Birth-Father

About 2 months ago I contacted my birth-father for the first time. For whatever reason I was ready. I was ready to take the leap – and trust me, starting the process is a huge leap.

Twenty years ago I contacted my birth-mother. This all came about rather suddenly and truthfully I didn’t really even have time to think about what was happening. I was also 24 years old and very naive. I had obtained all my “non-identifying” information from Dade County’s (FL) Children’s Home Society. This was a fascinating piece of reading material. Imagine being 24 and hearing about your birth for the first time. The only story I knew was of the one when my adoptive family came to pick me up . . . and I was 6 months old. I knew nothing of my “birth”.

The social worker assigned to help me was an abandoned child and she had a mission to reconnect adoptees with their adoptive parents because this was something she was unable to ever do. So for $250 she gave someone in the “adoption underground” my birth-mothers information and within 24 she was on the phone to her. Two days later I received the call I had waited for as long as I can remember. Within a week we met, spent a weekend together and I have not seen her since. We exchanged letters for a few years but a relationship never developed. Personally I feel she was incapable of fitting me in her life.

As for me, I had hoped for a friendship. However, the feelings that came over me from trying to know her were unpleasant. I had always been told that I was a blessing, that I was welcomed and wanted. For the first time in my life I felt anguish over the fact that my conception had occurred. My coming in to being had brought much pain and shame to this individual. All her promises to me were not coming to fruition. Her efforts were less and less. I realized I had to cut her off. So I did. And not a year goes by that I don’t think of her and wonder . . . . .

She would not tell me who my birth-father was. I asked twice and she refused. While my non-identifying information wasn’t much – there were clues and I was able to put together the following from the report and from things my birth-mother had mentioned:

· The year I was born, 1967, she was a senior and he was a junior

· They attended Ft Lauderal high School

· He was tall, blonde, blue eyed, wore glasses for nearsightedness and his ears stuck out

· He played football and swam on the swim team

· He had an older sister, his father was in construction and his mother was deceased

· He wanted to be a dentist

· I looked liked him

Therefore, all I had to do was to get my hands on a Ft Lauderdale High School yearbook from 1967, pick out names of boys who matched on the swim and football team and then eliminate all who aren’t Juniors. The next step would be finding out from public records whose mother was deceased at the time. It really wasn’t too complicated. But complicated enough if you don’t live in Ft. Lauderdale. And even more complicated to think of actually going through the process to only be rejected – again.

Years go by and a wonderful tool called the internet gains popularity. Amazingly an adoptee who is interested in doing a search now has the world at her fingertips – more importantly she has handy search angles who are willing to do all the leg work for her. Thankfully I had 3 women in the Ft. Lauderdale area who were not only able to get their hands on a yearbook they were able to determine through death records and an unnamed source that indeed my birth-father was alive, well and his dream of becoming a dentist did indeed occur.

I was introduced, via his senior year picture, to “bio-dad” in April of this year. It’s not the clearest photo but I have studied every inch of it. I have compared it to my photos. We do look alike minus the hair color and the eyes – the eyes and hair belong to my birth-mother but we have the same facial structure. So now what?

Once bitten, twice shy. There was no rush. It was time to let this simmer and so I did. I thought it best to have someone else contact him on my behalf. Have someone let him know of my existence. But then, given more thought I decided to write him a letter. I would tell him my story. Tell him about me, about my children and then I would ask him, after giving the facts I knew, if maybe he would like to discuss. Maybe he could help my story unfold? Maybe he could provide medical information to me? And of course, secretly, maybe I would be accepted? Maybe, I wouldn’t get rejected.

I don’t know what the protocol is when you’re informed you have a 44 year old daughter that was given up for adoption and has now found you even though you have lived those 44 years building a profession and life that has nothing to do with this person. I don’t feel rejected. I wrote him a letter and I sent pictures. Yes contact was made, but contact has yet to be made. I need a conversation to take place. There needs to be the go-between. And then if there is nothing, there is nothing. And that will be it.

I will continue my daily anticipation-filled walk to the mailbox. I will welcome strange email addresses and I will accept unidentified phone calls. I will continue to be hopeful. I had to have received my sensitivity from someone . . . . someone has to care.