This Is Not A Legal Record

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On Narrating What Happened

It’s a familiar plot conceit: They’ve taken you from your family, your town, possibly even your country. They’ve given you a new life. They’ve erased or sunk in a bureaucrat’s file your former identity, and issued you a new one. There are twists on the conceit:

  • You know they did this, and you know or remember something about your former life, and you had consented to it.

  • You know they did this, but you don’t remember your former life, although you had consented.

  • You don’t remember even that they did this, although you had consented.

This is the stuff of thrillers and spy novels. And then there are the versions where these things happened and you do or don’t remember that they did, except you did not consent. You are an unwilling pawn in someone else’s scheme. That’s the stuff of dystopian novels. And of adoption.

Non-adoptees tend to react in a curious way when an adoptee narrates a life story that involves, if only implicitly, erasing and replacing their original identity: with indifference. Erasure doesn’t generally appear to strike kept people as a loss, a calamity, at all. Separation is another thing: kept people understand that one generally relinquishes a child only in circumstances of crisis. The typical response to separation—the social counterpart to the legal fact of severance—is to find a silver lining: to say that it was “brave” or “deeply loving” or, incredibly, “unselfish” (!) for a parent to give their own child to another family—part of the idea of the adoptee as “blessed.”

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April 20, 2022
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Fourteen Propositions About Adoption

These propositions are grounded in reflection on my experience as someone who was relinquished in a closed, same-race, same-religion domestic adoption in the United States. These propositions suggest, support, and clarify each other. I note many such connections in parentheses. I offer the propositions as empowerment to adoptees, and as advice, corrections, and warnings to kept people.

1. Adoptive parents raise other people’s children.

To be an adoptive parent is to raise, and to have the legal rights of parenthood over, someone else’s child. It might seem odd, or even counterintuitive, to put the point so starkly, but it is a simple statement of fact. The key to understanding it is to remember that an adoptee has a pre-adoption history: a life, however brief, before someone other than the adoptee’s biological parents acquired legal parental rights over them.

Many kept people are accustomed to hearing their birth stories: narratives detailing such incidents as what was happening when their mother went into labor and the adventures or misadventures leading up to their birth, and reminiscences of what impression, as infants, they made upon their parents. Adoptees have birth stories as well, albeit often secret ones. My mother lived in a farmhouse when she was pregnant with me. When I was born, one of her sisters was present, and she was the first person in her family to hold me in her arms. This is the birth story I learned at age 39, shortly after I had identified my birth mother and made contact with her siblings.

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April 12, 2022
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April 12, 2022
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