Chapter Six

At this point in my life, I don’t know what to think of adoption.  Its corrupt and that is very obvious.  I spoke with the local U. S. Congressman.  The oh we don’t handle adoption problems.  We handle only things on a federal level.  Well by God, investigate the adoption industry.  How many people have to be hurt by the adoption industry in order for you to take action?  Well its a presidential election year.  Both of the candidates are speaking about it.  Yea they are talking about making it easier.  It doesn’t need to be easier.  It needs to stop so that it can be federally investigated. I am tired of children dying.  I am tired of the money behind it.

I can’t hate all adoption and adoptive parents.  I feel that would mean that I have to hate my own adoptive family.  I just can’t do that.  I can’t.  I love my adoptive mother and my adoptive sisters.  I do my best to honor my adoptive father.  He passed away a few years ago.

I can’t hate my first mother either.  Even though she denied contact, I can’t hate her.  I know the typical maternity home story.  I have read Ann Fessler’s book, The Girls Who Went Away.  I know how horribly that she was treated.  Where does it leave me?   How do I move forward when I don’t know my past?  Why is it okay that others know their past but because I am adopted that I can’t?  Something is just wrong with this.

I have written legislators in Indiana repetitively.  They tell me that they want to protect “the birthmothers from their unwanted children.”  Yea I gagged on that one.  Then the first mothers of Indiana tell me that they have written their legislators.  They get told that the adoptee must be protected from them.  We just can’t win.  I think honestly even if the adoptive parents stood up and stated that they wanted the adoptees to have access to those records, the legislators still wouldn’t listen.  So what is it going to take to make them listen?  Would it take adoption agencies that believe in adoptee access?  Somehow I don’t think so either.

Too many Right to Life organizations contribute to these legislators.  Too many legislators are attorneys.  Many of the ACLU attorneys have become adoption agency attorneys as well.  Its sickening that this is about money.  Pure money.

Catholic Charities controls the records in Indiana.  In fact, the CI from St. Elizabeth Coleman is now doing the contacting for the Child Welfare Department.  Instead of the charge that they charge (which is $325) their adoptees and mothers, they are charging for $1,000.  Talk about discouraging people from searching.  These agencies are charging way too much.  They get the mothers, then they get the adoptive parents, and then they get the adoptees or the mothers again.

This kind of crap is ridiculous.  Why don’t the legislators care?  I don’t know.  I will start voting out those that don’t.  Remember I vote.

Unknown Indy Baby Girl

Chapter Two

This is Chapter Two.  It presents my preteen and teen years.  I don’t ever remember being told that I was adopted.  I just knew.  My adoptive parents never made a big deal about it.  My world would soon change again.  You see, I am not just an adoptee (adopted as an infant) but I am also an adoptee lite.  That means I was later adopted by my step father.   I am however getting ahead of myself.  My adoptive mother and step father married each other in  when I was in fourth grade.  My first adoptive father pretty much had stopped paying child support as I went into junior high.  Life was no different for me.  I lead a pretty active life.  I hung out with my friends.  I went swimming at the local pool.  I jumped on my trampoline.  After my parents had been married for a few years, things started to change.  Heck my own body was changing.  My step father’s attitude began changing.  He began working for a large package delivery company.  Having been in that industry before, its the kind of job that makes you sacrifice your family life for a career.  My step father really wanted a career.  He needed to get out of the waste water department.  During this time frame, my friends never treated me any different.  My first encounter of adoptionism was some family friends.  My step father worked with a hispanic family.  I remember being angry at them because I wasn’t good enough to date their sons.  It wasn’t that I want to date them but I wanted to good enough.  I remember feeling extreme guilt during that time.  I felt like I didn’t deserve to have anything.  Its within the last few years that I realized that was a typical adoptee thing.

With my father’s new job, came drinking.  Yes he was an alcoholic.  With that came his personality changes.  I always felt like he was attracted to me.  It creeped me out.  My father had a hair cutting fetish.  He got turned on by haircuts.  My mother got sick of it after years and years of it.  We now understand it better.  He changed towards me.  I remember him telling my adoptive mother that I would be pregnant before I got out of high school.  I don’t know if he knew that I overheard him or not. I wonder now if adoption had any play in that.  He always treated me differently.  He treated me more harshly.

I remember one particular situation.  I had taken up the hobby of stamp collecting.  Yes I was a geek and sometimes acted like it.  I had them across my bed.  I went to the bathroom.  I came back and they were scattered all over the floor.  This was one of the few times that I ever stood up against him.  I was hot and pissed off.  I confronted him.  He proceeded to attempt to spank me.  I fought him tooth and nail.  He picked me up by my leg and arm.  He slammed me onto the floor.  My youngest sister was screaming in the corner.   I don’t remember much else but he soon left the room.

During that time we all had to be on our toes with him.  We never knew when he would explode.  He even took my bedroom door down because he said that I had to earn my privacy.  He did a great deal to humiliate me.

The only adoption discussion that I ever remember was when a family friend ‘s daughter got pregnant.   After we found out, my mother came rushing into the kitchenette area of our home.  She gave both talks at the same time.  You know the ones.  Sex and adoption.  I wonder if my adoptive mother was ever worried that I too would follow into my natural mother’s shoes.  I am pretty sure that my step father thought that.  After I heard that converstation between my parents, I took a celibacy vow.

My adoptive mother told me that if I ever wanted to have sex,that I was to come to her.  If I ever wanted to search, again I was to come to her.   I did have fantasies of an older brother coming to rescue me.  In fact, I thought Shaun Cassidy was that brother.  I know.  Very corny.  I thought that.  I wanted to escape my life at that time.  Yes it was that bad for a while.  I remember our neighbor telling us that she thought about calling the law on us because she could hear us screaming.

I also remember being treated like I could not be trusted.  My sisters have subsequently done this as well.  I have had to prove myself over and over.  It wore me out back in those days.  I hated it.  It still happens now.  I fight consistently with one sister over that very issue.

I also kept my promise too.  I didn’t lose my virginity until I was 19.  I dated only one guy for most of my high school years.   I was never allowed any real alone time with boys.  I always had a parental figure around.  I broke up with him the beginning of my senior year.  I didn’t like always having to deal with his wanting to be better than me.  He had lied to me about his grades and many other issues.  Plus he was Mormon.  I don’t think he is still one now.   My senior year was the year of heartbreak for me.

Chapter Three

Unknown Indy Baby Girl

First Chapter

I was born on a hot summer day in Indianapolis, Indiana in the wee hours of the morning.  I was brought into this world listening to the screaming sirens of an ambulance.  It was the mark of my separation from my natural mother.  It was a memory that will forever haunt my very soul.  I was born to a single unwed mother. 

On this day in the history of 1965, the Social Security Act of 1965 was signed by President Lyndon B. Johnson which established the nation’s Medicare and Medicaid programs, financed by higher social security tax premiums.  William Churchill, former Prime Minister of Great Britain, was buried on this day.

I have been told by other mothers at this home were not allowed any pain relief.  Many were tied to the bed to prevent the mother from touching her child.  Many were not even told the sex of their child.  Many were not allowed to hold  their children.  Within twenty four hours after giving birth at the hospital, the girls were sent back to the maternity home to recover for nine more days.  The babies were either in foster care or in the nursery. 

I was placed with a dentist and his wife.  We spent six months in Indiana.  My first adoptive father was then drafted into the Vietnam War. He was sent to Fort Polk, Louisiana.  We spent two and a half years there.   When the Army   my first adoptive father, we went to another state.  It was in the southern most tip of that state where I would spend my growing up years. I remember looking up at huge shelf of books and sitting in my high chair.  I remember the time that we went to pick up my first cat.  His name was Midnight.  Black as coal.  We didn’t have him 24 hours before he died.  I remember my father carrying his stiff body out the front door.  I remember when a massive hurricane hitting the area.  My sister and I slipped and fell on the white marble floors of our home.  The window in the den and bedroom was broken.  I remember sitting in the bathroom eating orea cookies, drinking milk, and chatting with my family.  My youngest sister sitting on the lap of my mother.  My other sister and I sitting quietly on chairs.  The tub was filled with water.  I remember my father telling about a neighbor’s roof flying off. 

Fast forward a couple of years later, I remember the day of the separation.  I remember standing outside with my mother and sisters as my father drove away.  In the weeks ahead, my father begins dating a younger woman.  She too has a daughter with the same first name.  They got married two weeks after the divorce was finalized.  He then adopted her daughter.  Now there were two girls with the same name.  There are also began a battle of custody over my sisters and me.  They didn’t separate children from their mothers back in those days.  I have to wonder why.  They stripped my natural mother of her rights as a mother yet my adoptive mother could continue to be a mother.  I would not have been better off with my adoptive father but I am just noting a fact for that time frame.  It was only six years after my adoption. 

I remember the visits.  They were harsh.  My sisters and I were treated as second best.  We always got the lesser of things.  I remember for years that he wouldn’t pay child support consistently.  My mother had to fight to keep the lights on in the house.  She still always made it the best for us.  We always had ample toys and barbie dolls. 

He finally moved out of state in order to avoid paying child support.  He later went off to create laminate veneer for teeth.  He even had the patent for the process.  His second wife would become his exwife.  We were later told that the adoption of the  other daughter was annulled.  Alas, that was a lie.  The second wife fought hard to get some of the profits.  She got some but he and his family spent the rest.  I later heard that he filed bankruptcy at that time.  He borrowed money against his mother’s home.  That debt was never repaid.  Whether or not this is truthful, that is an unknown.  My sisters and I never saw the documents.

The last time that I saw him was in sixth grade.  He pulled up in a brand new 280Z.  My step father was outside working on an old Volkswagon Beetle.  It was Christmas time.  I remember him shaking his head.   The Christmas tree we had was on its last legs.  It had no back on it.  We had to keep the lights off.  It would otherwise burn down the house.  He had brought money to my mother.  He had brought us a few gifts. 

Chapter Two next.

Unknown Indy Baby Girl

Hello World!

I am Unknown Indy Baby Girl.  I am an Indiana adoptee.  This blog will reflect my life story as an adoptee.  My experiences will always reflect those of an adoptee living in the United States.  I am fourty three years old.  I was born in the heat of the summer.  I have all of my non identifying information.  I have also utilized all of the available resources that Indiana has to offer.  The process has left me angry, wornout, and hurt. 

I will join the rank and file of adoptees around the country in fighting for access to my original birth certificate.  This blog reflects my personal thoughts, emotions, and reactions to adoption.  So sit back.  I will tell you the story that I have been told. 

Unknown Indy Baby Girl