From her own website LINK>The Adopted Life – “Your parents are so amazing for adopting you. You should be grateful!”
Angela Tucker is a Black woman, adopted from foster care by white parents. She has heard this microaggression her entire life, usually from well-intentioned strangers who view her adoptive parents as noble saviors. She is grateful for many aspects of her life, but being transracially adopted involves layers of rejection, loss and complexity that cannot be summed up so easily. Tucker centers the experiences of adoptees through sharing deeply personal stories, well-researched history and engrossing anecdotes from mentorship sessions with adopted youth. These perspectives challenge the fairy-tale narrative of adoption giving way to a fuller story that includes the impacts of racism, classism, family, love and belonging.
The search for her biological family was documented in the 2013 film “Closure.”
From the LINK>Seattle Times – Her new book from Beacon Press, “You Should Be Grateful: Stories of Race, Identity, and Transracial Adoption,” explores Tucker’s life experience, her work with transracial adopted youth and the history of adoption in America. It’s both a powerful manifesto and a hopeful text that calls for reshaping how we talk and think about adoption.
The book uses terms from John Koenig’s “The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows.” Angela uses terms like “ghost kingdom” and “postnatal culture shock.” Angela says, “in the same way John Koenig feels there aren’t enough words to adequately describe all of our emotions, I feel that way about transracial adoption. We’re kind of boxed into things like, for kids, you’re an Oreo: Black on the outside, white on the inside. That morphs in adulthood, and what I hear adoptees I mentor talk about is [being a] racial imposter. I think it’s important we find new words that can articulate the complexity of our layers and also honor the truth of it.”
“It’s a beautiful thing to grow up having parents who understand at the root that an adoption is a sad thing, that we wish an adoption didn’t have to happen. I had parents who acknowledged that pain for all of us. I know so many adoptees for whom that part is not allowed any space. Even for those adopted for reasons that are legitimate, there’s still a loss. And bypassing that and going straight to, ‘You’re here now, look at this great life,’ many adoptees now can articulate it feeling like gaslighting. ‘Maybe I am crazy to wish for and to long for being connected to my kin. I have my own room, I have three square meals a day, I get to do all these extracurriculars. I must be crazy for not being more thankful for it.’ That gaslighting is, in this sense, synonymous with confusion.”
We watched The Woman King last night. Afterwards, my husband said, there’s your mom’s blog for tomorrow and I thought, yes, it fits and is appropriate. Nawi was conceived in rape. When her mother, Nanisca, escapes she finds herself with child. However, due to her life’s career as an Agojie warrior, she cannot raise her baby. In deep grief for having to let her go, she cuts her babies arm to insert a keepsake into it, a shark’s tooth, with no real intended outcome except to “mark” her baby in some manner.
The child is given to missionaries to raise but is adopted out. Her adoptive father attempts to sell her to an older man as one of his wives but the girl rejects him because in their initial meeting, he is already beating her. So her father takes her to the king’s palace to leave her for whatever his use of her will be. She also becomes a Agojie warrior. Eventually, her mother realizes, almost to her horror, that this is her own daughter returned to her. After a rocky reunion, the two women reunite as mother and daughter. The movie is a strong statement about the bonds of fierce sisterhood and female empowerment.
Maria Bello conceived the movie after visiting Benin. It was inspired by the true story of the West African kingdom of Dahomey during the 17th to 19th centuries. The Smithsonian magazine has an article on LINK>The Real Warriors Behind ‘The Woman King’ and an image of them. The Agojie became known to Europeans, who called them Amazons, seeing in them similarities to the warrior women of Greek mythology. The Woman King is therefore based on a true story but with extensive dramatic license. Though the broad strokes of the film are historically accurate, the majority of its characters are fictional. Nanisca and Nawi share names with documented members of the Agojie but are not exact mirrors of these women. King Ghezo reigned 1818 to 1858 and his son Glele reigned from 1858 to 1889. Together they presided over what’s seen as the golden age of Dahomean history. An era of economic prosperity and political strength.
The real Ghezo did successfully free Dahomey from its tributary status in 1823. But the kingdom’s involvement in the slave trade does not end (as it does in the movie) according the historical record. Dahomey was a key player in the trafficking of West Africans between the 1680s and early 1700s by selling their captives to European traders. The presence of Europeans and their demand for slaves was also one of the reasons for the monumental scale of Dahomey’s warfare.
In truth, Ghezo only agreed to end Dahomey’s participation in the slave trade in 1852, after years of pressure by the British government, which had abolished slavery (for not wholly altruistic reasons) in its own colonies in 1833. Though Ghezo did at one point explore palm oil production as an alternative source of revenue, it proved far less lucrative, and the king soon resumed Dahomey’s participation in the slave trade.
Portraying the Agojie, through Nanisca’s actions, as critics of the slave trade makes for a nice story. It probably is not historically accurate. Though these women were symbols of strength and power. They were complicit in a problematic system. They were under the patriarchy of the king and therefore participants in the slave trade. We also recently watched Black Panther, the all-woman Dora Milaje regiment is based on the Dahomey warriors.
The first recorded mention of the Agojie dates to 1729. The unit was possibly formed earlier, toward the beginning of Dahomey’s existence at the time of King Huegbadja who reigned from 1645 to 1685. He created a corps of woman elephant hunters. Queen Hangbe ruled briefly as regent following the death of her brother in the early 18th century. Some believe she may have introduced the women warriors as part of her palace guard. The Agojie reached their peak in the 19th century under Ghezo. Due to the kingdom’s ongoing wars, Dahomey’s male population had dropped significantly. This created an opportunity for women to replace men on the battlefield. The Agojie included volunteers and forced conscripts. Regiments were recruited from slaves, some of them captured as early as 10 years old. They also included the poor and girls who were rebellious like Nawi.
All of Dahomey’s women warriors lived in the royal palace alongside the king and his other wives, inhabiting a largely woman-dominated space. Aside from eunuchs and the king himself, no men were allowed in the palace after sunset. The Agojie they were restricted from having sex with men. To become an Agojie, recruits underwent intensive training, including exercises designed to harden them to bloodshed. In 1889, a French naval officer, Jean Bayol, witnessed Nanisca while still a teenager undergo a test (her person inspired the general in The Woman King). She had not yet killed anyone but easily passed the test by walking up to a condemned prisoner, swinging her sword three times with both hands. Then she calmly cut the last flesh that attached the head to the trunk and squeezed the blood off her weapon to swallow it.
Dahomey’s women warriors upset the French men’s understanding of gender roles and what women were supposed to do in a civilized society. The women’s flaunting of ferocity, physical power and fearlessness was manipulated or corrupted as Europeans started to interpret it for their own goals. The existence of the Agojie were simply more reasons for the French to conduct their civilizing mission, seeking to impose European ideals on African countries.
After facing defeat at the Battle of Atchoupa on April 20 1890, Dahomey agreed to a peace treaty assenting to French control but the peace lasted less than two years. Over the course of seven weeks in fall 1892, Dahomey’s army fought valiantly to repel the French. The Agojie participated in 23 separate engagements during that short time span, earning the enemy’s respect for their valor and dedication to the cause. One battle brought a moment of clarity for Dahomey’s king. He now realized the inevitability of their kingdom’s destruction. The last day of fighting was one of the most murderous of the entire war, beginning with the dramatic entrance of the last Amazons as well as the elephant hunters whose special assignment was to direct their fire at the officers. The French seized the Dahomey capital of Abomey on November 17 1892. After the war, some of the surviving Agojie followed their king, Béhanzin, into exile in Martinique.
French colonization proved detrimental to women’s rights in Dahomey. The colonizers barred women from political leadership and educational opportunities. Nawi, the last known surviving Agojie with battlefield experience, died in 1979 at an age well over 100 years old.
Sharing some thoughts from an article in The Guardian – LINK>Not being able to have a baby was devastating – then I found people who embraced a childfree life by Helen Pidd. Adoptees in my all things adoption community often suggest that couples struggling with infertility accept remaining childless rather than adopting someone else’s baby and inflicting trauma on that child.
The author writes that her three rounds of IVF produced 24 eggs and six decent embryos, none of which resulted in a baby. Therefore, they decided to stop trying. Not everyone seemed to respect their decision. Imagining they were being helpful, they would share stories about their friends who had succeeded on the seventh try or had gone down the egg-donation route.
She tells the story of Mia and Laura, who are married but had decided early on not to have children – they just didn’t feel that children were the key to a meaningful and worthwhile existence and didn’t fancy the day-to-day drudgery of parenting. There’s a freedom that comes from opting out of motherhood before you hit your 30s. She notes – “Having children is a good way of not having to think about what you really want from your life. Without children, you are responsible for your own destiny.”
She describes why she started to seek out others without children. For one, she preferred the optimism of the childfree-by-choice community over the grief of those suffering from their infertility. Sometimes, there is a distinction defined, between the childfree and people coping with infertility, referring to them to as “childless”. Adding “less” to most words makes them negative: hopeless, meaningless, useless. She came to understand that she personally preferred “childfree”, because she did not want to be defined by what she didn’t have.
There is actually a community for such people – LINK>”We Are Childfree.” They are a community-supported storytelling project that celebrates childfree people, explores their experiences, and dispels the myths the world holds about childfree people. They offer a global community for anyone embracing a childfree life, whether by choice, by circumstance, or for those who are just curious. Through their efforts, they are committed to fighting stereotypes and strict gender roles; creating a world in which everyone enjoys equality, bodily autonomy, and is empowered to make their own choices, to live authentically. We Are Childfree began in 2017 as a photographic project to celebrate women who had chosen not to be mothers.
It is really medicine for the soul to know it’s OK. To accept that one’s life is supposed to go this different way. They celebrate with the first names of four childfree legends: “Jen & Betty & Dolly & Oprah” – Jennifer Aniston, Betty White, Dolly Parton and Oprah Winfrey. It is true that only those who have tried IVF and still failed to have children can honestly understand how those who have feel or think.
Even so, all the evidence suggests that as women become better educated and financially independent, they choose to have fewer children. What feels new is that women are now talking about this decision and refusing to apologize or be pitied for it. One comedian famously is very deliberate. Chelsea Handler rejects the idea that if you don’t have children you have to use all of your extra free time productively.
Ruby Warrington, author of Women Without Kids, wonders, “What if more women having more time, energy and other resources at our disposal means more women leaders in business, politics, and the arts?” It could potentially lead to a more restorative, collaborative way of running the world. On this Earth Day, 2023, it is worth considering.
Ok, sometime platitudes simply don’t cut it. Some people have such enormous challenges that life is going to be ongoingly difficult.
Here’s one example –
4 mos pregnant with her 4th child in Texas. Birth control failure. Homeless. Two of the other three kids are autistic. Husband is a disabled vet and is autistic as well. The VA trying to get them into a housing program. No familial support. Employment challenges, childcare issues. She has depression, anxiety, and OCD. “I feel stupid and lost and hopeless. I feel like the only solution is giving this baby up for adoption and that makes me feel ashamed.”
So, here is the impossible choice – abort or parent. She already understands adoption is trauma. Her question – is staying with parents so ill equipped to handle another child just trauma too? The thought of raising another child fills her with dread. She doesn’t know how she can handle it. She has no clue how they’ll do it, where they will be living, where she’ll give birth, etc. So many unknowns make her constantly feel on edge and like panicking.
Then came lots of suggestions and even some offers to help in some way or other but maybe the most important was this affirmation and encouragement –
Ok first off, take some deep breaths.
Let’s address some issues with how you are feeling first, then we can go into options and resources.
This is the most important part.
You are not dumb.
You are not useless.
You are not a hopeless case.
You are not a failure.
You are not a bad parent.
You have nothing to be ashamed of.
You are not any of those things that negative, evil voice in the back of your head is telling you.
You are not any of those things others in society may tell you.
I know that voice and those people all too well myself. They are all liars.
Now let’s talk about what you ARE and why.
You are strong.
It takes strength to make the hard decisions. To put the needs of your kids above your own and that’s what you have been doing. You could have bailed on your kids anytime. But you haven’t. You are pushing through.
You are worthy.
You are so worthy of love, compassion and empathy for zero reason other than you being you.
You are smart.
You are taking time to really evaluate a situation and try to make the best decision. You are reaching out for help, and that’s wisdom.
You are not a failure or hopeless.
You are not either of those things because you aren’t giving up. You are trying. As long as you are trying, you are never a failure.
Now to your issue.
Take your husband out of the equation. Do you want to have this baby? If you do, I assure you resources can be found to help you parent.
If you want an abortion, I assure you, safe access can be found for you.
But the alternative to abortion isn’t adoption. The alternative to abortion is parenting.
I think you should stop and think through if you want to continue this pregnancy or not. Its your decision, period.
Either way, there are people who will support you and I’ve seen miracles in this regard – either to help someone parent, or to get whatever help or access is needed.
Life simply wants us to never give up – take the next logical step and know the temporary nature of many challenges we each inevitably face.
I named this blog Missing Mom because the mothers of each of my parents were “missing.” Both of my parents were adoptees. Now that I know something about their original mothers, I know that they would have rather raised their firstborn children had circumstances been supportive of them. I have great empathy for that because I had similar financial obstacles to raising my daughter and instead after the age of 3, she was raised by her father and step-mother. These things do pass down family lines. I’ve seen the truth of that in my own family.
However, my mom managed to remain in my life and it is the minor miracle of my life that I was not surrendered to adoption as well. She was an unwed teenage mother but managed to be married by the day I was born. I have fond memories of my mom on Sunday mornings. She was devotedly religious all of her life. My dad never went to church with us – the valid excuse was because he worked shifts, sometimes two shifts in a row in a refinery. He also was raised in the Church of Christ by his adoptive parents. My parents married in that church, I’m certain his parents insisted on that.
Sometimes on Sundays, if we had spent the weekend with my dad’s adoptive parents, they would bring us home and my dad’s adoptive mother, who we called Granny, would have contentious kitchen table discussions about religion with my mom. My mom raised us in the Episcopal church she had been raised in. Every Sunday, we got dressed up in our finest and went to church with her. After we (as their children) had left our family home and gone our separate ways, my dad started going to church with my mom to “keep her company.” Eventually, I believe he was as truly Episcopalian as anyone not born into it could be and I went to church with him a few times after my mom died.
Mothers are simply on my mind this morning. I read recently that there are two kinds of people in this world – women and the children of women. Every human being was born of a woman (until someone starts cloning us). My apologies to the UK for missing their own holiday by one week. I had seen it on our calendar but this morning it was on my mind. I listen to music by Tim Janis on youtube while doing my blood pressure checks. He has some offerings that include hymns. I started thinking I could acknowledge Sundays by choosing one of those with hymns (lyrics are not included but the tunes are very familiar to me having been raised with them) once a week. At the wedding rehearsal dinner for me and my husband, my mom is caught on video expressing her love of religious music – specifically Amazing Grace. It is an amazing grace I wasn’t adopted as well.
For whatever reason, this song seemed appropriate . . .
I learned about my mother’s death on a Sunday morning. She was a composer and a musician. She had intended to play one of her compositions in church that morning, of course, it didn’t happen. She was gone, never to be seen by me again in this life. No wonder she would be on my mind today.
I chose this photo because my cousin told me her mother (the half-sibling closest in age to my mom) had picked cotton to earn money for school clothes. A friend was sharing a sad story of his childhood with me. He told me that his mother had been overwhelmed and so he had been farmed out to relatives. That reminded me that my mom’s half-siblings (the children of her father’s left after their mother died) had been farmed out to relatives as well. The two boys were actually put on farms. My cousin’s mother was sent to wealthy relatives who bought things for her she never had before or after. Another sister was working and had an apartment in a nearby town, if memory serves me accurately.
I can’t help but believe when children are sent away from the family of their birth, there follows some sense of abandonment. My friend did not have a happy experience when he was in his childhood family home. Maybe it was the times. People were not quite as gentle when punishing their children as they have become in modern times. Since my friend also brought up that much later his family took in foster kids, he shared that he was able to see a broad diversity of outcomes. From a very young baby who quickly went back to its mother to a teenager. He notes that teenagers seldom find parents because people want very young children. He mentioned that he came to know many foster kids from visiting a group home and that boys and girls react differently to those circumstances. He also felt that the foster scene is not good for any of them. From what little I know – and none of it from direct experience – I would still agree.
I brought up feelings of abandonment with him and he said that he was not sure if he felt unwanted back then, more like unwelcomed. I’m not certain there is much difference.
In looking for an image, I found one that linked back to a JSTOR article – LINK>When Foster Care Meant Farm Labor. The subtitle read “Before current foster care programs were in place, Americans depended on farmers to take care of kids in exchange for hard labor.” Really, back in the day, it was normal for children to be expected to work hard for their family. Modern foster families get a small payment to offset the cost of caring for children. The article notes that has been a central part of child welfare programs for the past century.
Back in the day, authorities viewed the farm placements as a win for everyone involved. Farmers got affordable labor. Governments and philanthropic organizations were relieved of the expense of running orphanages. And children got the chance to learn valuable work skills while living in a rural setting, widely seen as the ideal place for an American upbringing. Even though the children worked hard on the farms, that was no different from what farmers expected of their own kids. But sadly as well, some farmers exploited the child laborers, beating them, denying them schooling or medical care, and sometimes overworking them for a season before sending them back to an institution.
The Simpsons had a similar episode that my family re-watched recently. It is from Season 1 Episode 11 and is titled “The Crepes of Wrath.” Maybe there is no actual point to today’s blog and maybe it is that progress continues to occur. Maybe it is just the meandering rambles of my mind this afternoon.
Expectations. When couples adopt, they have certain expectations of the child. They expect the child to be something that maybe the child is not. It is way too common. Today I read – “Anyone just want to look at their adoptive mom as scream I love you but I’m not your daughter!!” This really touched a nerve as it brought over 100 comments. I’ll share only a few.
The very first comment came from an adoptive mother (no surprise). I would ask myself whether she did any of the things mentioned below… If so, she’s taken on the role of mother and you’ve taken on the role of her daughter.
1. bring up (a child) with care and affection.
2. look after (someone) kindly and protectively, sometimes excessively so.
You mentioned above that you love her and I’m sure you also appreciate her. But what does her not being your birth/first mother have to do with the situation? Is she trying to help you in a difficult situation and you don’t want her help? Is she being nosey into an area that you prefer she stay out of??? I’d say that’s how most moms are. And it’s because they care.
Another adoptive mother responded to the above – I’m horrified that you would invalidate this adoptee’s feelings. It is not her job to make her adoptive mother feel like a mother.
And yet another adoptive mother said – Your comment was tone-deaf and demeaning. It’s unsurprising yet somehow still bizarre that you would try to introduce the perspective of an adoptive parent over the voice of an actual adoptee. It feels like projection and it’s so yuck.
Finally, an adoptee responds – your comment just made me feel gross and burdened just like everyone else does. It’s always about how it’s my job to be gentle on my adoptive mom and all adoptive mother’s feelings. It’s my job to make her feel better about not being my mother. All at the expense of my own feelings. You basically said Oh hush now you mean ol’ adoptee…don’t ever hurt your adoptive mother, she is fearful and she just loves you and cares about losing you. That is why you should never say how you feel as an adoptee. The cardinal rule in my life as an adoptee has been that my (or any) adoptive mothers feelings matter more than mine. Adoptive mothers are the victims and it’s my job to worship them and never ever hurt their feelings by saying being adopted hurts. I feel this damaging belief is what keeps adoptees in the fog and from getting the support they need.
Another adoptee shares her experience – My adoptive dad acted like I was committing a crime against my adoptive mom when I found and initiated a relationship with my birth mother. I was over 30 years old. They’d never offered to help me find or contact her. I did it myself and he spoke to me as if I were a naughty child disregarding her feelings.
From the original commenter – this is not just “I’m upset with her”. I also don’t need advice on what to do. She is NOT my. Mother period. I didn’t choose to be adopted. I will not be gentle. I’m tired of having to cater to others over something I had no choice in. I will not be quiet.
This morning I was reminded of this song by Karen Drucker which I have always loved.
My adoptive mom would always have me getting diagnosed with nearly everything in the DSM growing up all the time. I’ve since come to the conclusion there is no such thing as normal. The point is, my voice was never heard as a child and I was on a million different meds and diagnosed with a million different things. I wasn’t ever diagnosed with autism specifically, but my adoptive mom suggested it many times to my doctors, as she did everything else because something clearly must be “wrong” with me (yeah normal adoption trauma, but we can’t talk about Bruno).
All I’m saying is be careful how you paint that picture. I was always pissed that my adoptive mom kept saying there was something wrong with me. All I ever wanted was to be normal. As I’ve grown older, I definitely notice I’m more intelligent than a lot of people and I’m quirky, sure. But to be diagnosed with ADD, bipolar, depression, BPD, and everything else? If I can get diagnosed with 15 things and no doctors can agree what is “wrong” with me, then isn’t it all just BS anyway?
(blogger’s comment) I loved my mom dearly (she in now deceased). My dad said she was a hypochondriac. She also did tend to think things were wrong with us too. Each of us as her daughters had experiences directly caused by that. All I can say is I’m glad we survived them. There may be some truth that much of it had to do with her being adopted (that pesky primal wound), though I can’t know that for certain.
Learn to live with how you are. Give your child the tools to do that. That’s it. That’s life. I think very few people truly require medication. Everything else is just learning who you are and having the coping skills to handle it.
The responses shared above (except my own blogger’s comments) were offered due to a post about a “child diagnosed as autistic at the age of 2, who has made huge strides (cognitively, developmentally, emotionally, socially, etc), however does not know/understand her autism diagnosis.”
(another blogger’s comment) Though it may be that all of the males in my family are somewhat Asperger’s, we never wanted them to be permanently labeled with a diagnosis. The closest we came was having the boys professionally evaluated after being homeschooled for many years, to make certain we had not failed to give them a good foundation (we had not failed). The psychologist said, I wish more parents with children like yours had your attitude about it. We have encouraged their interests, given them support regarding those but allowed them to create their own paths. Now at 18 and almost 22, they are awesome human beings with definite strengths and a strong sense of their individual character. We have no regrets about the choices we made during their childhoods.
An adoption community friend mentioned that this was a song that always made her cry. I had not heard it before. I’m pretty certain a song by REM was part of my wedding back in 1988 (not this song, of course). I suspect many of the people who read this blog do feel sad, cry, have deep soul hurt, at least sometimes. So I’m making this my Saturday morning blog, just because.
We just spent 3 days without full power (though we do have a gas powered generator, it is NOT enough to power our furnace – we used a space heater and sleeping bags at night). The noise and sustained cold (though the lowest household temperature was 63, the cold seeped into everything in the house) shattered my nerves and happily took 3 lbs off me due to shivering. There was a moment on Thursday when everything was just so wrong but I had to go on. I know we were fortunate to have that much normalcy, yet – it was anything but normal. Our power was restored at 11:35am on Friday. I have even more compassion and empathy for the people of Ukraine today who do not even have what we had and have terror piled on top of the suffering, never knowing when the next missile will strike where they are.
~ lyrics
When your day is long And the night, the night is yours alone When you’re sure you’ve had enough Of this life, well hang on
Don’t let yourself go ‘Cause everybody cries Everybody hurts sometimes
Sometimes everything is wrong Now it’s time to sing along
When your day is night alone (hold on, hold on) If you feel like letting go (hold on) If you think you’ve had too much Of this life, well hang on
‘Cause everybody hurts Take comfort in your friends Everybody hurts
Don’t throw your hand, oh no Don’t throw your hand If you feel like you’re alone No, no, no, you are not alone
If you’re on your own in this life The days and nights are long When you think you’ve had too much Of this life to hang on
Well, everybody hurts sometimes Everybody cries Everybody hurts, sometimes
And everybody hurts sometimes So hold on, hold on Hold on, hold on, hold on Hold on, hold on, hold on
While David Crosby was preparing for his liver transplant in the ’90s, he discovered that the child he had given up for adoption in 1962 had been searching for him. Crosby finally reunited with his long-lost son, James Raymond, and as fate would have it, he’s also a musician. Raymond is a successful keyboardist and composer.
Crosby was in his early 20s when Raymond’s mother became pregnant. “She gave him up for adoption and didn’t tell me he existed,” he says. Raymond was born when his father was young. Crosby declines to identify the mother with whom he had a fleeting relationship, but he admits they put their son up for adoption immediately. Crosby never forgot the son he gave up.
When Raymond and his partner were about to have their first child, his adoptive parents suggested he might want to track down his biological parents. “So he went to check and he sees my name there and he thinks: ‘Nah, couldn’t be.’ So he checks first names and middle names [Van Cortlandt] and realizes, yeah, it is me. He’d already been a musician for 20 years when we met up – “so anybody who tells you it’s not genetic, you tell them come talk to me.”
As his health deteriorated while he waited for a new liver, David Crosby’s thoughts drifted to the boy. “I was in the hospital dying, and I knew that I had a son out there someplace,” Crosby told The Baltimore Sun. “I had been beating myself up for years about not being there for this kid.” Crosby says, such reunions end up in animosity. “But James did a wonderful thing, man. He gave me a chance to earn my way into his life.” How did he do that? “By making music with him.”
Raymond had already made a name for himself in music, having pursued classical and then jazz from a young age. He was the musical director for a successful Nickelodeon series and a sideman for acts including Chaka Khan. From an early age, Raymond knew he was adopted, but he didn’t seek out his birth father until he was living on his own. Discovering his dad was David Crosby came as a shock.
The father-son duo got along well from the start. “He was this nice, decent young guy, and we became friends immediately,” Crosby said. “We write spectacularly well together.” He says the final song on the album, For Free is Crosby’s favorite. It is I Won’t Stay For Long, which was written by Raymond. The album came out July 23, 2021 and was also produced by Raymond. Crosby says, “Imagine how I feel about my son being that good a writer. I wear it like a garland of flowers on my head. It’s just fucking wonderful.” They began playing music together and soon they formed the jazz-rock band CPR (Crosby, Pevar & Raymond). By January 1997, CPR was touring and performing.
On his website, Raymond talks about his work on the album – “Lyrically, where I started was this visual of agricultural workers in the Central Valley of California, truck drivers, laborers starting their workday early in the cold of morning … knowing that it would get hot as hell as the day wore on,” Raymond said. “I wanted to speak of their resiliency and spirit and that of so many other working folks across the USA.” Crosby added his storytelling and voice, and the results are an iconic father-son collaboration.
James John Raymond is a musician, songwriter, producer and film composer living and working in Santa Fe, New Mexico. I discovered on his website LINK>James Raymond that the composer contributed some additional music to one of my all time favorite movies – 2007’s August Rush. If you want to know more about him and his craft here is a somewhat technical explanatory YouTube.
I can’t help but think of my youngest, musical genius, son. This is the kind of YouTube, my son might make someday regarding his own compositions. My son does things like this YouTube with his Geometry Dash gameplay. He frequently composes music on his computer and posts it online, as well as playing it for us – his family.
Missing Mom 