The Declassified Adoptee

I have been watching the "Baby Veronica" case for some time now.  I have witnessed the reporting slants of various news outlets; the outrage of concerned citizens; the shock and grief of fellow adoptees; and the powerful replies of the First Nations.  I have observed some tout adoption as the right decision--not because little Veronica's father, family, and tribe are unavailable options--but based upon who legally out-maneuvered whom.  In fact, her father, family, and tribe are capable and fighting to care for her yet they have been rendered legally disenfranchised.  My heart is broken. Recently reviewing literature on the matter, I was sad to find that unmarried fathers and original fathers are the least represented, the least researched, the least legally protected, the least considered and supported, the least heard from, and the least understood parties within adoption.  This case has exposed numerous policy gaps; Father's Rights being just one of them....

I was ten years old when we moved into our bright blue house.  After living in an apartment for the first ten years of my life, this was an exciting move.  For the first time I could hang things on my wall and paint it whatever color I wanted.  I chose pink carpets and painted my walls a deep midnight blue.  I covered the ceiling with stars that glowed at night and filled one wall with stencils of fish.  On the far wall across from my bed I painted a mural of flowers.  A pink and blue flowered comforter was spread out across my bed topped with a themed pillow from the best movie ever ( The Lion King , of course).  This was perfect. Two homes on either side of ours were also being built.  A white SUV pulled up to the home on the right of our house.  A short, thin, young blonde woman got out.  Something immediately fascinated me about her. I was about twelve when Kelly* came over one day to talk to my mom.  Kelly thought we coul...

You know those memories that stick with you forever?  The ones where you say, "yes, this is why I am here, this is why I do this." Growing up, I shared many of the same adoption-related thoughts and feelings common to adopted children.  As a young adult, I started to ask, "what does being adopted mean to me?"  Through a series of life events, I decided to search for my original identity and family and obtain a deeper understanding of self.  On a blazing hot summer day about this time of year, I reached out to my state's confidential intermediary for an update on my request for my original birth certificate.  I had been accepting, up until that point, that maybe this information was not really mine to have.  When you grow up having little information, it's hard to figure out what of your history is really yours.  For some reason, I decided to gently share with the intermediary how hard waiting felt.  I will never forget her dry, disinterested rep...

I threw my arms around Amy’s* shoulders as she told me her news in excitement. She was pregnant for the first time. She and her husband had waited for the first three months before they shared the news publicly. “Please don’t tell anyone” Amy said, suddenly very serious. I wondered why she would think that I would share her special news with others. I must have appeared perplexed. “It’s just that I told my mom first. She was so excited about being a grandmother for the first time that she announced it to friends and family before I could,” Amy explained. “I hope I don’t sound petty she finished. “But this is my news to tell.” What does this story have to do with information-sharing in adoption? Simply put, it exemplifies one of many parts of life that makes sharing a story (any story) with others difficult—the intersectionality of our experiences with the experiences of others. In this story, one event simultaneously made one woman a mother for the first time and ...