Nature and Nurture

This happens to be a subject that has always fascinated me. I'm sure that has nothing to do with the fact that I am adopted. When people learn this fact about me they inevitably ask questions. First it's usually, "Wow, when did you find out you were adopted?" I have always known that I was adopted. It was discussed for as long as I can remember, mostly as a matter of fact. No big deal, that just the way it was. Next question, "What's it like to be adopted?" I have a hard time answering that one and I usually flip back, "I dunno, what's it like not to be adopted?". There really is no one answer to that, it means different things to different people, I guess. How would a woman answer a man if he asked her what it was like to be a woman? It just is. Being adopted is as much a part of my identity as being female. Finally, I get the most common question, bar none, "Do you know your real mother?" Yes I answer, she's up in NJ probably cooking dinner for my dad. I then wait a beat or two, watching the confusion on their faces as they struggle to 'correct' me, I let them off the hook and add, Ohhhh, you mean my BIOLOGICAL mother? Yes, I searched and found her more than 10 years ago. Truth is, my real mother is the one who raised me the one who changed my diapers (cloth no less) fed me, wiped my tears, dealt with my tantrum, and gave me everything else I needed to become the person that I am today.

So while I have no reference point for being raised by biological parents I do know that there are differences (and - to please the lawyers out there- of course, my feelings, beliefs, assumptions, thoughts, ideas and biases can not be taken to represent ALL adopted persons, only me). Probably one important thing for me was that I never had anyone that looked like me. I'm not talking about cultural or racial differences here, those are an entirely different kind of different. I was white and raised by a white family. And, I know that there are lots of people that look nothing like their B-parents but maybe never gave it another thought, or maybe it bothered the heck out of them, regardless most likely, their issues are different than mine.

There were, of course, people who would exclaim how my sister and I looked so much alike (we don't) or how I must have gotten this or that from my mom or day. Not true I would think. It was never a secret, I would proudly proclaim it to anyone often to shock or surprise them, at times to gain the upper hand in an argument, Oh yeah? Well I know because I was adopted!..... My sister and I would often not be believed when we told people that we were adopted, or really it was usually forgotten about by most everyone. One time I was discussing my eczema (which all my kids have now) with my aunt. She asked how I got it and I told her it was genetic. She looked at me baffled and said, 'Well that can't be true because how could you have it? Your mom and dad don't have it." I looked at her for a long minute and she still didn't realize, I raised my eyebrows questioningly and said, gently, "Umm I 'm adopted remember? " She was embarrassed that she forgot but, like I said, it was never discussed much, it just was.

I was the one who thought of it often, Where did I come from? Who gave birth to me? Do I have biological siblings? Who else looks like me? Does my Biological father know about me? Why did she give me up? etc. etc. etc. After a long search ,I did find some answers but with it came tons more questions. A story best left to another post.

So I went through life, (occasionally teased as a child) dealing with being adopted. Gritting my teeth through every class family tree project or family cultural day celebration. Dealing with the prompting questions from nurses when the forms were not completed regarding family history (I even had one young nurse look up at me in alarm when I informed her I was adopted. "OH, I am so very sorry" she murmured. I was so taken aback by her apology I didn't say know how to respond, something almost unheard of to those who know me. ) I never knew where I came from, which foreign land I could proclaim as my homeland. There was a sense of freedom as I could be Irish on St. Patty's Day, or Italian whenever I wanted. My parents (real that is) were German, so I often lay claim to that. But I really didn't know, and I often felt as though I had been dropped from the sky with no roots.

Having children however has now begun a new shoot off the vine. It makes my being rooted in something tangible on this earth. All my children strongly resemble me (some say Schnuckie 4 is a mini-me. I smile, that means so much more to me than maybe it does to others). I think it is God's cosmic influence. I may not have had a solid base of knowledge about my own genetics but they will have much more than I. They will know that they have German, and Irish and a pinch of Cherokee from my husband. They will know that there is Danish and German blood (I think) in my veins. They will have a good medical history and most likely never give a thought to doing family tree. They hopefully will not wonder if that stranger on the train may have a relation to them. They will never be questioned as to if I am "their real mom".

I want to thank my mom and dad (my REAL mom and dad) for everything, because while they did not give me the genes they gave me everything I needed to be who I am. I just hope I am able to impart the tools upon which my children will need to mold the raw material I have given them, for those are just so much more important.