Monica's memoir

The Story:

It was brought to my attention a few months ago that my biological grandmother, along with her six siblings, had written their memoirs some years back. As I recall, my sister Amy told me that during our first meeting down in Florida. She had helped our grandmother edit and revise the document, as well. Apparently, they all wanted to document the family history so that future generations could appreciate the family’s origins.

Recently, one of my great aunts, Maureen, asked if I would be interested in having a copy of my grandmother’s memoir. I jumped at the chance! I wanted to know as much as possible about my biological heritage. Subsequently, my great aunt Joan mailed me a copy of the document a short time later.

Upon receiving Joan’s package, I began sifting through its contents. There was a hand written letter from Joan, a copy of each sibling’s tribute to my grandmother’s life, and the 50-page memoir. I read Joan’s letter immediately. Her words to me were very kind and comforting. Until recently, though, I had chosen not to read the memoir.

Her story read like a movie. It was absolutely incredible. The story’s timeline begins with her birth in Dublin, Ireland, and ends during her teenage years around London, post WWII. She, along with her siblings, didn’t have it easy during that time while living in England. Her life throughout that period seemed to have set the stage for how she would be as an adult. She helped to care for six kids and her parents, at times. Not to mention that she survived multiple near death experiences as a youngster.

Ultimately, my grandmother’s story is a crucial part of my family history. Perhaps, her story is only important to those of us in her family, but her life speaks of a very different time of which we younger generations have little knowledge.

The Emotions:

I’m so thankful that my grandmother had enough appreciation of our family history to write her story. I wonder how long it would have taken me to learn all of the same information had she not taken the time to write? I’ve realized how special it is to have access to such a document. Especially, since she is no longer alive.

I’m excited to hopefully read the memoirs of my great aunts and uncle, as well. I harbor some disappointment, though, since I know very little about the history of my adoptive and step families. I suppose it’s primarily my fault. I don’t think that I’ve asked. However, there are very few memories of anyone else in my family asking either. I suppose I have a lot of work ahead in learning about each line of my family history.

A side note, I feel very uncomfortable divulging the juicy details of my grandmother’s memoir. Placing them on the web for all to read seems inappropriate. However, I will be more than happy to make them public knowledge once a movie director has paid my great aunts a huge sum of money for the rights!  Until then, though, I don’t feel that it’s my place to disclose such personal information.

The Advice:

This time it’s short and sweet. One thing that I’ve learned is that my family history is critical to my understanding of how I got here. I’m quite certain that I will attempt to further document my life and family history at some point in the future. I think everyone ought to do the same. The process will certainly be time consuming, but the final product will be a story rich with experience and wisdom. The future generations of our families need to know these touching tales.

- Andrew

George Bernard Shaw

The Story:

In a previous post, Meeting Amy, I noted that my great great-grandfather (illegitimate) was the famous Irish playwright George Bernard Shaw. I feel that it’s now time for me to explore those roots in some detail. Considering that I only learned of that fact a few months ago, I’m still learning about his life and how my biological family has been affected by the historical significance.

Rather than writing an article by regurgitating cited facts about his life, I’d prefer to provide some facts while focusing on his historical significance to my biological family. G.B.S. was born in Dublin, Ireland on July 26, 1856 and died on November 2, 1950. He is most notably known to the world as being a playwright, critic, and political activist. In 1925, he was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature, an Oscar in 1938, and an Academy Award for Best Writing for his screenplay Pygmalion in 1938.

            Now that I have some of the facts out of the way, it’s time to find out Shaw’s connection to my family. Based on what I currently know, my great great-grandmother, Margaret, had a very unique relationship with G.B.S. One thing led to another, and she learned that she was pregnant. According to my grandmother’s memoir, Margaret was thrown out of her home because she had gotten pregnant out of wedlock, which is a true testament to those times.

As far as the story goes, that’s all I really know for now. However, there’s a paragraph at the very end of my grandmother’s memoir that might shed some more light on the subject.

Gran’s mother’s maiden name was Shaw. When Bernard Shaw died, Gran picked up the newspaper and saw his picture and said “that’s Bernie.” Margaret Kelly (Monica’s childhood friend) was with me at the time.

Whatever the real connection was between Gran and Bernard Shaw, I’m not sure…I’ve always felt there was a more personal relationship.

I hope that I’m not the only one slightly confused here. Anyway, I believe the bigger picture looks like this: G.B.S. and my great great-grandmother were not married, but decided to get a little frisky. That’s how my great grandmother, Essie, came to be. Luckily, I enlisted the help of one of my great aunts, Maureen, to help make some sense from all of this. If I mixed up the story, I must apologize. All I can say is that family trees are quite complex.

The Emotions:

When I learned of my biological family’s connection to George Bernard Shaw, I had mixed emotions. Initially, I recognized his name, but I had no recollection of his historical significance. Once I began researching his background, I realized what all of the fuss was about. His historical claim to fame filled me with some pride, but I found it sad that our family’s connection was more than likely based on an extramarital affair.

However, I feel no significant connection to the man, myself. The entire situation seems quite distant from my life in the U.S. While I think it’s wonderful that my family’s history touts such a historical celebrity, I find it hard to feel any direct personal connection with him.

The Advice:

For all adoptees, I believe that it’s our task, and right, to learn as much as we can about our biological origins and histories. Of course, I had no idea that I would learn of my genetic connection to a Nobel Price-winning writer, but now I’m informed. Does it matter whether the stories you hear or the facts you learn are of epic proportions? Hell-to-the-no. I’m satisfied with just knowing that my biological family has been through a lot, and that I come from a strong stock.

Please, don’t allow your history to disappear along with your relatives. It may very well end up being the task of a lifetime when trying to navigate your biological history, but it’s rare when hard work doesn’t payoff. I don’t think I’ve even scratched the surface of my family’s history, and it truly seems like a daunting task to figure it all out. Luckily, I began my search early enough so that I might actually have a real chance of truly understanding where I came from.

- Andrew

My Cousin Jim

The Story:

One week before Christmas, I received a new friend request via Facebook^®. The sender’s name was unfamiliar, but I noticed that this gentleman was a friend of my biological sister. So, I accepted his request, and shortly thereafter he posted a comment on my wall.

Andrew, I am Jim from New York, USA. We are second cousins and I am very happy to have you be part of this wonderful family. I have a lot to tell you.
Welcome, Jim

My response:

Well Jim, it's an absolute pleasure to know you. It's been an exciting past few months for me with finding out about my biological family. I feel very blessed.

A few minutes later, I received an e-mail informing me that I had a private message waiting to be read on Facebook^®. I opened up my account and noticed that the message was from Jim. Here’s what we had to say to one another:

Jim:

I do not know if you are comfortable calling me but my number is... Or if you want me to call you then you can send me your number. I look forward to meeting you.

Me:

Hi Jim! I would love to speak with you. I'm sure you are full of great family info. I will try to call you over the weekend if it works out.

Jim:

That is perfect. I am so glad you pursued this. You are so welcome into this wonderful family. I will talk with you soon.

My initial communications with Jim occurred right before I met Amy for the first time. Jim was one of family members that she and I discussed while having dinner. I didn’t have much to say since he and I hadn’t spoken in-depth, yet. From what I understood, Jim was a very stand-up kinda’ guy.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to call Jim over the particular weekend that I had specified above. So, I had to wait until I got back to St. Louis after spending Christmas in Tampa. Following my arrival back home, I received a new Facebook^® message from him:

Jim:

Andrew, I spoke with Amy yesterday and was mesmerized by her stories of your meeting. I want to tell you about the family and introduce you to the history. I am so happy that you pursued your background. There are so many stories and so many people and they are all part of you. In closing all I can say is welcome to the family and thank you for your courage.

Top of Form

The subsequent responses:

Me:

Hi Jim! I'm glad that you had a chance to speak with Amy. She's pretty amazing. I'll try giving you a call tomorrow evening if that will work for you?

Jim:

That works for me. I look forward to it.

The following day I called my new cousin, Jim. We spoke about how he had talked to Amy the night before while she was on her way home from our meeting.  They had not seen each other in quite some time. I learned that some of the family hadn’t kept in touch as often once my leg of the family moved to the Midwest.

Jim told me some things about his life growing up, and what he had done with his career after college. It’s interesting to note that he worked in the Architectural industries, like myself. He confirmed the stories about George Bernard Shaw, and how our family had its roots in Dublin, Ireland. It was great to hear him speak about my grandmother’s siblings, too. The best part, though, was how Jim and my biological mother, Geri, were so close growing up.

At one point, as Jim was explaining his side of the family, we ended up on the subject of his health. He was very sick, and I was stunned. He provided me with some of the details, and I asked a few questions. I’m keeping those details to myself. Eventually, we left that subject and moved onto a few more.

By the end of our call, we had only been speaking for about an hour. I had made certain to take notes. I didn’t want to forget anything. I tucked the sheet of notes in a newly made folder specifically for cataloging every new conversation with my biological family.

The Emotions:

I must say that it felt great when Jim reached out to me so willingly. I knew that some family members might want to reach out while others would not. It was very refreshing to know that I was getting off on the right foot. 

Learning of Jim’s illness was difficult to take. I hadn’t even met this man. Yet, I somehow had complete empathy. I didn’t feel sorry for him, though. He certainly didn’t need that. I felt sorry for myself. He made me realize that I have my head stuck so far up my own ass that I complain about the most mundane things. As human beings, it’s unfortunate that some of us, myself included, have such little appreciation for the things we do have until it’s too late.

Jim, I commend you for being so strong and insightful, and thank you for making me laugh every time we speak.

The Advice:

When it came to meeting new family members, I learned that I needed to take what I could get. Case in point, my biological father has been made aware that I have found my biological mother’s family, but I haven’t heard a single thing from him. Not that I’ve bothered contacting him, either. I can’t allow myself to dwell on those issues. I must focus on those that do want to know me, and I will give as much of myself to them as they want. That’s how the trade-off works.

My advice is that we need to realize that we can’t always have our cake, and eat it, too. We can’t expect to find our biological families, and then expect every member to give a shit about us. We’re just as much of a stranger to them as they are to us. If your uncle, or your cousin, or even your father doesn’t have any interest in knowing you then focus on those who do. Do not allow the bad seeds to ruin your new wonderful crop.

- Andrew

A Thanksgiving call to remember

The Story:

Following my e-mail conversation with Amy, I flew down to Tampa for the upcoming holiday. My stepmother, Jean, and adoptive father, Art, had moved to Florida after their pseudo-retirement. That vacation was a much-needed break, and it provided me with an opportunity to sit down and talk to my parents about everything that had been happening. They were very interested in learning about Maggie and Amy, and it was obvious that I had their full support.

The day before Thanksgiving, Amy called me on my cell phone. I had been sitting out at the pool soaking in the sun when the call came through. I grabbed the phone, walked inside to the guest bedroom, and answered.

The connection was a bit off at first. There was a moment of awkwardness as Amy and I both tried to greet each other through the static. She spoke over me, and then I spoke over her. It was the most perfect beginning to our first phone conversation. Go figure, right?

At first, we both brought up the typical conversation starters. We spoke about the weather over on Amy’s side of the state, and she asked me how the weather was in Saint Louis. It had been crap, of course. We talked about her son, and how he had taken the news when he learned that he had gained a new uncle. We progressed to the subject of where my parents lived and their proximity to the city in which Amy lived. We even talked about when we could possibly meet. Unfortunately, that Thanksgiving week didn’t look like it would work.

Eventually, we got to the subject of Amy’s reaction to my existence. When Maggie had told her about me weeks earlier, she fell against a wall and collapsed to the floor. Obviously, she had not been prepared to learn that she had a brother. She was ecstatic, of course, but she felt angry toward the family for keeping it from her for so long. 

Following our phone conversation, Amy texted me with a picture of herself. I followed suit. I spent some time studying her image; trying to figure out which facial features we shared. My parents seemed to think that we looked very similar, and I agreed. If there had ever been any doubt, it had become quite obvious that Amy and I were truly brother and sister.

The Emotions:

Hearing Amy’s voice for the first time ever was intense. My hands shook while we spoke. My heart was pounding, and my adrenal glands were pumping overtime. Since then, I’ve had some difficulties remembering exactly how I felt after our conversation. Although, I do recall that hearing her voice and speaking with her seemed quite surreal. Twenty-eight years had passed, and I had never spoken to her once. Then, all of a sudden, that changed.

Taking the integration of our lives one step at a time was very beneficial. I felt more at ease with communicating by e-mail first, and then by phone. My nervousness over eventually meeting Amy was high, but I would have been even more anxious had we not had previous contact.

Lastly, I feel obligated to point out that I haven’t shed any tears up to this point. That’s just the way I’ve been programmed. My mind and emotions had been consumed by all of the new information and experiences that I never even thought of crying. I’m sure the time will come when weeping will be my only emotional outlet. Until then, though, I’ll just keep on movin’ on.

The Advice:

Prepare yourself all you want for a phone call. Although, chances are that your plan will fly out the window once you hear your family members voice for the first time. I don’t recall having had much of a chance to prepare for Amy’s call. If I had then I obviously didn’t attempt to gather my thoughts prior to the call. Everyone is different, and you’ll just have to feel out the situation as it happens. More than likely, the conversation will be awkward at first. Assuredly, everyone will be nervous, and that fact will probably be quite obvious when you speak. Oh, and the call need not be long. I recall that my conversation with Amy was around fifteen minutes. It was short, but very sweet.

My last piece of advice is this; cherish the moment at which you talk to your biological family for the first time. After you hang up the phone you ought to write down everything you can remember about the conversation. Account for every sensory experience, and every topic. I wish I had done that. It’s painful to think back on my moment knowing that it’s a struggle to remember.

- Andrew

Meeting Maggie (Part 3 of 3)

The Story:

The hostess found an empty table, and we were promptly seated. Nancy and Henry sat on one side, and I took a seat next to Maggie. Our server took our drink orders, and then headed off.

Maggie pulled out a photo album along with a pile of loose photographs. She opened the album, and began flipping through the pages. She started with the older black and white images that had been taken back in Ireland and England. She identified the family members in each. Mostly, those pictured were my biological grandmother, Monica, my grandfather, Michael, and their siblings.

Consequently, she began telling the story of how this part of the family came to the United States. Many years ago, one of Monica’s sisters moved to the U.S. She ended up getting married, and soon after she and her husband sponsored my grandparents to come and live in America. Prior to their departure, Monica gave birth to fraternal twins, Maggie and Ann.

After arriving in the U.S., they made their home in one of New York’s most infamous boroughs, Brooklyn. They rented a flat, and made a decent life for themselves. Shortly after, Monica and Michael became the proud parents of Geraldine and Michael Jr. My grandfather saved his wages while working as a mason. He eventually built a house in Danbury, CT, and moved the family. After some time there, they all moved out to the Midwest. Apparently, the rolling hills and abundant horses made Missouri very comparable to parts of Ireland.

Maggie explained that my biological grandparents were very tough, but caring individuals. She pulled out a photo of my grandfather. He was standing next to a horse. To prove how tough Michael was, she told me that he had beaten that horse into submission with only his fists. She never said whether or not the horse deserved the beating.

I eventually asked about the details surrounding Gerri’s death. Maggie didn’t have much to say. It was quite obvious that she was a bit uncomfortable getting into the story. She basically just said that Gerri had been murdered by an acquaintance. I wasn’t told much more than that.

Finally, Maggie pulled out the photos of Amy. I was so happy to see that she looked like a real girl, rather than looking like me with long hair. Amy was married and had a son, Tristin. She was one of the smarter people who had decided to move south for warmer weather.

 

I did ask about my biological father. Maggie explained that he was married and had other children. She gave me his name and mailing address. Henry and I told Maggie that it would be better for her to make the first contact.

We eventually finished our meals, and Henry paid for lunch. He gave the waitress a nice tip. She seemed to have understood that something was taking place at our table, and she did a great job of giving us space. We gathered our things and walked outside. We took a few photos, said our good-bye, and went our separate ways.

The Emotions:

Seeing all of the family photos had been very surreal. It was so odd to think that I had missed out on all of those events. Although, I was very proud to have learned that I came from such strong background. Just for the record, I have never punched a horse in the face, but if a horse were to ever look at me funny, well, he better just watch out.

I enjoyed seeing the photos of my grandparents. They looked so proud. Maggie was correct, my grandfather was definitely a tough looking man. It’s a shame that I didn’t receive that same trait. I might be lean, but I’m not very big. He had such a stern look on his face in all of the photos. That look reminded me of my facial expressions when I’m thinking or trying to concentrate.

My close connection to Ireland made me very proud. Hearing the story about how my family ended up in the U.S. was riveting. It seemed that the family had a very rich history. After learning the family name, Hoban, I kept saying it over and over in my head. My desire to take a trip to Ireland only grew stronger after meeting with Maggie.

When I asked Maggie about Gerri’s death, I wasn’t surprised that she didn’t go into much detail. I had no desire to upset her. I suppose her answer created even more questions, though. After learning of my adoption, I had taken into consideration that my biological mother may not have been alive. Obviously, that ended up being the case. I was a bit pissed off, though. That was just my luck. I had finally found my biological family, but I would never have the opportunity to meet my mother. Go figure.

As for seeing the photos of my sister, Amy, I’m sure that my face lit-up. She was so pretty, and it was so odd to know that we had come from the same parents. I’m not sure I can accurately explain how it felt to know that she existed. I already had two sisters. One was my adoptive sister, and the other was my step sister (I love them both dearly). But to know that I had a biological sister was such an amazing gift.

When Maggie told me what she knew about my biological father, I was a bit under whelmed. I mean, he and Gerri had never even gotten married, but now he was married and had even more children. So, that means I also have half brothers and sisters. My first impression was that this guy never gave much thought to the potential consequences of his actions. Truth be told, I was in no hurry to get a hold of him. I was very content with just getting to know my mother’s side of the family.

The Advice:

I can’t express how important it is to take everything in stride, especially when it comes to the adoptee finally meeting his/her biological family. Predicting the outcome of such a meeting is useless. You’ll just have to suck it up and roll with the punches.

When asking questions, make sure to consider how they’ll affect the person you’re asking. I needed to know how my mother had died, but I knew that it had to be a difficult subject for Maggie. Having empathy for all of those involved will make your experience so much more satisfying.

My last words of advice are this; try not to make a habit of punching animals in the face. My grandfather was very lucky that the horse he beat didn’t bring back all of his horse friends. Had that been the case, the story would most likely have had a very different ending. Horse gangs are quite prevalent in Missouri, and they can be a very nasty bunch, indeed. 

- Andrew