Part 2: Deciding to find out more
Growing up knowing that I was adopted was no big deal to me. I also grew up knowing there was always the option to find out more when I turned 18. How much could I find out? Nobody knew.
I wasn’t anxious to turn 18. Well, I was, but for other reasons. So I wasn’t counting down the days to find out more. I really didn’t care if I didn’t ever find out more, my life was my life and I wouldn’t have it any other way. If I never knew I was adopted, it wouldn’t matter.
When I turned 18, I actually didn’t do anything. Which is unlike me, since I have no patience, for anything. I think I was having too much fun in high school and college to think about it.
My mom and other people I’ve met along the way, have shared horror stories with me of when they or their friends met their biological parents. From the biological parents thinking they were showing up to need money, to finding out they died or were in prison—the stories weren’t that great. Maybe that’s why I wasn’t in a rush. I didn’t need a relationship, or money or disappointment, though money is always good haha.
When I turned 19, I received a check for $80 from my boyfriend (now husband). I had no idea what it was for. I thought it was a random amount of money. When I talked to him on the phone that night he said you know what it’s for, right? I had to think about it. OH it costs $80 to fill out the paperwork for the adoption agency!
The paperwork was filled out and sent in. I waited 6 weeks to find out. What was I waiting to find out? I didn’t really know. All I knew was that I would find out if my biological parents consented to future contact. It reminds me of middle school love notes—circle yes or no if you want to go out with me.
The second I received the envelope in the mail, I called my best friend, Christina. I met Christina in preschool and ever since, she’s been convinced that Dennis Rodman and Madonna are my biological parents—because they’re from Michigan. Well, if you haven’t noticed, I’m not African American, or any percentage of.
I read the packet word for word, the first time reading it, her first time hearing it. You know when you adopt a pure bread dog and get papers all about it and its history? I have papers. I don’t even think non-adopted people (is that a term?) have papers.
I sat on my bed in my college apartment, reading the history of my biological grandparents’ health and careers down to my biological parents’ siblings and to my biological parents. Want to know what else was in there? Come back next week!
Leave your questions in the comments again this week and I will make sure to address them all next week.
Upcoming posts in the series:
Meeting my biological parents?
Life now, and twins?