First the yadda baboom:
WYFP is our community's Saturday evening gathering to talk about our problems, empathize with one another, and share advice, pootie pictures, favorite adult beverages, and anything else that we think might help. Everyone and all sorts of troubles are welcome. May we find peace and healing here. If you recommend this, then we can keep our Saturday night sandbox up for a while.
Well, one of my FPs is this place. I’m tired of it. I’m tired of the "Right, on!" "You go, boy/girl!" agreeism that occurs to the detriment of real conversation. I’m tired of the "Oh, yeah? Well, you suck, troll!" that is hurled at everyone who voices any kind of dissent. And what do I do? Do I calmly try to mediate the fray? Do I inject a level voice of reason? NO! I pick diaries that I know will piss me off, sneak in, stick my tongue out and then flee, waving my hands over my head and giggling "Run away! Run away!" in my best Telitubby voice. Seriously. I finally forced myself recently to just stop participating. I’ve actually lost TU status for only the second time in 6 years. And I find that I really don’t care.
A couple of days ago when I was thinking about all of this, I went back a ways and had my hair blown back by just how much things have changed in tone and content. I ran across a comment thread where we were taking someone to task – voicing all sorts of dissent on all sides, really going at it, and there wasn’t a single "Go back to Red State, you booger!" comment in the entire batch. People wrote two- and three-hundred word comments – not diaries, but comments - back and forth, chastising, convincing, encouraging, promoting and, yes, bitching, but people took the time to make their case. There wasn’t a single how-clever-can-I-be mojo-whoring comment in the entire bunch. (I say that as someone who has since perfected the how-clever-can-I-be mojo-whoring comment.)
And so blah, blah, blah nothing. I miss it, that’s all. The back and forth. The we-may-not-agree-but-I-respect-you, the "What can I do to convince you?" And I'm as guilty as anyone, even though I know better and should try harder.
Whatever. Grumpy. >:-P
The next part of this week’s WYFP is an update to this and this and this. I’m the adoptee who found her birth family. I’ve met with my oldest "new" sister. I’ve talked to the middle one and I’ve exchanged emails with the youngest. It progresses. Really, it’s all quite strange. Before I found them there was the mystery and the excitement and, yes, the fear. Now, I know things. I’ve found out the two things that are the basis of wondering for every adoptee I’ve ever met: "Why was I put up for adoption?" and "Does anyone out there look like me?"
In my case, the supposition is that my sisters’ dad is not my birth dad. Or that my birth mom was never able to convince the dad that he was, indeed, my father. And, no, none of them look like me. So, I guess, A could equal C somewhere in there.
The weirdest part, of course, is the "Now what?" The only word of warning I have for those involved in adoption is this: I find that I was completely unprepared for the needs of my birth family. The sisters are estranged. Have been for 7 years. The oldest, with whom I’m in the most contact, is the odd one out. The other two see each other. I can tell that the oldest is seeing this as an opportunity to have a "whole" relationship with a sibling. The middle sister is – huh – hard to explain after one phone call. And the youngest is the one who brings the drama. I get the feeling that, whatever it is, it’s all about her.
That being said, they’ve all been very kind.
Where does it go now? I don’t know. They’ve all expressed a desire to bury hatchets and move forward. Fine with me, as long as they do it for themselves and not for me.
My little family is traveling to see the oldest sister and her husband in a few weeks for an overnight visit. I’m looking forward to it. They seem like very nice people.
Truly? The most amazing result of all of this is the realization I have of just how wonderful my life has been. The people I’ve known, the places I’ve been, the things I’ve done – none of that would have been possible if I hadn’t been adopted.
Finally, I know just how incredibly grateful I should be - for the life that my adoptive family gave me when they took me home. For the life that my birth family allowed me when they gave me up.
It’s all so fraught – for everyone – with hope and loss.
It's all so strange.