Birth Identity Nullification

My adoptee dad used to like to tease my adoptee mom by calling her by her birth name of Frances Irene. It wasn’t until his own adoptive parents died that he knew his original surname – Hempstead – only he didn’t know if that was his mother’s or his father’s surname. It was his mother’s as she was unwed at the time she gave birth to him.

I was reminded of this by a Substack email notification from Tony Corsentino titled LINK>Falsification. I recommend reading his blog. He notes “There is a hanging file folder in my desk drawer that holds both my birth certificates.” Of all the potential “universal” issues that adoptees face, it is that they are denied the name they were born with and that was recorded on their original birth certificates.

My mom’s adoptive mother wanted to realize her fantasy of having her very own Jack and Jill, so she renamed my adoptive uncle “John” and my adoptee mother “Julie” – a touch of higher sophistication, as was her usual expression of personal taste. Adoptees, in effect, live a false or assumed identity, unlike most other human beings.

In considering this and looking for an image, I came across two things that I will share with you here today. The first is from Psychology Today titled LINK>A Guide to the Fantasy Bond. To my quirky intellect, it fit the circumstances. Lisa Firestone PhD is a clinical psychologist, an author, and the Director of Research and Education for the Glendon Association. She is also the daughter of Dr Robert Firestone, who’s theory became the book – The Fantasy Bond.

She writes – The fantasy bond acts as a defense, helping relieve anxiety and emotional pain at times of distress. It is a way of maintaining an illusion of safety and security at those times when we experienced overwhelming frustration, hurt, or even terror. Infants have a natural ability to comfort themselves by using images and memories of past feeding experiences to ward off the anxiety of being temporarily separated from their mothers. Fantasy helps reduce feelings of hunger and frustration. The child’s illusion of connection compensates or substitutes for inadequacies in the early environment. In an attempt to cope with the emotional pain and restore a feeling of comfort, infants merge with their primary caretaker (often the mother) in their imagination, magically believing they are one with that person—feeling like the all-powerful parent and the helpless infant, all in one. This fantasy of being connected to another can give a child an illusion of safety, even immortality, which later helps him or her cope with existential realizations and fears.

Then, I stumbled on the one that my image came from – LINK>Sometimes we need fantasy to survive the reality by someone named “Heather”. She writes – As Albus Dumbledore said, “It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live.” However, there are moments in life you must tap into your fantasies to make it through tough times.

Unfortunately, our society often stigmatizes daydreaming and fantasizing as a lack of motivation or seriousness. However, that’s not always true. Fantasizing is a natural part of being human and it plays a significant role in building interpersonal relationships and manifesting future goals and dreams.

While Dumbledore’s words are wise, the truth is, sometimes we need fantasy to survive reality. If you find yourself going through a rough patch, some fantasy might be just the thing that gets you back on track. I have read that adoptees frequently fantasize about their first mother.

But Where Is Jill?

Back when I was working through my own genetic identity puzzle (both adoptee parents died without knowing anything much about their origins), I read this book – The Foundling – which is the story of how Jack Rosenthal became Paul Joseph Fronczak. I was reminded of his story today by a friend.

The title of today’s blog was inspired by his own website LINK>Help Find Jill and the search he has still not completed – to find his twin sister Jill. I searched my blogs here to see if I ever wrote about his story but didn’t find anything – so today I thought I would highlight it.

Paul prefers to go by Jack these days but true to his complex identity, he will still refer to himself as Paul on the website. At Help Find Jill he notes – “I recently filed a missing person’s report for Jill with the Atlantic City Police Department, and I also commissioned a forensic artist named Natalie Murry to create age progression images of what Jill might look like today. The images are above, both smiling and not smiling, blond and brunette.” You can see those images at the link above.

At LINK>DNA Angels, I read – “. . . the man who grew up Paul Joseph Fronczak was actually Jack Rosenthal. One half of a set of twins that disappeared quietly and mysteriously from Atlantic City, NJ. Jack has a twin sister, Jill. But if Jack turned up in Newark, where did Jill end up?” So many questions still unresolved, so much time and energy spent on the searching, leaving Jack to wonder, “is the search worth all the pain.”

He writes – “I am hoping that someone, somewhere, will see something in these images that sparks a distant memory, and possibly leads me to the truth about what happened to Jill. The facts are few. Jill and I were born on October 27, 1963, in an Atlantic City hospital. Our parents were named Gilbert and Marie Rosenthal—they have both passed on.”

“Then, in 1965, when I was not quite two years old, I was found abandoned in a stroller in front of a department store in Newark, New Jersey. I was wearing a new blue suit, and I had a cold. A year later, I was thought to be the same infant who was kidnapped from his parents in Chicago in 1964, and police handed me over to that family—the Fronczaks.”

“I have not been able to learn what happened to my sister, Jill, at the time that I was abandoned. There was no record of her being missing, and no information about her since. It is almost as if she never existed. But she did. I have her birth certificate. I’ve spoken with people who met her when she and I were with the Rosenthals. Many different people remember her existing.”

Paul(Jack) is asking anyone who might know anything about Jill, or this case, or the Rosenthals, to please step forward and contact him through his website. If you have any questions, please feel free to contact him. He notes – “I’ve always believed that Jill is still alive and out there somewhere. And I’m not going to stop searching for her until I learn the truth, no matter how long that takes.”

blogger’s note – His story continues to resonate with me. I am a Gemini and so the idea of twins has always appealed to something deep in me. Also, when my mom’s adoptive mother was working with Georgia Tann to adopt my mom, she wrote that she wanted a “Jill” to go with her “Jack.” My mom’s adoptive brother was named John. My mom’s adoptive parents named her Julie. “Jack and Jill.”

From LINK>Wikipedia – The phrase “Jack and Jill” existed earlier in England to indicate a boy and girl as a generic pair. It is so used, for example, in the proverb “Every Jack (shall/must) have his Jill.” There are references in two plays by William Shakespeare dating from the 1590s.

Assumed Name and False Identity

Each of my parents was born with a meaningful name indicating family and personal relationships given to them by the woman who gave birth to them. In the kind of inside joke that only two adoptees could share, my dad sometimes called my mom by the name she was born under – Frances Irene.

It appears that the Frances may have come from a family that helped my grandmother when she first returned to Memphis with her two month old daughter. She probably had some connection to them before she gave birth to my mom in Virginia. When investigating my mom’s circumstances before adoption, Georgia Tann noted some vague family relationship between my grandmother and this family. I’ve been unable to track that back through Ancestry in order to prove it.

It appears my maternal grandmother was sent away from Tennessee to give birth by her father, after her lawfully wedded husband returned to Arkansas where his mother was caring for two daughters given him by his deceased first wife. Why he left her 4 mos pregnant or why he didn’t come back when informed she was in Memphis with the baby, I can never know though my heart yearns to.

Irene was the name of my maternal grandmother’s own mother who died when my grandmother was only 11 years old leaving her the woman of the house in charge of caring for her four siblings, two girls and two boys, the youngest only about a year old.

My mom’s name was changed to Julie Sue. My grandmother adopted a boy and then a girl through Georgia Tann and the Tennessee Children’s Home Society, Memphis branch. She stated in a letter to the society’s administrator that she wanted a Jill to go with her Jack. My mom’s adoptive brother was named John. So my adoptive grandmother was subtle about that heartfelt intention of hers when re-naming her children

When a person is adopted, their name is often changed by the couple that adopts them. Sometimes their date of birth and even the geographic location where they were born may be altered on the new birth certificate created for the adoptee showing the adoptive couple as their parents, as though these people gave birth to them.

It turned out the name my dad was given at birth was an important clue to his identity. My paternal grandmother named him Arthur Martin. Arthur was the man married to her aunt and she was working at their motel and restaurant at the beach in La Jolla California when she met my paternal grandfather. Unfortunately, he was also a married man. By the time she knew she was pregnant, she probably knew that marital status related to him as well. It appears he never knew he had a son.

Martin was the name of the man who fathered my dad. When I connected with a cousin who lives in Mexico, I discovered that she had my paternal grandmother’s photo albums (a real treasure trove of images). Next to a photo of my grandmother holding my dad in her lap, was the headshot of a man and she wrote his name, Martin Hansen, and boyfriend on the back.

My adoptive grandmother named my dad Thomas Patrick. The Thomas was the man she was married to when she adopted my dad. Since his birthday was only one day off from St Patrick’s Day (and that is why I never forgot his birthday), that may be the only reason for the Patrick part of his name.

However, she divorced that man and re-married and so my dad was adopted twice and his name changed again when he was already 8 years old to Gale Patrick – the Gale being her new husband’s name. It may not have been too confusing for him because he was called Pat all the years I knew him, at least.

In addition to the name changes, an adoptee is dropped into a family they were not born into but must “pretend” their whole lives they are related to. I’ve not cared all that much about names, though I like mine and now that I know about my original grandparents find a “family” connection because my paternal grandmother’s oldest sister was also named Deborah. She was hit and killed by a reckless teenage driver when she was only 3 years old.