Adoption

I grew up with two mothers and two fathers. My adoptive mother and step-dad and my adoptive father and stepmom. Mom and dad #1 adopted a girl who became my sister when I was three and my mom #2 already had an adopted son from her marriage to her late first husband. He became my stepbrother. Both mothers had been told they wouldn’t be able to “have babies of their own,” however both became pregnant and bore children later in life. So I also had another sister and a brother.

Even though I always called both moms mom and both dads dad when I was living with them I was under strict orders from both sets to refer to my step parents as Daddy Bob and Mother Alice. So to avoid confusion that’s what I’ll be using.

Sometime before I started kindergarten my mom sat my sister and me down, told us that we were adopted and explained what that meant. She was concerned that knowledge of my adoption would somehow filter down to my classmates and children, “being what they are” would tease me. Actually, that’s exactly what happened and I was prepared.

She explained that while the parents of other children were “stuck with what they got” we had been “chosen” and were “special.” So we were not to pay any attention to teasing from children who weren’t adopted. They were just “jealous.” Even so, it wasn’t always the other children who tried to make being adopted something to be ashamed of or justify. It could also be teachers and school officials who’d insist on getting information for their records or reports, such as what illnesses my parents and grandparents had had, etc.

Of course a lot of that comes with growing up anyway and my adoption status eventually faded into the background as I got older and more confident. It was my court imposed joint custody that caused far more difficulty and confusion. Why did Bob Feigel have a mother named, dad and sisters named Roberts? Why did I have to leave my friends in Santa Monica, California a week after school ended every year and spend the entire summer in Evansville, Indiana. Why did I have to leave my friends in Evansville for 9 months a year to go to school in California? Why did someone who went to a Lutheran Sunday School have a name that looked Jewish to some people? What kind of name was Feigel anyway? Lots of whys and whats?

It wasn’t until I’d left home (both homes) and was living with a girlfriend that the yearning to know about my biological family was awakened. Ironically, it was the girlfriend whose daughter asked me to get a DNA test decades later who initiated the journey. Just as a matter of curiosity one day she’d asked if I ever wondered who my birth parents were.

The question grew from there and one day after being at my mom and stepdad’s for dinner I broached the subject by asking her if she knew what my birthmother had died of. I put the question that way because in thinking of a way to introduce the subject it occurred to me that asking the same kind of question the school authorities asked for health reasons would preclude any suggestion that I was unhappy with my adoption. Or something like that.

My mom was a very sharp, complex person who was also an alcoholic and easily offended. It was clear my question was unexpected, but that she had prepared for the eventuality that one day I’d ask. Her answer stunned me. “What makes you think she’s dead?”

Having lived my life believing what I’d been told about being “chosen and special” I’d always assumed that the only reason anyone would give up someone as special as me would be death. I could see that she was trying not to laugh so I started laughing at myself for her. What an amazing conceit! Vanities of vanities … thy name is “special.”

Once the moment had passed, I ventured, “You mean she’s still living?”

The chill was palpable. “You’ve known about your adoption since you were a child.” she replied curtly. “What’s happened to make you suddenly want to know about your birthmother? What is going on with you?”

Oh no! I needed to put a lid on this quickly before it escalated into a meltdown. “No … I was simply asked the question by someone and just curious.”

Her next comment put an end to the conversation and left me with an irony I’ll go into more fully when I describe the life of my legendary Shawnee ancestor, Chief Waweyapiersenwaw Bluejacket.

“Beware of what you wish for, you might find out your grandfather was a horse thief.” Turns out that that my 5x grandfather was a very successful horse thief. So did my mom know a lot more about my biological family than the records show?

Adoption © Robert R. Feigel 2022 – All Rights Reserved