group that claims the “Adoption Industry” is just waiting on baited breath to snatch single, pregnant women off the streets just to give privileged white infertile couples babies, there is an interesting, prevailing attitude in this society that I think very few people are aware of; and that pregnancy is a disease that we need to cure women of. This attitude is so prevalent on so many levels its sickening! There’s a strong push to separate mothers and children, even when the pregnancy is planned! (I have a whole other soap box dedicated to that particular subject). This attitude is subtle, but everywhere and most people don’t even realize they embrace it whole heartedly.

I guess we can thank our Puritan beginnings. I think they’d be proud of the influence they still wield even after 400 years.

Tim's First Visit (And Now For The Rest of the Story)

I had worked all night Friday and arrived home about 7:30 in the morning. I was still too wired up to go to bed. I took something to help me sleep, checked e-mail, and puttered around for a bit; my usual routine. I really did want to try to get some sleep before Tim called to tell us he was on his way, but I’d had a bit of a brainstorm the day before while giving Tim the directions to our house. We live in a fairly isolated spot, and everyone misses the turn to our house. So, on my lunch break, I went to Wal-Mart to buy a foam poster board and some new markers. I originally left a message for my two children to start/make the “This way” sign, but I wanted to help a little with it, too. Besides, the last thing I needed was to hear them bicker over what to write, who was going to write it, what the entire thing should look like overall. So the best course of action, in my opinion, was to just cut that particular argument off at the pass. I started the poster myself.

By the time I gathered all my supplies and set up my work station in front of one of the full length windows in our entry way, it was after 9:00 and Beth had just gotten up. I had already drawn the words and outlined them different colors. Beth, naturally, asked what I was doing. I explained it to her and told her that I wanted her and her brother to help decorate it with me. We decorated the words all different colors, with eye catching doodles and drew figures and bursts of colors almost all over the poster board.

I was trying to keep track of the time. I still planned on getting a little bit of sleep, at least, perhaps an hour or so; something.

An hour later, Zach got up and asked what we were doing. This time, Beth did the explaining. After some waking up, Zach added his own flare to the poster.

Overall, it looked wonderful; cheerful, and made with a lot of love.

Shortly after Zach got up, Ron joined us. We all made the mistake of “pulling” him “in a thousand different directions” before he was fully awake (we really DO know better, but today was so special, that we sorta forgot to take into consideration). The kids were asking Ron all sorts of questions, and I requested Ron put up the poster when I suggested going to bed soon. Well, that earned a glare full of venom; he later explained that he wasn’t awake yet, and didn’t mean to shoot me such a dirty look. Not being a “morning” person myself, I easily forgave his silent anger. It wasn’t real, just Mr. Grumpy Pants in the morning. So, instead of going to bed, I loaded the kids in the van and toddled down the lane to put our poster up for Tim. After a trip back to the house to get more nails, we finally had it about as perfect as we were going to get on a slightly windy day.

Back at the house, I made note that it was just about 11:00 AM. Tim was supposed to leave home soon and call us to tell us he was on his way. Knowing it’s only about a 2 hour drive, I started to fret. Shortly after 11:00, Tim called; he was leaving Target, which was just on the outskirts of town. All he had to do was shake off the friends that had jumped on his truck. I had to laugh at that. It is gratifying to know that my first born has good friends, and can mess around just when he’s out and about town. With a, “I’ll see you soon,” to one another, we rang off and I waffled between trying to get maybe an hour’s nap or just take a shower and try to shake off the effects of the Benedryl. So, shower it was.

First, though, was some tidying up, and directing Beth and Zach around to get the house in order, or at least a bit more presentable. After grabbing a quick bite to eat, I hopped into the shower and killed about another 20 minutes. All the while, my head was spinning with the thoughts of Tim’s arrival. Throughout the morning, I kept having these compulsive thoughts of, “what if he can’t make it? What if he’s changed his mind? What’ll I do then?”

I worked hard to try to contain those thoughts, but until he called, they kept creeping into my head, unwanted, unwarranted, but insidious and pervasive nonetheless.

Time was slipping away so fast. I wanted to have everything about as perfect as it could be. I knew my house wasn’t spotless; I’m not a great housekeeper. But it was presentable and I wanted to be presentable, too. I don’t usually wear make-up. For the most part, I’m either too busy or too unconcerned about such things. But today was different. While I knew that Tim would see me during the weekend without make-up, I just couldn’t see not putting my best foot, or face so to speak, forward. So I killed some more time putting on my best face and playing around a bit with my hair.

I’d killed so much time that I was shocked and amazed when Beth brought me the phone (I had actually brought the other cordless phone in the bathroom with me, hoping to hear it over the sound of the hair dryer and radio. HA! Yeah, right!); Tim had left the directions to the hotel at home and could I give him directions? I did so happily and told him to call when he was on his way since the directions from the hotel to our house would likely land him in a traffic jam.

Just prior to this, I’d asked Ron to do all the picture taking. I’d seen enough reunion photos to know that I would treasure the first hug pictures along with all the other firsts. Ron agreed, but then said that he was going to Wal-Mart to pick up some cat food. I tried not to worry too much about him getting back in time, but since he has a habit of taking a lot longer than anticipated, I knew my concerns weren’t unfounded. So, as I was finishing up drying my hair, Tim called yet again to let us know he was at the hotel, settled in, for the most part, and ready to get the new directions. I gave them, noticed what time it was, and also noticed that Ron wasn’t back yet. Fear and worry didn’t exactly have me by the throat, but the first stages of panic were beginning to set in. What if Ron didn’t get back in time? Would the kids be able to take the pictures? Would the pictures turn out alright? OH GOD!

Calm down! I ordered myself, and figured that if push came to shove, both Beth and Zach were equipped enough to handle the picture taking. They were familiar enough with my camera that I forcibly shoved the worry away. And just as I was able to do that, Ron arrived home. RELIEF! I gave Ron the update; Tim was on his way here. So, Ron grabbed the camera while I fussed with my hair for the last time and forced myself to NOT have that one last cigarette. It wouldn’t do to smell too much like cigarette smoke when meeting my first son for the first time. But, boy! Did I want one!



(looking toward the road from our lane; it’s just over the rise)


And then Ron did something totally unexpected. He jumped BACK into the van and drove out of the drive way. He was backing up along our lane as I’m scurrying out of the house trying to figure out what the hell he’s doing. The view of our lane is obscured by some trees fronting a pond, and I didn’t see the van (which is a very bright blue and very obvious, even to a blind person) back out beyond those. Ron had stopped! Ok? I was incredibly puzzled, and so were Beth and Zach, who were hovering around me like two little busy bees. Finally, I allowed Zach to run down the driveway and look down our lane to see where Ron was. The lane being a bit “over the river and through the woods”, Zach couldn’t see the van. So, he skirted through the nursery property beyond the pond and spotted the van; just about the same time Tim drove up. Zachary charged back to the house, but neither Tim nor Ron was in sight. Well, not really; I could only just make out their movement around the vehicles. Have you ever gnashed your teeth? Like in the story, “Where the Wild Things Are”? Well, I WAS! Cause there was Ron, my devoted, loving and all too clever husband MEETING MY SON FIRST!!! Now I had to order myself to calm down again. Being my devoted and loving husband, I knew Ron’s sneaky little plan was something for me, and that in the end I would probably appreciate it, however, I couldn’t keep the thought that HE WAS MEETING MY SON FIRST out of my head. Gnash! GNASH!



(that little dark smudge on the far left portion of the road is Tim’s truck)



(He’s getting closer)


(…and closer)




(Ron must have been standing on the bumper for this one)



(Ron got to meet my son first! GNASH! But he’s a cutie, huh?)

After many agonizing moments, which in reality were probably only a few minutes, I see Ron driving back up the drive, but, to my dismay, NO TIM. GNASH!

Ron pops out of the van as I’m walking over. I must have looked like a thundercloud about to rain on someone’s parade. Ron just smiled at me and laughed, telling me, “You said you wanted me in charge of taking pictures. So, I’m taking care of pictures.” Not very mollified, Ron went about taking some pictures of the kids and I waiting.



(waiting)




(Still waiting…in front of the ugly pink house. Love the house, hate the pink! And LOOK, Zach even brushed his hair! It’s a miracle!)

I have to say that I’m incredibly grateful (yeah, he knew I would be! *LOL*) for the pictures. Everything that I’m feeling, all I’m thinking is really plastered on my face in these pictures, and I can’t remember a thing of it! Well, that’s not entirely true. Obviously, I was incredibly anxious, excited, mildly irritated at Ron for his over cleverness, mildly irritated at the kids for…well, just doing kid stuff. Beth and Zach’s excitement was rubbing off on me, obviously, but they were asking those typical kid questions. Beth, my little mirror, was giving voice to my frustration, asking over and over again, before Ron got back to take these pictures, “Where is he? What is he doing?” There’s only so much of that I can take on a GOOD day. Eventually, I had to ask her to stop talking (I think the implied threat of a good throttling was obvious in my tense voice). I know we were all excited, but it was pouring out of the kids in waves.

And then HE was there!





My eyes were glued onto his truck (which is really a Suburban, but who’s counting?) and the figure inside driving. Tim pulled up and got out as I started to walk across the driveway. Here was the child that I’d nurtured in my womb for over nine months, had given birth to 19 years and 2 months ago, relinquished for adoption three weeks later. Here he was in my driveway, a grown man, a young boy, looking to me so much like his father, sounding so much like him from our phone conversations. Hell! I’d even said that he sounded exactly like Mark in the first few minutes of our first phone call. I was so blown away! Blown away by the first phone call, and his voice, now seeing this PERSON that was a part of me and a boy I once loved. The reality of SEEING TIM shook me, and shifted something inside of me that I’d forgotten was lodged there, had been lodged there from the first moment I suspected I was pregnant. (Which, dear reader, was the very day he was conceived. I had a VERY regular period, and Mark’s 21st birthday was on my day 15! Oh BOY! What a birthday present, huh?)

I think what shifted was the dam that I’d built up to keep all the love I’d had for that child blocked up, locked away so that I could continue my life without the crushing grief I experienced that first year of his life, that oh so important first year of a baby’s life that I could never be a part of. Occasionally, usually on Tim’s birthday, a small crack would appear in that dam and I would cry torrents, needing to allow that grief and love come out of me for just a little bit. Like all dams, the gates need to be let down every once in a while so that the structure isn’t overwhelmed by the titanic pressure behind them.

And then I was hugging my child for the first time, again, in over 19 years.



(With a kitty, Smokey, in the background, as my kids later pointed out. And something that Tim told me later; that black ‘wrist band’ he’s wearing was something that his football team wore in honor in memory of his mother. So, we were both there hugging our son!)

My son’s strong arms around me, holding me close for the first time is something I will never forget and love my darling husband Ron for so much for capturing. I’m tearing up right now, relating it. And realize that I haven’t allowed myself those tears yet. Perhaps later.

What followed after, the words, don’t come to mind. Perhaps my children or Ron or even Tim, will remember, but I don’t. I was too lost in looking at HIM; too lost in seeing myself and Mark in this wonderful, spectacular, miraculous person standing before me.



(disbelief)


(My eldest meet)


Tim had asked me a few days prior what things Beth was interested in. He’d already gotten a bead on Zach (heck, he was once a 10 year old boy too!), so had an idea of what to get Zachary, but 13 year old girls are a mystery to him. Since Beth isn’t a mystery (well, not too much) to her mother, I was able to give Tim some solid ideas for a small gift.



(God only knows how Ron managed to get a picture of Beth with all her hair up like in a cartoon, but I think it’s an awesome and funny picture. Somehow, very appropriate. The beanie baby frog’s name is Smooches. Tim managed to get two of Beth’s loves in one gift; frogs and stuffed animals.)




(Mr. Smooches)

At one point, Ron came over to me and I hugged him and as we watched Tim and Beth and Zach talking, I told him that I felt like I was in a dream. I pinched myself and then I pinched him. Yep, we were awake! It was real. A part of me still has to pinch myself; I’m afraid that I’ll wake up in June and this is just some chocolate induced coma.

We moved into the house, talking, chatting, nothing really in depth, but breaking the ice. After only a few minutes into the house, though, I finally broke down and said, “I’m going out for a smoke! I’ve been good enough and I need a bit of a stress reliever”. Fortunately, no condemnation, but concern about the smoking. Tim said something about how he’s not going to start, but for some reason, his brother smokes. I told him I’m glad he’s not going to start. I KNOW (I AM a nurse) it’s a bad habit, but I enjoy smoking. We talked more outside. We talked all weekend, really. I think I’ll never stop talking to him. I have 19 years to catch up on. And while I understand, I know that I can’t “catch up”, that doesn’t mean that I’m going to stop trying.

Soon, my rchildren were bugging about being hungry. And even though I know eating was important, I could have gone for a very long time without it at that point. However, we packed up into the van and drove to one of our favorite, local Mexican restaurants. We spent a couple of hours there, though with Zach getting more and more edgy. He was supposed to go to a birthday party at 5:00. We didn’t get home until about 5:30. Zach then quickly packed up and Ron dropped my youngest son off at sleepover birthday party. The one thing I asked Ron was to take Beth with him. I knew they wouldn’t be gone long, but I wanted a chance to be alone with Tim, for a little while at least. Earlier, Beth had pointed out to Tim the photo album that I’ve kept of him from when he was born. Actually, there’s my ultrasound picture of him in there, too, so I guess you could say from before he was born! So, not one to lollygag or beat around the bush, Tim reaches for the photo album and we sit down on the couch to go through our pictures. I had to prepare Tim a little before opening the cover. I let him know that a document with his “first name” was in there. He nodded and proceeded with opening the picture book.

I took him on a tour, so to speak, of the photo album; explained the individual items and pictures. He liked his “first name” Andrew Morgan (for clarification/privacy I’m leaving out Mark’s last name; however, I DID give my son his father’s last name. We might not have been married, but I know who the father of my child was and I did love him. The least I could do is honor Mark with giving our son his name. And I did tell Tim that he was conceived in love. Tim was very pleased with that). I told him that a friend of mine once said to me that if I’d named my son Andrew, he would forever be known as “Andy”. As I don’t like the name Andy much, I told my friend that he would have been known as Drew. Tim was blown away by most of the pictures. Obviously the ones that I have, he’d never seen before. And some of the ones that Carol and John sent to me he’d never seen before, either. He gave me a bit of a tour himself, thought his life with the pictures. He told me about this and that, and filled me in on some of his childhood. It was a joy to hear, my heart was so full of abundance just having him sit next to me, relaying these experiences, connecting them to images I’d looked at thousands of times.

Eventually, sooner than I wanted, Beth and Ron arrived back at home. So much of that evening is a blur. Again, there was lots of talking, lots of goofing around.



(And now Tim gets the benefits of being the big brother!)

Beth was the first to mention that she was getting hungry again. I looked at the clock and noticed that it was nearly 9:00 Beth suggested ice cream and I suggested the Leatherby's Ice Cream Parlor and so, we were off to Leatherby’s. All through the day, Tim and I went back and forth about our likes and dislikes, comparing, contrasting. And through out the day, I was continually amazed at how much he is LIKE me. I didn’t think such things could be genetic! How could a preference for a certain dessert be genetic? But it seems to be. We were all looking through the menu, and then ordered. With a small twist, Tim and I ordered the exact same thing, without even being aware of what the other was going to order!



And that’s not all that we have in common; modes of thought, lines of thinking, senses of humor! Being adopted, I’d never had anyone around me growing up who thought like me. And after I had my rchildren, I just figured they thought like me because I AM raising them. And then I met Tim! Now I look at my rchildren and realize that perhaps the smart mouth my daughter spouts off with occasionally IS genetic, or the way my youngest son’s words tumble over each other as his mouth tries to keep up with his brain IS genetic! I know that Beth is a normal 13 year old girl, so the smart mouth is normal. I know that Zach is a smart young man, so his words coming out one on top of the other is normal. I know that I am comparing and contrasting Tim and Beth and Zach. Perhaps that’s not fair to any of them, and perhaps when I’m around Tim more, I’ll stop doing it so much, but I in awe and amazed at these individual people that came from my body. And I know that most humans have this ability, to give life, and that perhaps there’s nothing quite that special about it, but I can’t believe that these children belong to ME. And, as Ron likes to say, not even God can change the fact that I am their mother. These three people amaze me, fill my heart, and make my life a joy worth living in a way that I can’t describe adequately. I can die happy now. I have so much more living to do, I understand that, but if I were to die tomorrow, I would be happy.

We arrived back at home sometime after 10:30. Beth got her pajamas on and we let her stay up til 11:00. This isn’t unusual in our household, the late nights, but considering all the excitement and nerves, I wanted her to get a bit more sleep than usual. She was seriously bent out of shape at having to go to bed “so soon”, but is wise enough not to argue too much.

I’m sure I must have been beaming when Beth gave Tim her first good night kiss. I went in and said prayers with my daughter, and gave her my good night kisses.

The rest of the night was spent in a bit more adult conversation, but nothing deep. Before Tim left for the night, I told him that I wanted to take some time either tomorrow or Monday and just spend time alone with him. He whole heartedly agreed, almost as eager as I was for that time to connect.



(This one’s titled, “Go away Mom, I’m trying to sleep!” taken at 2:00 AM. Notice Mr. Smooches? )


Ron and I spent another hour unwinding from the momentous day. I’d been up for 32 ½ hours by the time I went to bed! I was supposed to work that night, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep, let alone concentrate on work, so I called in with a little fib. (For some reason, the nursing profession frowns on “personal” days. *shrugs*). As it was, I didn’t get a lot of sleep either. I think I was awake by 9:00 though had been woken up off and on by spring crazed cats! I lounged around in bed til nearly 11:00, sending Ron off to pick up Zachary from the sleep over. The night before we’d told Tim that he could walk right in, that he was welcome to our home anytime, and didn’t need to knock. He was feeling a big sheepish about this, and I can understand, but that’s how we were feeling and we wanted him to know that. I was in lying in bed with Beth sitting next to me and we were just having a nice mother/daughter talk when suddenly I saw Tim standing in the doorway to my bedroom, looking distinctly embarrassed. He said he’d run into Ron on the way in; Ron apparently gave him the idea that we were up and about. So, Tim HAD knocked, but when no one answered, he let himself in.

I let him know that we’d be out, sent Beth on her way, grabbed a robe and joined him in the living room, chuckling to myself the whole way. After waking up a bit more, though trying to plan on some more sleep before work that night, Ron and Zach got home. The day was spent playing around, me taking pictures, the kids playing football, just a lot of goofing around. There were huge protests of hunger around noon by my daughter. Tim agreed that he was hungry too. So mom got to go into the kitchen and get creative.




(Hangin’ out in the front yard)





(No really! This is how the ball’s punted!)



A couple hours later, and some interesting mistakes in the kitchen, I had a rather late brunch served. Scrambled eggs, homemade waffles and bacon for most of the family, a BLT for me and we were all seated around the dinning room table for the first meal I’d made for my entire family. I was in heaven, bliss, nirvana. I saw a birth mother write recently that she felt the need and joy of cooking for her child she was in reunion with; I was thinking of that the entire time I was making brunch and really understanding what she meant. I’m not the “home maker” I used to be; I don’t do the working mom routine well, but I do enjoy getting in the kitchen still and cooking for my family. When I was able to do that for my first son for the first time…well, there aren’t enough words to describe that sort of uniquely female joy.

After much coercion, and a bit of encouragement from their brother, my rchildren finally assented to doing a little bit of kitchen clean up. After, I jumped on the computer for a few minutes and left my sons to play Yu-Gi-Oh. Really, Tim was great with Zach. He didn’t have to play a game that he’d put away some years ago as a childhood pastime, but he sat down with Zach, exchanging your typical male banter (“I’m gonna wipe the floor with your butt”, that sorta thing) while Bethany looked on. There was talk about going to the mall; Tim was unable to get a gift for Zach, and wanted to take him out so that Zach could help him choose. I so wanted to go with them, but it was past 3:00 by this time and I desperately needed to get some sleep if I was going to function for work.

Soon, the game was finished (Zach won, with a promise of a rematch and a butt whoopin’ from Tim) and the 4 loves of my life were heading towards the door to do their shopping and I was tucking myself in bed for a few more hours of sleep.

I awoke to a rather quiet house. Strange since it was getting late and usually there’s a bit more noise and sound greeting me when I wake up. I stumbled into the kitchen to find Ron cooking dinner, with Tim and Beth exchanging jokes with Ron; all very quiet, even the laughter was muffled, all in respect for my sleep. My heart melted a little bit more. Zach, I found out, was happily enjoying his new Gameboy game that his big brother got him in his room. I started my routine of getting ready for work, scrambling around for something clean to wear and the necessary items needed for a quick night working.

All too soon I was at work, but with a big smile on my face that I couldn’t hide or would want to even if I could. That night passed quickly. I was happy with the thoughts that my first son could fit so comfortably in my home with my rchildren and husband. They had spent a great deal of time together without me there (which, I’ll admit, wounded me a tad. Not begrudging my family spending time alone without me, but just that I had to miss time with them. Necessary, I know, but a bit of a sting nonetheless).

And then the day I was waiting for finally arrived! Tim and I were going to spend a day together without anyone else to worry about. Telling my rchildren wasn’t exactly the easiest since they obviously wanted to spend time with us as well, but in the end they understood the need both Tim and I felt to be alone together. Again, it was a day that I didn’t get any sleep, and so needed vast amounts of caffeine to keep me sustained. Pepsi to the rescue! We went out to lunch (again, ordering nearly the identical items from the menu without consulting about it). After, I took Tim to a park that I frequently take the kids to. It’s one of my favorites; an older park with huge shade trees, keeping the play areas nice and cool in the summer. It’s been refurbished since I’d grown up, and the play equipment was dotted with all sorts of children of all ages. The basketball courts and tennis courts were filled with players and Tim and I walked, strolled, sat, and talked for hours. We talked of mundane things, we talked of intimate things, we talked of his birth and my pregnancy with him, and we talked of religion and politics. He gave me his first spontaneous hug and I love you there during a walk.

Something I’d realized during the days preceding his arrival is that reunion is something akin to a love affair. Take away the hormones and you find the anticipation, anxiety, the excitement, the joy and fear are all the same. I shared this with Tim, and while he was baffled by the idea at first, he gave it some serious thought and quickly agreed with me. Another thing that Tim gave me, not even realizing it, was being able to fall in love with again my children. To revel in the love affair that parents have with their children. He was able to help me look into myself and renew that wonderful sense of awe and amazement we have for our children when they’re first born. I felt as if I could see my younger children through new eyes again, perhaps sharing in the newness Tim saw them in.

It was nearly 6:30 when we arrived back at home. Ron was beginning to fix dinner and Beth and Zach pounced us for the love and attention that we so heartlessly withheld from them earlier. ;)





(Watching Clue)



We settled into the evening routine, eventually scooting the kids off to bed with hugs and kisses all around and prayers once tucked into bed. And again, Tim stayed until about 1:00 in the morning. I drug myself off to bed, having spent another nearly 30 hour day busy with my family. My body and brain were beginning to feel the effects of lack of sleep, buy my heart was soaring! Tim had suggested the day before going ice skating; taking the kids and making a day of it before he headed back home. And yet again, I was floored by another similarity between my first son and myself. I’ve loved to ice skate ever since I was a child. I’d even had the Dorothy Hamil hair cut as a child. Didn’t exactly look good on my since my hair is naturally curly, and Dorothy’s isn’t! But Tim had learned to ice skate in winter camp and since his home town didn’t have an ice rink, he was eager to get some blades on and have some fun.

So, keeping it a surprise for the kids, I looked up the info on line, and printed up the information we needed. Ron had a break between work and we all went out to lunch one last time together that long weekend. This time it was Moroccan food. Very similar to Greek and Greek is one of my favorite types of food. By this time, Tim had realized that we have a very similar taste in food, and deliberately ordered the same thing I did.

Soon, Ron had to get back to work, and Tim wanted to get to the skating rink so he could leave at a descent time. Very quickly we were booted up and skating. I teased Tim that one of the young ladies that came over to help us with our skates was flirting with him. I forgot how much fun it is to make a 19 year old boy blush! Of course, there was more talking, goofing around, playing, picking Beth and Zach up off of the ice, just having a plain ole good time. I’m not a huge fan of Country music, but I am familiar with the music that crosses over or is popular enough to catch the top 40 eye. When Lone Star’s Amazed came on, I just got shivers! I know it’s a love song, but there are enough lyrics that can apply to my children that I had to keep the tears from pouring down my face. I really AM amazed by my first son. I can’t say that he can do no wrong, I don’t have blinders on, but I am fully enjoying the honeymoon phase right now. I figure after 19 years, I’m entitled to a bit of glowing.




And all too soon, we were back home, Tim dropping us off and saying our good-byes so he could hit the road and head home himself. There were no tears, no sadness in our farewells. We’d already made plans for Tim to come back up in two weeks for Zachary’s birthday. And from the success of the long weekend, I knew that Tim would be in our lives to stay. So much was said, so much was done; and there’s still so much left. As I said, I know there is no “making up for lost time”, it’s not possible, but that doesn’t mean that we can’t pack in as much love and laughter in as possible. That’s what life’s all about, isn’t it? Life isn’t misery, life is love. I told Tim that he was a testament to his parents and his upbringing. I told him that I wanted him to have a life that at that time in my life I couldn’t give him and it seems as if that’s what’s happened. He’s a wonderful, funny, intelligent, handsome young man who has a life ahead of him that is full of possibility. I don’t know if I would have been able to give him that; I wanted to, but no matter how much I wanted to keep him, and I told him that I wanted to keep him very badly; it wouldn’t have been fair to him. I can’t begrudge the good life he’s had. To me, while my own adoption was the success story birth mothers were lied to about, I think his was. No, his wasn’t a perfect life. There’s no such thing. But it has been a good life, a blessed life, a life I wouldn’t have been able to give him unless circumstances were radically different for me. And now I’m blessed to have him back in my life.

One last side note; I entitled this document, “And now for the rest of the story” in homage to Paul Harvey and his daily radio article. Something I realized is that the rest of our lives IS the rest of the story and it’s still being written. So much more has happened since this magical weekend and it’s all been wonderful. Tim spontaneously asked to join us for Easter. I was able to make him an Easter basket and he did Easter egg hunting with his brother and sister. He didn’t have to do it. He’s obviously beyond an age to even want to do it, but he did anyway. I know that some of the reasons he did it were for his younger brother and sister, but I’m sure there were personal reasons too. I didn’t ask. I just took pictures and enjoyed watching something I never imagined I’d ever see. We’re constantly living the rest of our story and I while I can’t wait for the future, I’m reveling in the present and living for today!

Thursday, January 28, 2010

A Question Posed

Recently, on Facebook, a friend asked me if I'm anti-adoption. Below is the rather lengthy, long winded reply I sent to her in a private message. I think it delineates my feelings succinctly.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I just wanted to reply in this forum to your "personal question". Most of my FB friends have a good bead on my feelings about adoption, so it's not a "hiding my opinion" from them. I just didn't want any post to get lost in the shuffle, so to speak.

Yes, I am anti-adoption. Let me explain further before I go into why I am anti-adoption.

I am both an adopted person and a birth mother. I use the term, "birth mother" for those that aren't as familiar with other terms. Many preferences are first mom, natural mom or just mom. However, considering the nature of adoption, labels become necessary. The vast majority of "birth mothers" I know simply would prefer to call themselves what nature made us, moms. It took a long time for me to come around to this point of view, and I'm not nearly as offended by the term birth mother as others are. The reasons for this are due to my passion for midwifery, and the term birth doesn't have nearly the negative meaning for me as it does many other women. For many women that lost children to adoption, the term birth mother is derogatory, nearly as much as saying the "N" word to a person of African/American descent. The term itself was created by an adoptive mother, made to replace the term "natural mother" in adoption lingo. It made adoptive mothers feel bad. For many women who lost children to adoption, the feelings of the adoptive mother don't mean a whole lot to them. Using the term "birth mother" tends to make "us" feel as if we were only breeders, incubators, and that's simply not the case. In any other circumstance, the vast majority of first moms would have parented their children instead.

Now, as to why I'm anti-adoption.

Adoption is a permanent solution to a temporary problem. Adoption in this country used to be for placing children into a warm, loving, secure environment when their families no longer existed. In other words, adoption was originally meant for orphan children. It has changed since World War 2 into providing infertile couples with children. Basically, the focus changed, shifted from the child to the adults. And this being a strong capitalist society where if there's enough of a demand, someone, somewhere will find a supply. (Just as a side, I believe in our capitalist society; I didn't want that coming out like I'm anti-American. I'm NOT! I've very patriotic.) To further illustrate the supply and demand theory of infertile couple based adoptions, it is important to point out that only the people who could afford to pay for the home studies, attorney fees and/or agency fees would be able to adopt. If the infertile couple were poor, well then, they wouldn't be raising children.

Because of this, an industry popped up around adoption that today spends on the order of $3 Billion a year to keep going. In an effort to supply the huge demand for babies, a great deal of study, time, effort and money have been put into figuring out how best to make adoption palatable to poor, single women. Since our society has turned away from the shame based adoption (telling single young women that they're not good enough to parent), adoptions have gone down in drastic numbers, domestically at least. That's why you see so many people turn to international adoption. Now, poverty is the key to making young mothers hand their children over. However, the adoption industry has made concerted efforts into ensuring the young mom that she isn't shamed into the decision (at least on the surface), but instead telling her that her child will be so proud of her when she "makes something of herself" (gets that high school diploma or college degree and gets a good job).

All the while, this attitude perpetuates in our society the idea that the woman who placed a child for adoption just wanted to be loose, carefree and "go on with her life", when for the most part, nothing could be further from the truth. This continues to make "birth mothers" stigmatized. Once we were immoral sluts who couldn't keep her legs together, now we're poor immoral sluts who just want to keep having a good time.

As I said in the beginning, adoption is a permanent solution to a temporary problem. A poor, young mother isn't always going to be young and doesn't always have to be poor. We have so many options in this society, that youth and poverty are simply excuses to obtain a healthy infant to place into the awaiting arms of an infertile couple.

That said, I understand that some of those poor, young mothers do a horrible job. In this country, we are innocent until proven guilty, and we cannot simply take a child away from a mother because of her youth or economic status. That being said, the mother who allows herself to become mired in a bad situation (drugs, abusive relationships, neglect of the child), and becomes an unfit parent, placement of a child or children into a warm, loving stable home in a foster to adopt is sometimes the best solution for the children; but should only be looked at as a last option.

I don't hate that I was adopted. My first mom and dad would have never married, my first mom was 17 when I was born, and was told by her father when she was pregnant with me that she ruined his life. She was maneuvered into placing me for adoption, but I don't think she saw much option in the long run. For the most part, I love my adoptive family (though, if you read in my notes section "The Story So Far", you'll see that my life has been far from idyllic.) My adoptive parents did the best they could with what they had/knew. Even if my adoptive father was a psychologist, he really didn't have a good bead on the trauma of an adopted child and the gratitude and perfection that child unconsciously takes upon themselves. So, my adoptive parents really did do the best they could.

As for placing my son for adoption, all I can say is that for me it was the worst decision of my life at the same time, perhaps being the best decision for my son. But to be honest, I'll never know, because I too was maneuvered into placing my first born for adoption. I'm frequently praised by my noble, selfless act and that I should feel proud of myself for placing my son for adoption. All I feel like is a failure as a mother because I didn't fight to keep my son with me where he belonged and now my first born treats me with indifference because he doesn't understand how painful my life has been without him.

I hope I didn't bore you to tears. I hope I didn't make you angry, or hurt your feelings, because that wasn't my intention. These are the reasons I am anti-adoption. For many women, it is a horrible, painful scar that never goes away, even with reunion. It is for me.

Wednesday, January 20, 2010

Made the Change (What's in a Name)

Ok...I decided that I would change my "name" on my blog to Baby Girl Williams/Morse. While that isn't what appears on my birth certificate, it does honor my true biological father. I don't think it sounds as good as Williams/Hernandez, but then again I've only known about my biological father's name for a little over a week now, so it'll take some time to get used to it. I had about 15 years to get used to the other one, so I'll give it some time.

Since I don't actually plan on legally changing my name from what my adoptive parents named me (barring my wedding, of course), there are little ways I can honor my first parents, and I think this is a good way of starting.

That being said, I really DO like the name Danielle Williams-Morse. There is a part of me that is that person, and always has been, I just didn't realize it until Jan 11, 2010. And I'm the one that puts the hyphen in the last names. I suppose that for me, especially since I don't have a "given" (by my first parents) middle name, I could even call myself Spot. But this is a way, also, to give a nod to what my first mom called me during her pregnancy with me, and to honor my first dad, too. I don't think my first mom would mind.

Though, this does put in my mind the funny nature of names. My adoptive mother wanted to name me Paige, but my adoptive father and adoptive brother kept calling me Dana (that's the way my a-mom says it anyway) :) What blows me away is just how close Dana is to Danielle. I never really liked the name Dana. I don't know if this is an adoptee thing or just a person thing. I hear off and on from my children that they don't like a portion of their name. I think perhaps, like I read on another blog recently, that a person's name has more to do with their parents than with them. I agree with that sentiment to an extent. It certainly seems to fit my circumstance, however there are just some people that seem to "fit" their names better than others. I rather envy those people that confidence. The ironic thing is that I've always loved the name Daniel and Danielle. I like to think that my nickname growing up would have been Dani. Ironically, the pet name my a-dad gave me was Dane-ee (I spelled it phonetically so as to get the right sound across). Those aren't that far apart in sound, really. And my a-dad was the only one who ever called me that, too. I don't recall my a-mom calling me that.

But to me, for me, someone who doesn't believe in coincidence, I see that my a-dad, imperfectly, mind you, managed to tap into some collective sub-conscious when he named me Dana. My a-dad has had all sorts of interesting "otherly" type experiences, and I think this is one of them.

In the end, everyone knows me as Dana, my a-parents, my kids, my fiance...everyone. I will always keep tucked safely away, deep in my heart, the name Danielle, though. And while the name isn't overly uncommon, it's still MINE; something my first mom called me in her secret heart of hearts during the nine months we shared together.

Tuesday, January 19, 2010

The Last Search

Sometime around the middle of November I decided to take up the search for my first parents again with the help of a search angel in Hawaii. I started "at the beginning", pulling up "Williams of Unusual Names" from a California Birth Index type site. Unfortunately, this site didn't list mother's maiden names for individual births, so I was unable to match up "Williams of Unusual Names" with any birth of a female Williams between July 1951 and July 1952. So, I contacted my Hawaiian search angel, sent her the list I had created, and told her the situation.

My Hawaiian search angel, Mary, began to work on eliminating possibilities. Through a poor internet connection and some personal family drama, she continued to search diligently.

In the meantime, feeling fairly useless, I spent a few Sundays at the Sacramento City Public Library pouring over city directories. One of the assumptions I was going off of was that my birth mother, whom I knew was sent to Sacramento in order to give birth to me, lived with her brother. I was fairly convinced of this, even though my adoptive parents had commented they thought she'd come to live with her sister. So I focused on her eldest brother, who was listed as a computer programmer. I think perhaps why I chose to search in that direction is because I had no idea if her sister was married, what school her sister went to (she was listed as a student), or any useful information to help with my search. A computer programmer in 1969 would have been very unusual, and something that would stand out.

I took copious notes, and made photocopies of the pages and pages of Williams listed in the city directories. My search was further compounded by the fact that Sacramento not only had a city directory, but occasionally and city directory for the suburban areas of Sacramento. So instead of just one city directory for any given year, I had to search through or photocopy two city directories. From those notes and photocopies, I eliminated names, and came up with some more lists for Mary to winnow through.

Thanksgiving rolled around and I had to shelve the search until the end of the holiday. I knew that by that time, I was putting a lot of emotional energy into the search, and needed a break. I knew Mary needed a break, too, and was very happy to give it to her. I won't say that I wasn't frustrated with waiting, but a burned out search angel doesn't do anyone any good.

After Thanksgiving, Mary and I continued to work together on our list. She would send me the names she had eliminated, give me progress reports on what she was doing and make suggestions as to what I could do next. One of these suggestions was to try to contact someone who could do city directory searches for Ventura County. Another of my possible clues was something my parents told me. They recalled a conversation with the social worker who was handling my adoption. During this conversation she said something that made my parents think of the Santa Paula/Oxnard area. Both of my adoptive parents are from Southern California, and something about that comment made their minds turn towards that area of the state.

I had recently updated my contact information at an adoption registry site that I knew had a large group of search angels. After that update, I did get some e-mails making suggestions as to what to do next in my search. When Mary made the suggestion to find someone to go through city directories for that county, I e-mailed that adoption registry for that request. Unfortunately, I only confused people, and didn't follow up on an attempt at clarification.

One problem with the electronic medium of the internet is that it's difficult to gauge someones reaction. I perceived their reaction as negative, and dismissive.

From there, I reactivated my account with a Yahoo group of search angels and requested a city directory search for Santa Paula and Oxnard. During this time, I also contacted the genealogical group in Ventura County and the Ventura County Library, requesting any look ups they could conduct. By this time, it's nearly Christmas break. By the time I contacted a librarian at Ventura County Library; however, due to the nature of the request, and the fact that this librarian was taking a vacation to coincide with Christmas break, I was unable to make much headway there. The lady that answered my request for look ups for the Ventura Genealogical Society was very friendly, but not able to directly help me. She did point to some other members of the Society, but suggested I wait until after the holidays to contact them.

Noticing that I wasn't getting a lot of suggestions from the rest of the group, the co-owner of Soaring Angels began to ask me questions about what I'd done with my search so far and to make suggestions to me that I could do from home. One day towards the end of Christmas break, she e-mailed me with another list of "Williams of Unusual Name" that I didn't find in my psudo CBI. I promptly sent this list onto my Hawaiian search angel. However, the co-owner of Soaring Angels decided to do a little name eliminating herself. She would update me regularly with her progress, which in my opinion was simply amazing.

Then disaster struck. The first week of the new year, both of my search angels told me, on the same day, that they couldn't continue working on my search. I was devastated, but since I sincerely believe that family comes first and knowing it would be completely selfish to whine or complain, I told my angels to focus on their families. On top of that, there are so many wonderful search angels in the adoption community that I was confident that I could get my search back on track. I requested each lady send me a synopsis of what they'd done so far so that I could share that with any further search angels.

I was in limbo for a few days as to what to do next. I needed to wait until my two former search angels were able to send me the requested information, and since the family matters were so pressing, I didn't feel right about pushing my suit.

Then on January 10, I woke up from a dream that I'd made a Facebook group and named it "Please Help Me Find My Birth Family". Wondering why I hadn't done this sooner, I went to work on creating that group. Within about a day, I had over 100 members in my group. To say that I was stunned by the reception would be an understatement. I was hoping for a large reception, but I really didn't expect it. My theory was the "six degrees of separation" theory. I figured that if my friends joined the group and then invited their friends, who in turn would invite theirs, that someone somewhere would be THE ONE who would be key to unlocking the secret to finding my birth family. I also figured that someone out there had to somehow be connected to my birth family.

The next day, Monday January 11, I turn the computer on, hook up to the internet and check my e-mail and Facebook page, as well as check out my group. I noticed right away in my inbox that someone had e-mailed me with the subject line "Your 1st Mother". I was initially skeptical, believing that this person was probably a paid searcher, so I put off opening the e-mail, and focuses on my Facebook stuff. After about a half hour or so, I opened that fated e-mail.

It wasn't a paid searcher. A lady named Hanne told me that she did a search on Adoption.com and came up with a hit. She listed her phone number and asked me to call her right away. I was stunned. I had registered on Adoption.com nearly 10 years ago, and would sporadically check the status, but never found anything. I called her and she walked me through the process of pulling up the correct information. What she explained to me was that when she input a name along with my birthdate, gender and place of birth, no matches came up; which was exactly what I'd been doing for years. Instead, she went simple, and kept out a name. That's when she got the hit.

Following her directions, I got the same hit and saw for the first time my birth mother's name.

Hanne had already called the phone number listed and found it to be out of date, and recently reassigned. I was only slightly discouraged, though. I finally had a name that I could send out to the search angel groups. However, I didn't have to do that. Hanne did a search for the name listed on the post and was able to give me an address and phone number.

Now, knowing that this information could be old, too, I still went ahead and wrote to my search angel group to confirm the look up. I also posted to my Facebook group, and immediately got responses from my friends and members of the group. I anxiously waited for someone from Soaring Angels to return with some information on this name. I even made some attempts to verify her information, and continued to come up with the information Hanne originally gave me. Feeling very frustrated about this, I checked back on my group and found that one of my long time on line friends made the offer of paying for a one time search for the accurate information, and sent me his phone number.

So, I called Jeff, and we talked for about a half hour. I deeply appreciated the offer, but for some reason I didn't feel compelled to take him up on it. Through talking to him, I was able to calm down and made the decision to call the number that Hanne initially gave me. While I was still on the phone with Jeff, I mentioned that I had no idea how to proceed with the conversation. Jeff then pulled a book out that dealt with first contact and read to me the script that is suggested. I took notes, and steeled my nerves and rang off with Jeff.

In the meantime, another search angel that had been helping me on the side sent me a link to a very similar (if not the same) script. I glanced over it, but I was comfortable with what I had. I gathered a pen and a note book, the paper with the address and phone number, and my script and called.

Later, my fiance Ron, told me that he wanted to make sure he was right there for me when I made the call. I had mentioned to Jeff that I didn't think I would break down or cry when he suggested that I be sitting when I made the call. When I had the initial phone call from my son lost to adoption, I never cried during the call. I felt confident that I wouldn't break down. I didn't the first time, why would it happen now? Of course what I failed to remember, and what Ron pointed out to me, was the time before I first called my son; I was a nervous wreck waiting for my son to respond to my e-mail.

One of the points the script makes is to remember to be polite and ask if this is a good time to talk and to give your name at the outset. Well, I remembered the first part, but forgot to give my first name. I did follow the script, however, and ask for her name, and if she was involved in an adoption in 1969. She said yes, and asked who I was. I think I apologized, and told her my name. She thought I'd said Danielle, though given my name, I can see why she thought that. However, the reason she thought I said Danielle was because that was the name she called me when she was pregnant with me. I proceeded to give her my birthdate and started to tell her where I was born, but she finished for me.

I knew in that instant that Mary Rue was my first mother.

Monday, January 18, 2010

Name Quandary

For at least the last 15 or so years, I've always believed that my birth father's surname was Hernandez. After speaking with my birth mother, I now know that my birth father's surname is Morse. However, Hernandez IS what appears on my original birth certificate.

So, my quandary is this; I've put out there as my blogger name Baby Girl Williams/Hernandez, when in fact, I'm Baby Girl Williams/Morse, or Danielle Williams-Morse (no middle name).

So...what do I go by?

If I stick with Baby Girl Williams/Hernandez, it's legally accurate. However, I used that as a deliberately emotional moniker. Additionally, I'm no longer "just" Baby Girl. I have a name. But in gaining a name, have I lost a foothold on my "place" in the adoption reform movement? Probably not...at least not by the standards of those I care about in the movement, but is this something that I needed in my psyche? Is this something that I feel I should hold onto because it defines who I am?

The Search Has Come to an End

Below are two posts that I made to my Facebook group "Please Help Me Find My Birth Family" and in my notes section on my personal page.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I woke up on Sunday (January 10,2010) from a dream that I should make a FB group called "Please Help Me Find My Birth Family". Well, I made it and sent out invites to all my friends, and asked they send invites to all THEIR friends. My reasoning was that, with the 6 degrees of separation theory, SOMEONE had to either know her or would have the KEY idea of finding her.

Monday when I checked my e-mail, someone who was on the group sent me an e-mail with the title "I think I found your natural mom". When I read it, she said to call her, and gave me her number. I must say that my first suspicions were that she was a paid searcher (sorry Hanne), so I put off calling her for a bit, until after I'd checked all my e-mail and messages, and checked in with my group.

When I finally called her, she said that she found a posting on Adoption.com. She walked me through what she did, and I found the same listing!!! What drives me up the wall, and there's NOTHING I can do about it, is I'm already ON Adoption.com, and have been since 1999-2000 time frame. My mom posted her's in 2005, and for some reason couldn't find my listing. VERY strange. ~I~ could still find my listing, though.

So, one thing and another, and Hanne and I are talking and she comes up with an address and phone number (the info on Adoption.com was out of date). So...I'm "running around", trying to verify that this is her, and I just finally called her.

She told me she'd been looking for me for YEARS, maybe even longer than I've been looking for her! She told me she's loved me all my life. It's been AMAZING!!

I feel like the whole world just opened up to me, and I can do anything! :)

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

So, my first mom lives in Colorado, nearly 1000 miles from me in California, so that's disappointing, but nothing I can't deal with.

I grew up believing that I was half Hispanic, but that turns out not to be the case. My first mom had been dating a young man who was Hispanic, but it was, like many teenage relationships, tempestuous. During a time that they weren't together, she partied a little, and hooked up with a lead singer to a band. He was someone that lived in the area, and was acquaintances with my first mom's elder brother or sister, so at least he wasn't a total stranger to my first mom.

However, when it came out that my first mom was pregnant with me everyone assumed I was her regular boyfriend's child. It was far easier for her to go along with this. I think it was a case of, it was bad enough she was pregnant, but she didn't want to admit that she was off having a good time without him, especially with a long haired hippie. And since she came to live in Sacramento with her sister, who knew about her Hispanic boyfriend, my first mom had to keep the charade up. And she never told my first dad about me.

That's how I ended up as Baby Girl Williams/Hernandez.

So, I am the daughter of Mary Rue Williams and Kenneth Charles Morse.

In an effort this week to find Ken Morse, I was talking with a friend of mine who happens to live in San Diego; not too far from Vista, California. I was asking him one night this week if he would be able to find out which phone number belonged to my first dad. Well, to make a long story short, instead of using a contact that Mike had, he decided to try calling the phone numbers himself.

Now, my first mom and I had a plan; she was going to call Ken this weekend and "break the news to him". Unbeknownst to me or my first mom, that plan quickly got scrapped.

I was on line Friday and my friend Mike starts to IM me what happened. While I wasn't mad at Mike, I was really worried about what my first mom would say, how she'd react.

Essentially, what happened is Mike had just planned on calling the phone numbers and finding out if Ken Morse lived at that number (so to speak) and hang up. Well, I've since found out that Mike's little scenario was doomed to begin with. Ken's a talker! Turns out that I'm not the only child Ken has fathered that was given up for adoption, but he knew about that one. He is in contact with his other daughter, but their reunion isn't what I think Ken would like it to be, even to the point of not having a terrific response to some things, so he was a bit hesitant in talking with me.

Fortunately, Mike can be very charismatic and convinced Ken to talk to me. I was trying to stick to the plan, and was edgy until my first mom got home from work. I explained everything to her, and she said to go ahead and call Ken.

I did, and told him who my first mom is, and he remembered her.

I offered a DNA test to him. All things considering, I thought it only fair.

Last night, my first parents talked for the first time in over 40 years. They both agree that I'm their daughter, but we all think a DNA test is still a good idea. When it comes down to it, since the State of California will probably never allow me my OBC, and since Ken isn't on it, to begin with, I would really like an official piece of paper that I can point to and say that these are my first parents, and I'm their daughter.

Obviously, there is more, and I don't mind sharing, but my brain is going a bit fuzzy. The one other thing I can share is that I may have a half brother along with a half sister. Ken doesn't know for sure because the mother was a bit of a game player. If she was happy with Ken, then the boy was his son, and when she wasn't happy with him, the boy was her ex-husband's son.

With me bringing up DNA testing, Ken is getting the idea that he might want to ask Kathy and David to do a DNA test, too. I think it's a good idea over all.

One other little tid bit of information; my half sister's birthday is less than 3 months before mine. I guess daddy was a player...and being lead singer in a band really does get you laid. ;)