I am an adoptee. I believe I have the right to my original birth certificate that has been denied to me by the state of New Jersey. That being said, I need to point out that I am not an angry adoptee. Yes, I did have a love/hate relationship with my mom. Notice, I said “my mom.” I didn’t say, “My adoptive mother.” My mom was my real mother, whether she gave birth to me or not. Giving birth doesn’t make a person a mother. What makes a mother is someone who feeds you, takes you to the doctor when you are sick, cares for you, makes you study, scolds you when she feels it’s necessary, or just when she loses her temper as we all do. A mom does your laundry, cooks chicken soup and cries at your wedding.
My mom was not perfect. She had a bad temper. And she made me practice the piano far too many hours for someone who obviously did not have enough talent to become a professional pianist. Maybe she had more confidence in me than I had in myself.
My mom was a great cook. I did not inherit my mom’s metabolism, or thick curly hair. I did not inherit my mom’s artistic abilities. But when my children beg for more of my chocolate cake, I tell them their grandma taught me how to bake.
By accident, I joined a Facebook page for people who are against adoption. People who hate their adoptive parents. Every time I logged on to the site, I read about adoptees who hated their a-mom. Despised their a-dad. They spent countless hours waiting to meet their bio-mom or dad. They fantasized about the woman who gave them life, then let them go. They put these people on a pedestal, assuming that they have spent countless years praying for the day when they would be reunited with the child they had to give up.
There are far too many women who were forced, or coerced, to relinquish their babies. This is one of the worst tragedies ever. How dare someone, a stranger, a relative, tell any woman or young girl that it would be better for another family to raise their child? How could anyone say that getting a college degree is more important than keeping your baby? Your flesh and blood? After she gets the degree, she could spend the rest of her life analyzing how she sold her soul, her child, for a piece of paper. A piece of paper that could have been postponed.
Shame on all the “grandparents” who refuse to help their daughters, those who didn’t plan on getting pregnant, raise their child and instead, force them to relinquish a part of them. A part of their family.
A greater shame on any politician who even dares an opinion on a subject that is non-of -their business.
Yes, I believe that adoption should be the last choice. The first choice would be for the birthmom to stay with the child.
That being said — I need to point out that the birthmother does not always want to meet the child they gave away. Yes, that may be hard to swallow. But for many, and I have read countless stories of heartbroken adoptees praying for the love of their birthmoms, who have experienced great disappointment. Many birthmoms, unfortunately, have moved on. Many have a new life. A new family. They don’t want to meet the child they relinquished for adoption. Or perhaps, they just want to know they made the right decision. They want to meet, but not have a relationship. Many adoptees have trouble accepting this.
For those who dislike their adoptive moms, I want them to know there are, I’m sure, just as many people who hate their bio parents. As I said before, giving birth doesn’t make one a parent. Pick up any newspaper, go online any day, and you’ll find stories about birth parents, natural parents, beating their children, locking them up, starving them, tossing them out on the street, or allowing a “boyfriend” to have his way with them.
Giving birth has nothing to do with parenting. Adopting has nothing to do with parenting. Parenting with love is all that matters. We need to do away with the labels. A mom is a mom. A dad is a dad. The only thing that matters is love. And remember — ultimately, we make our own families. We choose who we love. We need to love ourselves. We need to let others be human.
Joan's Journal 