An adoptee writes – My adoption went through when I was almost 6 years old in 1969. I was born in 1964 (Just hit 60.). Has anyone else had multiple names?? I was born “Jacqueline Karen”. When I was relinquished at 2 days old, the social worker changed my name to “Lucy Allen”. She said that was common practice in those days to “Hide” the baby from the birth mother in case she came looking! At 5 months, I was placed with a potentially adoptive family who named me “Linda Jeanette”. They returned me to foster care just before I turned 4 and the foster family started calling me “Lindy”. This is the name I remember the most. About 6 months later I was as placed with the family that did adopt me and they changed my name to “Elizabeth Dianna”. For years, my adoptive mom told me my middle name was “Dianna” until one day, I was looking at my birth certificate and saw that she had actually named me “Elizabeth Dianne”! Clearly, it wasn’t about what I needed!! It was about what my foster parents and adoptive parents wanted! Who changes a child’s name this many times and why did the state allow it?? Ridiculous!! And then my adoptive mom couldn’t even remember my middle name! It definitely gave me some identity issues! I’m married to a Veterinarian (who is a great man-nothing against him), but I get introduced as “The Vet’s wife” all the time!! It gets under my skin!! Anyone else have their name changed this often??
Blogger’s note – Surnames in the story above removed to protect the poster’s identity.I read recently in LINK>The Guardianthat “A new documentary aims to add depth to the story of the singer-songwriter (June Carter Cash) who was often just referred to as the wife of Johnny Cash.”
I (the blogger) replied to the woman above with my own family history – My adoptee dad had his name changed when he was 8 years old. His adoptive mother had divorced the man she was married to, when she adopted my dad at 8 months old from the Salvation Army. He was named Thomas (after the adoptive father) Patrick Swearingen, when they first altered his original birth certificate and a new one was issued. She re-married and changed my dad’s name to Gale Patrick Hart (each time after his adoption, his first name was also the adoptive “father’s” name). When that second “father” died (the adoptive mother died first), my dad found his adoption papers. His original name was Arthur Martin Hempstead – after his birth father, Rasmus Martin Hansen (an immigrant not yet a citizen, who was a married man who never knew his affair resulted in the conception of my dad). Hempstead was his unwed mother’s surname.
As an aside, because my mom was also an adoptee, when my dad wanted to tease her, he would call her by her birth name – Frances Irene.
When I imagine my dad’s genetic biological mother, I think of her having an actual relationship with the man who, it is certain now, was his father. She did have a head shot photo of him and wrote his name and the word “boyfriend” on the back. She placed the image in her photo album next to a photo of her holding my dad. That actually did eventually reveal for me who my dad’s genetic biological father was. My DNA and his geographical proximity at the time proved it and none of his other genetic biological relatives were in the area. It does not appear that my Danish immigrant grandfather ever knew he was a father. Self-reliant woman that she was, she simply handled it by going to a Salvation Army home for unwed mothers in Ocean Beach California. Some month later, the Salvation Army hired her and transported my grandmother and baby dad to El Paso Texas. I don’t think she really wanted to give him up for adoption but I think she was strongly coerced just to do it. He was already 8 months old when his first adoption was finalized (he actually was adopted a second time and his name changed again, after his adoptive mother divorced the abusive alcoholic husband and remarried, a marriage that lasted until she died).
This morning, I have read two stories about one night stands that actually resulted in pregnancies. That got me to wondering . . . , other than my grandmother’s clear feelings that my dad’s married father was her “boyfriend”, I really can’t know all the details. Be careful out there having casual sex because it could happen to you if you are not careful.
One from LINK>Quora – I had a one night stand and she’s pregnant and wants to keep the baby. I have no desire to be with this woman. Does this mean I’ll have to pay child support?
The answer from a Relationship Counsellor – Yes, you are responsible for that child if it is yours. A paternity test is certainly highly recommended. You are under no obligation at all to enter into a relationship with the mother (actually, that would be a spectacularly bad idea!!) but you do have an obligation towards the human you created, who had no say in the matter.
You can draw the line at providing financial support only, but do think carefully about whether this is the kind of person you want to be. What will future partners think of you if you explain that you have a child that you pay child support for, but that you don’t have anything to do with because you don’t want it? If you have kids later in life what will they think of you when they find out they have a half sibling that their dad just abandoned? More importantly – What will you think of yourself? I understand that it is a horrible situation to find yourself in, but try to accept the reality of it as soon as possible and decide what kind of a man you want to be – then live like that man.
Going for mediation with the mother is a very good way to figure out a way forward, and how to co-parent, in a way that both of you can live with. Becoming a dad may not have been on your to-do list for the immediate future, but it doesn’t have to turn out badly. The one way to ensure you achieve the best outcome from this is to make sure that you have the most amicable relationship possible with the mother – this should actually be easier for you than for most divorced couples who have a lot of hurt and baggage.
If the mother is keeping the baby simply because she is against abortion, and not because she really wants to have a child or is in a position to raise one, try to talk to her about adoption. This would certainly be in the best interests of the child, and could give that child a loving home with parents whose biggest dream would be fulfilled by the child’s existence, instead of their worst nightmare. (blogger’s note – that advice is where I part company with this relationship counselor’s advice but it would be very common to receive that advice.)
If you don’t want to have children, please consider going for a vasectomy. This is the only option men have for taking control of whether they become dads or not, aside from never having vaginal intercourse. If you might want to have kids later, make sure to always use a condom, and talk to your sexual partners about their views on abortion and what they would expect should your liaison result in pregnancy. Too often men just leave it all up to the woman, assume that she is on birth control, assume that she will have an abortion if she falls pregnant, then they are horrified when they realize that they missed their ONE AND ONLY opportunity to influence whether they become parents through simple carelessness.
I do wish you the best of luck going forward. Sometimes a stupid mistake costs far more than it should, but such is life – I hope you can make the best of it.
I read another similar story in LINK>Slate – I Just Told My One-Night Stand I’m Pregnant. Then I Heard From His Wife. Apparently, I’m “baby-trapping.” (blogger’s note – I had never heard this term “baby-trapping” before.) A few months ago, I matched with a man on Tinder, “John,” who was in town on a work trip for a few days. We met for drinks, ended up sleeping together (with protection), and agreed that this wasn’t more than a one-time hookup. However, the condom must have failed because I very unexpectedly discovered I was pregnant.
She had several heartbreaking miscarriages and failed rounds of IVF and those experiences pushed her marriage to the breaking point and divorce. She was already at 14 weeks, twice as far as I had gotten when I’d miscarried in the past, and that the fetus was healthy. So, she is not unhappy this has finally happened for her. She writes – I decided to keep the baby. I have a house in an area with great schools, make more than enough to support a child, and will receive generous maternity leave. I already love my baby so much, and still can’t believe that this actually is happening.
Because she believed the man deserved to know, she tried to inform him but got an angry response from his wife. So, she replied to the wife – I truly did not know he was married and have no interest in keeping in touch after what was supposed to be a night of casual sex. I told her that this was a complete surprise to me, but that she needed to talk to her husband because he had gotten me pregnant, and while I was fine with him not being in the picture, he deserved to know. Her only response was to curse me out, accuse me of baby-trapping, and say that she wouldn’t be spending her money on my “bastard.” When I showed this conversation thread to my friends, they advised me to stop there and keep my baby away “from a cheater and a victim-blamer.”
Because I really do love trees, this image tugged at my heart. A new term for me – the Just-World Fallacy. It is often used to blame victims and excuse abusers.
In spiritual circles, one might hear re: adoption, “It was in your soul contract. You agreed to it.”
I am a spiritual person and I do have some belief in soul contracts but not as binding devices that eliminate free will choices and decisions.
Getting real – an infant can NOT consent to being adopted. Pre-birth? Who can really know ?
Generally, the responsible parties are the mother and the father. One or both may have been pressured or coerced, as in my mom’s adoption where Georgia Tann was involved. That is clear from information in my mom’s adoption file, which was given to me by the state of Tennessee as a descendant who’s parent was affected by Tann’s practices. My mom always thought she had been stolen. Politely, she would describe her adoption as having been inappropriate.
My dad’s father probably never even knew he was a father. He was a married man involved in an affair. My grandmother, the self-reliant person that she was, simply took care of her circumstance. She gave birth in a home for unwed mothers run by the Salvation Army and was subsequently hired by them and transferred from Ocean Beach, California to El Paso, Texas. The Salvation Army then took custody of my dad and adopted him out.
If my parents did have any kind of soul contract pre-birth, it was probably to meet and marry but it would take getting adopted to achieve that outcome or at least the way the situation played out in their real lives.
This leaves me definitely on the fence about whether their soul contract with one another included the necessity of getting adopted. Hmmm. I do know it seems like adoption was necessary for me to exist. So there’s that. Could it have happened another way ? I have to admit to that as well.
So back to that Just-World Fallacy. It is termed a fallacy because clearly in individual circumstances and events, justice is never a certainty. It is defined as a cognitive bias that assumes that “people get what they deserve” – that actions will necessarily have morally fair and fitting consequences. In spiritual circles, it could be termed cause and effect or even karma. “Just-World” has believers because people have a strong desire or need to believe that the world is an orderly, predictable, and just place. Related beliefs include – a belief in an unjust world, beliefs in immanent justice and ultimate justice, a hope for justice, and a belief in one’s ability to reduce injustice (which is what motivates any kind of activist and motivates my writing this blog).
In spirituality, we believe in a larger, broader view of how justice manifests. And always, we hope for an evolving and maturing humanity that rises above. I liked this graphic on empathy.
Stumbled on 2 stories about this place today. Had not heard of this place – Suemma Coleman – before. One was from a woman who gave birth at the age of 14, 52 years ago. It was 1971 in Indiana USA. She wrote it on the 50th year after she relinquished her baby in order to share her experiences at a Facebook page called Adoption Sucks.
She writes – I’d spent the previous 6 weeks living among hostile strangers, a captive who was caught and shamed the one time I tried to escape. The home was run by a shriveled old matriarch, religious zealots/social workers and filled with self-loathing young pregnant women. There was no privacy. There was no freedom. There was an 8 foot chain-link fence around the top of the building to prevent us from throwing ourselves from the 3 story height, as others had done in the past. There was bland, starchy food served at a single huge table and forced servitude cleaning in the kitchen. There was a single pay telephone in a hallway shared by all the dorms.
My heart goes out to the young me who was sent by ambulance alone during the night to the county hospital. There I was drugged, strapped down and delivered of my precious baby boy. During his birth I was overcome with a feeling of power and overwhelming love I never dreamed possible; I never experienced it again with my subsequent children. Then they whisked him away. I was sent to the post-delivery room where a nurse viciously kneaded my abdomen to expel the placenta, while telling me I deserved the pain.
I never expected to see him again. But the orderlies on duty that night didn’t want to bother with these pariah babies so he was brought to me to feed and change. I remembered thinking I had no idea how. They’d given me a drug to dry up my milk and another caused a splitting headache when I sat up. But all that mattered was that he was miraculously in my arms. He was perfect and beautiful. Everyone commented that his long, black eye lashes gave the impression of a baby girl but his long fingers and toes predicted the 6’3″ man he grew to be. He would briefly visit me one or two more times that night before we were separated for good.
I have a memory of watching my parents standing in the hospital corridor, far away, saying hello and goodbye to their first-born grandchild in the nursery. They were crying. I felt no sympathy for them, knowing the price we were all going to pay because of their decision. My heart had already turned to stone and against them. I spent another 10 days or so for observation and recovery in the Home. Then, I was sent home with my parents, who promptly took me to get a puppy. At 14 days of age, my baby was sent to live with strangers who would be his adoptive parents. I never saw my son again.
I found another story about this home on WordPress at this LINK>JUST SOME INTERESTING HISTORY STUFF. She writes – Today was just a rough kind of day. A fellow Coleman adoptee had emailed that she finally got in contact with her natural mother. I met this gal through one of the many Indiana adoptee groups on the internet. We have kept in touch for last two years. She knew my horror story with St. Elizabeth’s/Coleman and their confidential intermediary, Katrina Carlisle. I had advised her not to use this individual. She had gone with Omni Trace which ended up ripping her off. She emailed me about a month ago about LINK>Kinsolving Investigations. I said that this company was great as long as you can afford them. I unfortunately can’t at this time. Well they found for her. Katrina had told her not to search without her assistance. Katrina did everything she could to discourage this friend from searching period. Well she recently contacted her natural mother. Low and behold, all of the information that Katrina gave her was a lie. Not surprising really. Katrina had lied to me about the law, about who I could and could not use as a CI, and other bits and pieces of my own information. I worry daily what my own natural mother has been told by this woman. I worry whether or not she was even contacted. I worry about whether or not that she took my money and fed me a line of bullshit. I worry that she tried to get more money from my natural mother. I worry that because she could not get the information that my mother wanted about me, she assumed my mother refused contact. All of these are very real worries. I have heard them from all over the country.
This was written in 2008 and she adds – “Indiana enacts a law that makes it the most restrictive state in the nation in regard to keeping adoption records confidential.” She goes on to lay out a review of history re: adoption in Indiana and St. Elizabeth/Coleman specifically, and their part in it. It begins with – 1894 The Suemma Coleman Home is founded for “erring girls and women who had been living lives of shame and had no homes.” (Today, it operates as Coleman Adoption Services.) There is more there at the link.
No point in posting all this – except – yeah, it was pretty much the same everywhere. My dad’s mom gave birth to him at the Door of Hope Salvation Army Home for Unwed Mothers in Ocean Beach, California back in the mid-1930s.
From Alex Haley’s Roots – orally passed down family lineage and baby naming ritual
From an article about the series in LINK>The New Yorker that speaks to my heart, being the child of two adoptees who was robbed of knowing my genetic grandparents –
“The desire to know who we are helps to explain the second of two pulls we ordinarily feel toward grandparents. The first attraction, and the one that as children we understand more clearly, is toward something easeful, generous, and amusing about grandparents, and about the way they handle us when we are around. They can be a wonderful escape from the stringent regimes of parents, with their endless admonitions about how we should behave. Grandparents allow us to grow; they like to watch us obeying something inside ourselves—something that we know only vaguely but that is completely familiar to them. Long retired from the strenuous business of shaping their children, our parents, they are often ready to coddle and indulge us, to refresh themselves in our youthful curiosities, and to enjoy our affections. They are also ready to talk a lot—about the past, about when they were young, about their own parents and grandparents. At such times, they look at us with something mildly searching and wistful in their eyes, hoping, no doubt, to see some early and fugitive version of themselves. We understand this only later, when we become aware of the second pull that these old people were exerting upon us all along; we realize that in listening to their talk we, too, were listening for some earlier and fugitive echoes of ourselves. We were drawn to them for the odds and ends of their memory, without which we would be less whole, or, at the least, left to invent a greater portion of ourselves.”
I actually have no memory of my adoptive grandparents trying to talk with me when I was a child about their own past, their youth and families. There was once though after I was well into my adulthood, when my adoptive maternal grandmother came to visit me in Missouri. She grew up here and we found her childhood home in Eugene and our great luck was that the owner allowed us to come inside. My grandmother shared with me what had changed in the house and me told stories about what it was like growing up there. We went by the cemetery where many of her own relations were buried. Memorable was a story about traveling by wagon over the Gasconade River to buy supplies in some larger town.
I certainly invented stories about my own “roots” as we knew nothing. My dad was half Mexican, left on the doorstep of the Salvation Army. True, my adoptive paternal “Granny” did obtain him there. His birth mother was working there but the Salvation Army had taken legal possession of him (as shown in his adoption papers). Thanking that wonderful Granny of mine for writing his birth mother’s name in the margin of her request for Texas to issue a new birth certificate for him. That amended birth certificate had to come from California, as he was born at the Door of Hope home for unwed mothers in Ocean Beach (near San Diego).
Turns out his dark complexion came from his Danish immigrant father who was not yet a citizen and was a married man. Sadly, he never knew he had a son. I did hear stories from my dad about how he almost starved to death in Magdalena New Mexico where his adoptive parents and an aunt and uncle (she was one of my Granny’s sisters) were trying to strike it rich by digging a mine there. About the time the adults went to town for supplies and my dad brought the cow into the cabin to milk it as it was very cold and snowing. My dad shot rabbits for food.
My invented story about my mom was that she was half Black. Not true at all, though she did have a smidgeon of Mali genes in her, most likely from the paternal line’s ownership of a few slaves. I saw that detail in a will. The deceased deeded the slaves by name to surviving family members. It was found in a binder lent to me by a family historian that I met near Memphis TN, where my mom was adopted. Neither her mom nor her dad were Black.
My heart sorrows for what my genetic grandparents might have been able to tell me.
Certainly, my adoptive grandparents had a HUGE influence on me. Their culture became some part of my parents (the adoptees); and through my parents, my self as well. Not minimizing how important our close relationships with these people during our growing up years was. Just so much was also lost and there is truly no way to fully recover that.
I feel a kinship with this man’s DNA Roots journey. In fact, my family just finished watching the original Roots series based on the book by Alex Haley. I had my own roots journey and like this man, Tim Curran, 23 and Me and Ancestry DNA did help me on my way only I didn’t leave the US in search of family – yet. I’d love to travel to Denmark – from where my paternal grandfather immigrated to the US.
Tim’s story comes to me by way of CNN Travel. LINK>I used DNA analysis to find my birth family and it sent me across three continents. California connects Tim’s story to mine and like me, he found the impenetrable walls of sealed records and tight-lipped officials in that state. Only he was born in 1961 and my dad was born there in 1935. From what I know of my own father’s story, this part of Tim’s story seems to be very similar – “On opposite sides of the world, they had both butted heads with difficult parents and left home at the first opportunity. They both wound up in one of the most free-thinking places on Earth: San Francisco.” On my paternal side, it was San Diego.
I don’t think my paternal grandfather actually butted heads in his family but opportunities in that country for siblings other than the first born were limited. My grandfather was the 5th of 10 children and several of his siblings had already migrated to the US – mostly into the Illinois and Wisconsin areas. My grandfather chose to take a train from NYC, where he landed, and on that train met a woman, much older than him and a private duty nurse, who agreed to marry him. It was mostly a marriage of convenience. When we don’t really know the accurate story, like Tim, I filled in the gaps. I suspect he may have eaten dinners, while his wife was on duty with some person, at the restaurant on the beach where my grandmother was employed by her aunt and uncle. She had a truly evil step-mother and so yes, she fled them and refused to return to Asheville North Carolina, after they traveled to visit her grandfather in California.
Like Tim, I have found my mother’s and father’s families welcoming me – even though they hardly, if even, knew I existed before I made contact. Some were vaguely aware that one or the other of my grandmothers had given a child up for adoption but really didn’t know any more than that. Sadly, it does not appear that my grandfather ever knew he had a son, being the married man having an affair with a much younger woman. But resourceful as she was, she simply handled it ending up employed by the Salvation Army after giving birth in one of their homes for unwed mothers.
Back to Tim’s story (which you can read in full at the LINK at the top of this blog) – his father worked as floor installer in the city’s North Beach neighborhood — where she was a cocktail waitress and dancer. I pictured them meeting while he installed floors in a nightclub where she was working. By all accounts, it must have been a very brief affair. My father was living with a girlfriend, and my mother’s sister says she never once heard my mother discuss my father in any way. Other than the sister and her mother, no one else in her family was told she was pregnant. (I was lucky enough that my grandmother had a photo album with a head shot and the name of my grandfather on the back.) My father’s family says they are 100% certain he was never told. (And my Danish relatives likewise, never knew my grandfather had a son.)
Tim has a large Moroccan family who own a set of neighboring summer homes just yards from the beach. The houses are built on property his grandfather bought nearly a century ago (when the land was thought to be worthless). It is a place where they go to escape the summer heat of Casablanca. In that family, he was able to recognize that many of their personality traits and quirks – how boisterous, curious and sly they are – just like he was as well. When I met a cousin on my paternal line, her appearance could have made her my youngest sister’s twin. That obvious physical appearance connection between our families seems to have mattered greatly to her.
Touring the country of Morocco, the sites he saw were beautiful and awe-inspiring, alien yet weirdly familiar. He experienced the country in a unique and very personal way thanks to his DNA journey: as a son just one generation removed from his father’s homeland. Though Alex Haley was further removed from his own African roots, it must have been deeply emotional to experience the native culture, which was so different from the modern life in the United States that he became a successful author in.
Like Tim, I bravely went looking. I was not content with the not knowing that my parents died with. I had the wherewithall to seek answers and with determination found success. Just as Tim and Alex both did. It is a journey well worth taking and many have written about similar adoptee root journeys that they have taken. Not every effort succeeds. Tim’s parents were both deceased and my grandparents were all deceased. For Alex, the stories lived on, passed down orally from one generation to the next.
Many adoptees don’t even realize that they are carrying unhealed trauma with them throughout their lives. Because for infants who were adopted, this trauma occurred during a per-verbal stage of their lives, they lacked words to describe what their emotions were saying to them. Both of my parents were adopted when they were less than one year old. My mom was adopted after having been placed temporarily in Porter Leath orphanage as my desperate maternal grandmother tried mightily to find a way to support the two of them with Georgia Tann circling them like a vulture. My dad was adopted after the Salvation Army coerced my paternal grandmother into relinquishing him. So both of my parents were carrying unhealed trauma throughout their lives.
The various ways people anesthetize themselves . . . is a wail from the deep. I once listened to Marianne Williamson’s A Course in Weight Loss on cd. I gained a lot of insight into my own compulsive eating experiences listening to her. I see how clothing our bodies in excess weight is a protective device. Both of my parents were more or less overweight their entire lives. I am told that my father was still breastfeeding with his original mother when he was taken for adoption. My mother struggled with her body image due to an adoptive mother who was obsessed by eating and weight issues. I have one memorable experience of that with my adoptive grandmother when she took me to England and embarrassed me dining at The Dorchester in London when I reached for a warm dinner role. I didn’t talk to her for almost 24 hours but gave it up in favor of not ruining our whole experience there together.
Your Blogger at The Dorchester
My mom was passive and secretive about eating. Some of that behavior certainly filtered down to me. My dad struggled with some drunken experiences, one that I didn’t even learn about until after he died, when my sister and I found a letter from him about spending a night in jail for DWI and praying not to lose his job and family over it. But after he was “saved”, he didn’t stop drinking – though he was never a violent alcoholic – and able to work even double shifts and nights at an oil refinery.
Joel Chambers writes about The Lifelong Challenges of Adoptees at the LINK> Search Angels website – Adoptees face more traumas, and more challenges, than many other people, and it affects their lives in ways that we are just beginning to understand. He has also written a post, speaking at great length about how addiction, in all of its various forms, is all too common among adoptees. These have experiences such as grief and loss, self-esteem and identity issues, substance abuse and addiction, mental health, and challenges to the types of relationships that they can form with their adoptive families. Adoptees also deal with feelings of grief, separation, and loss for their biological parents and birth families, even if they never knew them.
A healing I didn’t even know I needed started in the Autumn of 2017, when I began learning what my parents never knew – who my original grandparents were. Then, it was only natural that I really begin learning about this thing called adoption. My daughter once said to me – “it seems like you are on a mission.” True, guilty as charged.
Before the US Supreme Court overturned Roe v Wade, >LINK Time magazine carried an article – What History Teaches Us About Women Forced to Carry Unwanted Pregnancies to Term by Kelly O’Connor McNees on Sept 30 2021. She is the author of The Myth of Surrender about two young women in a maternity home back in 1961.
Her article was motivated by Texas’ severe abortion law back in 2021. Reproductive rights advocates are justifiably concerned about a potential increase in unsafe abortions and adoption activists are right to be concerned about more adoptions taking place that will leave more people dealing with the trauma of separation from their original mother.
The image of coat hangers may seem obsolete in an era where medication abortions can be safely self-managed at home, but we also know that there will be some women who lack access to health care. They will resort to desperate measures to avoid the physical, psychological, emotional, social and economic trauma of being forced to complete their pregnancy and give birth against their wishes.
We have been here before. In the decades from 1945 to 1973, now known as the “Baby Scoop” era, more than 1.5 million pregnant girls and women in the US were sent away to maternity homes to surrender children in secret. In realizing that my adoptee mom conceived me out of wedlock in 1953, it has become to my own heart a minor miracle that she did not get sent away to have and give me up for adoption. I will always believe I have my dad’s adoptive parents to be grateful to for encouraging him to do the right thing when he had only just started at a university in another nearby town. This is why I was born in Las Cruces NM but I am happy to claim I am a native of that state.
It was believed back then that both the child and the birth mother would be better off. It would be a win-win scenario: the baby would be saved from the stigma and shame of illegitimacy, and the birth mother could put the unpleasant chapter behind her and make a fresh start. Meanwhile, the young men who shared equal responsibility for the pregnancies typically carried on with their lives unfettered by social stigma.
Birth mothers sent to these homes received little to no counseling on what to expect from labor and delivery, and were not advised of their legal rights once the child was born. They endured psychological abuse from nuns and nurses, and gave birth alone in sometimes terrible conditions. This is the scenario I imagined my paternal grandmother endured at a Salvation Army Home for Unwed Mothers when she gave birth to my dad. Many women still foggy from the effects of anesthesia following a birth under “twilight” sleep were coerced into signing papers terminating their parental rights. That was a tactic employed by Georgia Tann during her baby stealing days up until her death in September of 1950. Those who wanted to keep their babies were threatened with financial penalties, since many homes only covered the cost of prenatal care and room and board if the child was surrendered. Some women who refused to give up their babies were committed to mental institutions.
The promise that birth mothers would surrender their babies and “move on” turned out to be a lie. They did not go back to normal; they did not forget. Many were haunted for the rest of their lives by the uncertainty of their child’s fate and were prevented by strict adoption statutes from acquiring any information that might ease their minds. My maternal grandmother, exploited by Georgia Tann, reverted from her married name of Elizabeth to Lizzie Lou, the name on my mom’s original birth certificate, and even has that name put on her grave stone, when she died many years later. She never had another baby after my mom.
Unplanned pregnancies create a complex constellation of decisions that resist a tidy narrative. Sometimes they are the result of love, sometimes casual sex and sometimes rape. That was true in 1945, in 1965, and it’s true today. Given a different set of circumstances—access to legal abortion and open, non-coercive adoptions—the women caught up in the Baby Scoop era might have chosen to terminate their pregnancies, carry their pregnancies to term and make a plan for adoption, or keep and raise their children, and they would have made these decisions for all kinds of individual and personal reasons. In that more humane version of midcentury America, the decisions would have been theirs alone.
Women with unwanted pregnancies are no longer physically warehoused, but many of them are still trapped by what happens when they lose the freedom to choose whether or not to give birth. The overturning of Roe v Wade, and the rush in almost half these United States to totally ban any access to abortion regardless of the circumstances that caused the pregnancy, now guarantee that more women will face the same formidable future that women were facing back in the Baby Scoop Era.
I got seriously triggered with my husband yesterday. I need to work through my thoughts and I’m sure this is going to prove a lengthy process of contemplation.
Some background –
Both of my parents were given up for adoption in the 1930s. Their circumstances were somewhat different and somewhat similar. My mom’s genetic biological parents were married but at 4 mos pregnant after 4 mos of marriage for reasons I’ll never really have reliable answers to (but a few theories given what I have learned), her husband left her. He didn’t divorce her for 3 years, so there is that as well. With no husband in sight, she was sent to Virginia from Memphis TN to give birth and I would assume expected to leave the baby there but she did not. Instead, after her return to Memphis with my infant mom in tow, she became a victim of Georgia Tann.
My dad’s mom was unwed. She had an affair with a much older married man. Then, she went to a Salvation Army home for unwed mothers to give birth. After about 2 or 3 months, she was released with my dad still in her custody. It appears my dad’s father never even knew he existed. When my grandmother found no support for her and the baby with her cousin, she returned to the Salvation Army seeking employment and was transferred with my dad still in tow to one of their homes in El Paso Texas.
My mom’s adoptive parents relocated to El Paso Texas and in high school, my adoptee mom met my adoptee dad. Probably during the summer after my dad’s graduation from high school before entering a university my parents had sex and my teenage mom discovered by Autumn that she was pregnant. My dad’s adoptive parents supported him marrying her and quitting his hopes of a university degree to go to work and support his new family. I’m pretty certain my mom’s adoptive parents, had they had a chance, would have sent her off to have and give me up. Thankfully that didn’t happen to me.
So the truth I cannot deny is that had my parents NOT been adopted and had they both not ended up in El Paso TX and attended the same high school where they met at a party through mutual friends, I would not exist at all. I owe my very existence in this life to ~gasp~ adoption. I think I once described this situation as imperfectly perfect.
Until about 5 years ago, when I was able to uncover the identities of all 4 of my original grandparents (something that both of my parents died still not knowing), I thought adoption was the most natural thing in the world and that my parents were orphans. I had no idea there were people I was actually genetically biologically related to living out lives as unaware of me as I was of them. I knew nothing about the mental and emotional impacts of the trauma of my parents being separated from their mothers may have caused. I’ve learned a LOT about that since then – as this blog very frequently shares. To be honest, I now would prefer to see vulnerable women supported, so that they could raise their own babies.
So what is my conflict of interest ? My husband’s desire that my writing add some revenue to our family. Of course, I would love for that to happen as well. I have developed a negative attitude toward Christian Evangelical saviorism as it applies to adoption. My husband wants me to make my next book oriented towards Evangelical Christians (I have just finish a revision of my parents’ adoption stories for the 3rd time and will go about trying to obtain a literary agent for that work).
What !?! I accused him of asking me to betray my values for monetary reasons. He spoke of “witnessing.” That stayed with me all afternoon. I reflected on the kind of people my adoptive grandparents were. 3 of the 4 were religious. My dad’s were fundamentalist in the extreme. When one church wasn’t as strictly interpreted per the bible as they wanted, they changed churches to a stricter one. My mom’s adoptive father has been described as morally ethical but not religious. I see that same characteristic in my husband. My mom’s mother however had a surprisingly enlightened spirituality – especially when I consider what I have heard of her own very bible religious mother (to the extent of neglecting home and family). This grandmother’s spirituality was not far different than my own (which was what surprised me when I discovered it). My husband has a negative perspective on religion in general and believes vulnerable people are exploited by it. So I could not believe that HE would suggest such a thing to me. He admits that he is a bit like Mr Krabs in the SpongeBob episodes – all about the money (only really he is incredibly down to Earth, he just worries about supporting this family as he ages).
Yet, aside from the last 5 years of having it banged into my consciousness through my favorite adoption triad group, where the voices of adult adoptees are given preference and describe all that is wrong with adoption and foster care in general, what is it that I actually know from my own experience ?
My parents each felt differently about their adoptions. My dad never spoke to me of his but cautioned my mom against her efforts at locating her birth mother – who had already died by the time she was actively seeking that. One of the last things she wrote to me before she died was an explanation regarding why she couldn’t complete a family tree at Ancestry.com – “it just wasn’t real, because I was adopted but I’m glad I was.” Though I cannot say that she truly was “glad.” She didn’t know any other life.
Both of my sisters gave up a child to adoption. I cannot honestly say that my niece or my nephew would have been better off being raised by my sisters. They are good solid people – both of them – now married in their own adulthoods.
So the question is – can I find a way to target a Christian Evangelical audience, who is going to adopt anyway – regardless of how much I might preach to them about all of the impacts of trauma in this child they desperately want for whatever reason (I do believe there is a bit of missionary purpose in those desires) – and gently prepare them for reality and hope this brings about better outcomes for the adoptee ? Honor fully my evolved values in the effort ?
I did think this – immediately. That banning abortion is meant to increase the number of babies available for adoption. Actually, I’ve thought this for some years as I have learned more about the traumatic impacts of separating children from their biological parents and have generally turned against the practice, even though but for adoption, I would not exist.
When I was doing my own family roots journey, I contacted the Salvation Army in El Paso TX because I knew my dad had been adopted from there. They told me that they closed their home for unwed mothers after Roe v Wade because they had no clients to serve. Very revealing. Three out of nine justices on the Supreme Court have adopted children. Adoptive parents are very influential when it comes to laws related to adoption as they are the ones who have the money. They are the ones who wish to keep an adopted person’s information away from them and hidden away in a sealed file.
An adoptee friend of mine who didn’t even know she was adopted into well into her adulthood as that had been hidden from her, a family secret, wrote – “Domestic supply of infants?” I guess they want to restart the supply chain, no matter how wrong that may be, how harmful to parents, family, the person who ends up being funneled into the system. She added –
Note there are no safeguards being proposed for the people who will be forced into that system. No additional funds for sex Ed, contraception. No requirements for men to take greater responsibility, no requirements for prospective adoptive parents to undergo evaluations, education and ongoing therapy. No after adoption services. No additional services for people forced to give birth. No aftercare services for people who lose their children to adoption. No acknowledgment of the fact that the majority of states will be erasing the children’s identities and severing them from family and community. No. Just an acknowledgment that there isn’t enough supply to meet demand.
Missing Mom 