Forms of Searching in Retrospect: my Runaway and Can of Worms Stories

photo © 2006 Alexander Henning Drachmann | more info (via: Wylio)

When people think of search in adoption they normally think of searching to find a family member to reunite.  But searching, for adoptees, goes wider and deeper than that.  Perhaps in forms that one would not expect.  Some search by asking questions about themselves.  Some search by looking through books and doing genealogy.  Some search by actually seeking out family.  Melissa's (Yoon's Blur) recent guest blog "RUNAWAY" reminded me that we might not even realize that we are searching for something.

I don't remember how old I was exactly when I decided that I would test my parent's love by "running away."  And, mind you, "running away" consisted of loudly announcing that I was running away and going to the next door neighbors' house.

I loved their house.  I decided that yes, that is where I was going to live.  I put a book or two, a My Little Pony (likely the one with red hair that had pictures of strawberries on its plastic coat), and some other goodies into my bag and over to the neighbor's house I went.  I liked to sit in the workshop with "Mr. O" and go inside and play Sonic the Hedgehog or do crafts with "Mrs. O."  They would even make pancakes, eggs, and bacon for dinner sometimes, which I thought was absolutely outrageous.  The only thing I didn't like about being over there was that their drink selection consisted of a choice between water and V8. 

V8 is nasty. 

I made my announcement about running away and quickly slipped through the weak part of the flimsy wire fence that separated our yards.  I am not sure my parents knew what to make of it all.  Giving my parents a nod over the fence to signify a reassuring "it'll be OK" Mr. and Mrs. O, an older couple with grown children, let me into the workshop where I made myself busy with the small cardboard box on the floor where Mr. O kept his wooden scraps from projects for me to play with.

But Mr. and Mrs. O were different today.  They were not engaging me in conversation or asking me if I'd like some water or V8.  They were almost...dare I say...ignoring me?  Looking back, I'm sure they did this so that I would get bored and want to go back home.  But it hurt to be ignored; they didn't want me here.  Any sense of belonging in this new place was gone and I decided that this was not a good place to live.  It was a fun place to visit but it's not going to be much fun if you get ignored once you've announced you're moving.  And I returned home as if nothing ever happened.

Was this kid antics or was I searching for something?  Sometimes I wonder about that.

I "searched" again as a young adult, this time the meaning of what I was searching for is much clearer to me (although, it wasn't at the time).  I needed to define what family meant for me and what I meant to family. 

Both of my parent's families are spread out all over the United States.  And we spent a lot (a lot) of vacation time visiting family regularly.  A lot.  I mean, 6, 7, 8, 9 hour, batteries-in-the-walkman-do-not-last-this-long, car rides.  But not everyone would come to visit us at our house in return, at least not as regularly, which always bothered me.  As my cousins grew older, they stopped coming with their families to see us, when we did actually have visitors, because they had jobs and other activities.  But I always went with my parents when they visited family.  Always.  Even when I was nearing 19 years old and not exactly living at home any more.

I did enjoy visiting extended family but there were some times where I would have preferred to stay home like my cousins got to.  Regardless, I went, because it was very important to my mother for me to be there.

One day, for whatever reason, I decided to open the mother-of-all-can-of-worms.  I firmly expressed my lack of desire to go on any more long car or plane rides to visit family members unless I absolutely wanted to.  My mom wanted to know why I wouldn't want to; they're family.

"Yes," I said.  "They're family.  But if I have to go on every visit to see them because they are family...BUT they don't come here to visit me hardly ever.....what in the world does that make me?!"

[silence, all you can hear is the click of the tin lid of that can]

"I don't know, Amanda" she finally replied in a voice that let me know I struck a nerve, a deep one, one I probably was not trying to strike.  "I will have to ask them about that."

And ask them she did.  The emails.  Ooohhh the emails.  She sent an email to a few family members asking that very question (asking it herself, not asking it for me, because of me bringing it up she became curious to know why some family rarely visited).  I stepped in to let everyone know that I had brought all this up so if they were mad about it they should be mad at me.  I recall myself getting more or less chewed out because I may have hurt a few feelings by asserting my "uneven vist-to-visit ratio = what family means" equation onto other people.  To this day, I still think I had a point.  If I were to be rejecting family by wanting to skip a visit or to, the lack of visits I received throughout the years likewise logically spelled huge rejection in my direction. 

And I won't lie to you and tell you I didn't feel rejected at times.  We lived at the beach for crying out loud; who doesn't like to come stay with family who live at the beach?

I felt bad for hurting feelings but I as a young adult, as a human, as an adoptee, was trying to find what family meant to me.  Yes, I did visit some family members way more than they visited me, and they all had their reasons why.  We weren't family because we grew up closely together and went to all each others' activities.  We weren't family because we were together on every holiday or because we observed the same traditions and held the same values.  The lack of proximity and lack of day-to-day (more like year-to-year) interaction did not make them cease to be my family.  I decided that they were my family because I wanted them to be.  Which, I'll tell you, is precisely why I can't stand it when people try to make one flat rule for an adoptee as to who family can and can't be, especially in disfavor of the original family.

I've searched for self in a variety of ways throughout my life but I haven't always realized it at the time.  Every time I find a piece that fits, the answer I was looking for, it is exciting.  Being able to pat down one more element of self and of life and being able to say "this is me, this is what's important to me, this is what I like" enables me to identify and find things in common with other people.  And I really, really love the friends and family I've found as a result.

"In our experience, all adoptees engage in a search process.  It may not be a literal search, but is is a meaningful search nonetheless.  It begins when the child first asks, "Why did it happen?" "Who are they?" "Where are they now?"  These questions may be asked out loud, or they may constitute a more private form of searching--questions that are examined only in the solitude of self-reflection."  --Brodzinsky, Schechter, & Henig, Being Adopted: the Lifelong Search for Self