Personalities: genetic dispositions or learned traits?

The Story:

In a world were scientific findings seems to teeter back and forth on what is the accepted standard, I find myself pondering the origins of my personality. Some evidence seems to indicate that these traits are passed genetically from one generation to the next while other research shows that personalities are learned. So, I struggle to understand who or what has made me the way I am.

After finding my biological family last year, I’ve attempted to determine which of my traits are genetic and which have been learned. Are they all learned, or are they all genetic? My current theory is that my personality is simply a mish-mash of both. Although, I have no definitive answers, as of yet. Below are a couple of examples to help clarify my argument.

Growing up, I had always considered my ability to excel at reading, writing (syntax and diction), and my vocabulary to have been passed on to me by my adoptive father. He has always been a very well spoken and well-written person. Subsequently, I assumed that his skills must have rubbed off.

Well, that’s what I had thought until I came across some stories related to my birth mother. As multiple sources have confirmed, she was quite the grammar-queen. I try not to indulge in too much grammar and spelling correction of my peers. On occasion, though, I find myself doing just that. I know enough to speak American-English well, but I am by no means an expert. Perhaps these traits were both genetic and learned, but there’s another example to discuss.

Why do I view money as something that’s meant to be earned and burned rather than something to be made and saved? My adoptive parents seem to be great with money. Even my siblings seem to stay out of too much financial trouble. Why is it then that I always used to find myself on the path of hell-bent spending? As a youth, my adoptive father made me work for my money before I was old enough to get a real job. Is there a protein somewhere in my genetic make-up that has predisposed me to my current behavior? That question I cannot answer due to my lack of knowledge regarding my biological family’s financial habits.

My list of examples pertaining to this subject could probably fill-up a phone directory, but I believe that my point has been made. Despite the scientific arguments that personalities are either genetically linked or learned, I still have no definitive answers for myself. Undoubtedly, I will spend many more occasions pondering the origins of my personality. Personalities are tricky like that.  

The Emotions:

To state my feelings plainly, I have no emotional preference as to where my personality traits originated. I’ve accepted myself, but I’m still curious. I simply find it entertaining to try and figure out why I act one way or another. Sides don’t need to be chosen, and feelings need not be hurt. I’m proud to be the way I am no matter which part of my family it comes from.

The Advice:

I suppose that if you were adopted then you’ll have some of the same concerns regarding your behavioral patterns. To be clear, there’s not a damn thing wrong with such questions. Some family members may take offense, but those are issues that can probably be solved through open discussions. If you’re not content with who you’ve become then you’re probably attempting to be someone you’re not, and I have no doubt that your family only cares about who you truly are.

- Andrew

Regrettably, it was a lost opportunity

The Story:

In a previous post, I wrote about having come across numerous newspaper articles related to the murder of my biological mother. I was apprehensive to read them right away because the thought of reading the details was too depressing. Recently, I decided to read those articles, in full.

Via the Columbia Tribune’s archives, I managed to source some twenty articles. Nine of which were specifically about the murder. Two of those nine were the obituaries that ran in the same newspaper. However, I can’t be certain that I found all of the articles written on that subject. The articles are not all that lengthy. Not surprisingly, some even contained factual inconsistencies.

The murder took place one evening at my mother’s residence. She, along with some friends, had been partying. Not all of the guests were good friends, though. One in particular, Robert Wayne Lawson, was an abusive ex-boyfriend of my mother’s. At the time, Lawson was romantically involved with a woman named Marna Weber. According to one article (LINK), Lawson continued to show interest in rekindling a relationship with my mother. Although, it doesn’t seem the interest was mutual.

During the party, Marna Weber visited the house, uninvited. None of the partygoers inside the home reacted to her knocking on the front door. Consequently, Weber left, but returned a short time later. On her second visit, she was allowed inside the residence. After an undisclosed period of time, Weber left the party, but she would eventually come back, again. After arriving for the last time, she decided to make her move. That’s when she executed her plan to stab my mother to death. She was 38 years old on the day of her murder.

The articles contained little detail as to what transpired after the crime. One of the few facts available was that Lawson hid the murder weapon. For his part in the crime, Lawson was sentenced to ten years for evidence tampering. According to the police, he had a long criminal record, which aided in the passing down of that maximum sentence.

Marna Weber was sentenced to life in prison plus 30 years for first-degree murder. Had she not made a plea deal, she would have faced the death penalty. According to court reports, as she was being escorted out of the courtroom, Weber mumbled an apology to my family members. The apology wasn’t well accepted, and Weber became annoyed. As she walked by my aunt she was quoted as saying “I could slit your throat, too.”

The Emotions:

Empathy is what I feel when I think about my biological mother’s murder. I feel empathetic towards my sister Amy, my aunts and uncle, my grandparents, my cousins, my great aunts and uncle, and so on down the line. Whilst I cannot understand exactly how they felt, I certainly understand the feeling brought on by loss. 

However, learning of her murder has not caused me insurmountable grief. I was only affected by a modicum of grief. I never had the opportunity to know my mother, and so I lack the personal connection required to truly feel that pain. 

Disappointment is the primary emotion that I feel while pondering that crime. I feel that she and I could have benefited greatly by having a relationship. Alas, that chance will never again be had, and I’m stuck with a feeling of helplessness. There is nothing that can be done.

As for Weber and Lawson, I feel very little. They certainly deserved what they got, but I’m of the belief that justice ought to come in the form of an eye for an eye. Although, I suppose a life sentence really is meant as a death sentence.

Mostly, I’m just curious. I feel the need to visit Marna Weber in prison. This desire might very well be excessive, but it might help me to have a closer connection to the incident, and thus to my biological mother. What might I say or ask? Probably something along the lines of:

So, how awkward is this, huh? You’re on that side of the glass, and I’m on this side. And what about these phones? I mean, I bet everyone and their mother has been breathin’ and coughin’ all over ‘em. Speaking of mothers, did I mention that you stole my chance of ever knowing mine?

That last part was written jokingly, of course. I haven’t the faintest idea as to what I might say or ask, and I haven’t determined the benefits of such a strange encounter. So, that’s why I have yet to make a decision.

The Advice:

Looking back, the question must be asked. Did I wait too long to begin the search for my biological family? Perhaps, but there’s no going back now. I can’t go back to when my biological mother was still living. If I could have, and did, would that act have changed the course of events? Again, the answer is a resounding “perhaps.”

Perhaps my timing could have been better. Perhaps I could have met my mother. Perhaps you ought to heed my advice at this point; waiting isn’t the issue, but wanting is. I didn’t want to find my biological family badly enough to begin my search sooner. Consequently, I lost out on a relationship that will never present itself, again.

I don’t recall there being a book titled “The Best Time To Search For Your Biological Family Because You Never Know Who Might Die.” Trust me, I Googled it. For those adoptees that have yet to begin their search, there’s no benefit to second-guessing your timing. You will undoubtedly begin your search when you want it badly enough.

- Andrew

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

Ashes to ashes and dust to dust

THE STORY:

During one of many phone conversations with my sister Amy, we got on the subject of our mother’s ashes. We had not spoken much about our mother’s funeral, or what had been done with her remains. I assumed that she had been buried, but I learned that Amy was the guardian her ashes.

By the end of that conversation, she had made me a very interesting offer. It was not the type that you get at a mall, or from a car dealership. This offer was more melancholy, and by no means financially advantageous.

Her proposal was quite simple. She wanted me to have half of our mother’s ashes. She felt that it was “only fair.” I reacted with a sheepish chuckle because the offer was so unexpected. How could I turn her down, though? Well, I couldn’t, and so I happily accepted.

THE EMOTIONS:

Not that it needs to be written, but I’ve never been a big fan of death. I have always found the associated pain, regret, helplessness, and depression to be uncomfortable topics. I’ve been to my share of funerals for both the too young and the not quite old enough, and they never get easier to stomach.

Even though I wasn’t able to meet my biological mother, I was given the opportunity to have a part of her physical self. However “morbid” (her word, not mine) the offer may seem, it was necessary and appreciated. How could it not have been? She was offering me the cremated remains of our murdered mother! As unexpected as her offer had been, it was the most considerate thing she could have done. I felt like I deserved to have part of our mother’s remains, and it was obvious that Amy felt the same.

However depressing it was to consider my mother’s murder, I felt that there was at least one positive aspect; I had found my biological family before too many other members had succumbed to death. I can only imagine how much more painful it would have been had I wasted anymore time.

Our conversation did force me to question my own mortality, once again. I don’t really know whether I’d prefer to be buried, or cremated. Cremation is the economical option, but burial is so much more traditional. Plus, there’s the issue of determining where to be buried. My connection to the Midwest is very strong, but I’ve never lived so far away from this area that I ever yearned to come back. I’ve never truly missed this place. So, I don’t feel obligated to rest here.

THE ADVICE:

Dealing with a parental death is a big deal. Especially if you were adopted, and you never had the opportunity to meet said parent. I have complete empathy. If you find yourself in a position similar to mine then my best advice is this; find satisfaction in the family that is still living. Those are the people who can help you feel closer to the departed.

I could whine about my biological mother’s death, but what could I possibly expect to accomplish? Sure, it’s somewhat of a crappy deal, but her murder shouldn’t negate all of the positives to come from my search. Even with the death of my mother, I still have tons of family, and I’m quite satisfied with that. They have managed to provide me with details of my mother’s character and personality. So, now I know her better than ever.

If you’re offered the chance to visit your deceased parent’s grave or receive their remains, then you ought to accept. I have no idea what I will do with my biological mother’s ashes, but at least I’ll have them.  At least I’ll be able to have her closer to my life no matter how morbid that might seem.

 - Andrew

Extra! Extra! Read all about it!

The Story:

Recently, a columnist with the St. Louis Post Dispatch published an article about the search for my biological family. The story, smack-dab on the front page of the newspaper’s Community section, was primarily about my search and how he and I came to meet one another. Interestingly, his article came at a time when the Illinois legislature passed a new law requiring “the state to provide basic medical information and an accurate birth certificate to adoptees…” (clarification: the photo next to the article headline in the image to the left is of the columnist, Tony Messenger)

That’s how my search began. I needed to know about my biological family’s health background. Unfortunately, the state of Missouri still requires a court order to open those records. Luckily, I didn’t end up having to take that route. Instead, my adoptive uncle was able to track down my biological aunt via his family connections.  

When I woke up the Sunday that the article was published, I decided to read the web-based version first. Afterward, I ventured out to the local market and purchased five hard copies of the newspaper. I stood at the publication racks and flipped through the massive paper searching for the community section. I yanked it out, and got my first glimpse of the article on the front page.

When I arrived home from the store, I proceeded to package and mail copies of the article to some of my family members. Throughout that day, I received a few phone calls and text messages. All were very congratulatory!

Here’s a link to the article at www.stltoday.com.

The Emotions:

There’s no doubt that I felt quite accomplished when I read Tony’s column. My story had finally achieved some more recognition. My attempts to get the article published were not all for selfless reasons. Indeed, I wanted my blog to receive more local exposure. This, in turn, would hopefully provide me with a larger list of subscribers. I certainly wanted the conversation about child adoption to spread, and I knew that breaking that barrier would help others.

The selfish reasons weren’t sinister, though. I simply wanted my story, and the stories of my family, to be heard by a larger audience. I felt that the stories were historically interesting and emotionally charged. I have no interest in splashing my family’s secrets all over the web and other media. I just knew that people would eat that stuff up like an orphaned child at dinnertime.

My overall satisfaction came from knowing that all of that had happened because I made the effort. I wanted more exposure for my story and the institution of child adoption, and I helped make it happen. My goal was accomplished, and now I’m moving onto the next. Will my family’s story make it onto the NYT’s Bestseller list, or will someone write a screenplay? I suppose there might be a chance if I continue to spark the conversation.

Besides all of that, reading a news article about oneself is certainly strange. I was anxious to see how I was quoted, and whether the story was presented accurately. Overall, I was very satisfied with Tony’s column, and I’ve let him know.

The Advice:

Once again, my advice focuses on making more people aware of child adoption. I have found that the best way to do that is to talk about something I know. Well, I certainly know about my own personal experiences with adoption, and I can’t think of a better source for material.

Like I stated previously, I’ve been writing about my adoption for different reasons. The point is that anyone with the interest in telling their story can help to spark more conversation on the subject. It has been a strange trip for me, but I’m taking it all in day by day.

If you don’t like the idea of placing details of your family’s history on the web, then don’t. I’m always worrying about that, but I’ve done my best to write detailed accounts while limiting the amount of embarrassing or inappropriate material. So, I would suggest everyone else do the same with their stories. Either way, telling your story should be an enlightening and valuable experience.

So, do you think it’s wise to write about your personal situations on the web where all can see? Is it more reasonable if those personal stories are meant to help and inform others? If you have any thoughts, please feel free to leave a comment.

- Andrew

Using Social Media To Find Family

The Story:

Since connecting with my sister and second cousin via social media, I’ve been able to unite with a few more biological family members. I’ve had great uncles, aunts, great aunts, and cousins all find me by using these services. The majority of these new connections are made up of my family members that currently live throughout the U.K. and Ireland. The remaining few are those that are living here in the U.S.

Initially, my sister Amy and cousin Jim spread the word, and that’s how it all began. Everyone who got a hold of me was very welcoming, and they all seemed quite enthused by the news of my existence. I have only begun to scratch the surface with regards to uniting with my biological family.

I’m not just connected to my biological family, though. My adoptive sisters and brother are all using social media, as well. I get to see my nephews and niece grow up even when I can’t be there in person. At some point, I’d like to be able to connect with every family member possible. That will help me to better connect my adoptive family to my biological family.

Since I can’t always call everyone just to explain all of those little mundane things going on in my life, connecting with them through social media allows me to easily provide all necessary updates. Plus, my biological family and I have missed out on twenty-eight years worth of life. So, social media provides us all with the ability to play catch-up.

The Emotions:

Currently, I’m connected to fourteen biological family members via social media. All have provided me with valuable insight into my familial origins. The opportunity to connect with so many of them in such a short period of time has been quite fulfilling. I can’t get over the fact that everyone has been so welcoming. It seems that we all have very happy-go-lucky personalities, and I’m confident that we will all get along swimmingly once we finally meet.

Social media has been a valuable tool by helping me connect with my large family. I feel indebted to the social media movement for providing me with such valuable resources. Being able to talk with my family in a real-time capacity has given me details about their lives that I wouldn’t have known without meeting them in person. I know that I’m blessed for having such opportunities.

Perhaps, one day, I’ll have a chance to go beyond social media and finally meet the remainder of my biological family. Preferably, I would be able to take along my adoptive family. The idea of bringing together both sides is quite exciting. I would love nothing more than to have a huge integrated family that spans multiple continents. One day, we might rule the entire world! 

The Advice:

Obviously, using social media to connect with my biological and adoptive families has been very useful. I would advise anyone who has already found their biological family, or those who are still searching, to use these sites to your advantage. Granted, I did not initially find my biological aunt via the web, but I imagine that a feat such as that could be accomplished with even a small amount of information. All it takes is one person who can then connect you to someone else, and so on. Social media sites are chalk full of their users’ personal information. Using your (legal) access to that information would be highly advantageous.

- 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

Meeting Amy

The Story:

After the Thanksgiving holiday, Amy and I had many more opportunities to speak over the phone. I ended up scanning in some photos of myself as a child, and sent them off to her. I wanted her to have a better understanding of how I grew up.

December eventually came, and then Christmas. Once again, I boarded a plane and flew back down to Tampa to spend the holiday with part of my adoptive family. Prior to my departure, Amy and I made plans to meet that week. Her son was going to fly back to Missouri to spend Christmas with Maggie. He was flying out of the Orlando airport, Amy and I decided that we would meet halfway between there and Tampa.

On the day of our first meeting, I received another call from Amy. Apparently, there had been some issues with her son’s flight out of Orlando. He was not able to leave on schedule. So, Amy and I had to reschedule our visit for the following day.

The following afternoon, Amy’s son made it on his flight. I decided that Applebee’s would be an appropriate place to meet since it would be recognizable, and that was also where I had met Maggie. After pulling up to the restaurant later that evening, I sat in the car for a minute gathering my thoughts. Taking a deep breath, I opened the door and walked inside.

I stepped up to the hostess just as I noticed a girl walking over from the bar. She was talking on a cell phone. I had a strange feeling that I knew her. It was Amy, and she obviously recognized me, as well. We looked at one another dead in the eyes and smiled. Without hesitation, we hugged right there in the middle of the restaurant. That was the most subtly epic exchange I’ve ever had in my life.

Once we finally let go of each other, we found our way to a table. When the bartender came by, we each ordered a drink to help soothe our nerves. My entire body was shaking at that point. I simply could not control my adrenaline. We sat at the table and stared at each other.

If I recall correctly, we had a short chat about Amy’s son, and how their trip back to the airport had gone. After that, I decided to pull out the pile of childhood photos that I had brought along. Amy, in turn, pulled out a small photo album that she had put together. She handed it to me and explained that it was my Christmas present.

So, Amy began sifting through her pile of photos, and I began flipping through my album. We took turns explaining the people and events. I’d say that whole process took about an hour. It was difficult to concentrate with so much happening at once. I wanted to focus on Amy, but I also wanted to study the family photos.

The next part of our meeting was dedicated to telling the stories of our lives. I gave an exhaustive list of my family members, and my life with my adoptive and step-families. Amy explained some of the circumstances surrounding her birth and childhood. Her story gradually built up to our Mother’s death.

The murderer was the girlfriend of a male acquaintance. From what I understood, the girlfriend became paranoid about our mothers relationship with this man. Her suspicions were unfounded, but she ended up stabbing Geri to death anyway.

The story of our mother didn’t stop there. In life, Geri had been very kind, caring, and intelligent. However, she had some issues with depression, and the abuse of drugs and alcohol followed. Our mother’s lifestyle made life difficult for Amy. As a child, she had basically been forced into being her own mother, while acting as our mother’s caregiver.

That night, Amy provided me with many more pieces to the puzzle. All were important, but one of them stood out even more than the rest. It was the part about how our side of the family began. Apparently, our great-great grandfather was none other than the famous Irish playwright George Bernard Shaw. According to Amy, our great-great grandmother was one of Shaw’s employees. One thing led to another and our side of the family was born. Since the pair were never married (Shaw already had a wife), he is technically my great-great illegitimate grandfather.

Amy also touched on the subject of our grandparent’s. The conversation dealt with the circumstances surrounding their deaths. Michael died from congestive heart failure, and Amy had been the one who found him on the floor with a bottle of his nitroglycerin pills nearby. Monica ultimately died from colon cancer which had spread to her liver. Amy explained that she continued working even while she was dying.

We got on the subject of places we had worked and lived. At one point, I was living in an apartment complex on the West side of town. There was a sister property across the street from my residential building. It came to light that Amy had been working in the office of that sister property at the very same time I was living across the street. We could possibly have seen each other without even knowing.         

When all was said and done, we had spent nearly four hours at the restaurant. By that point, the bartender seemed aware that something out of the ordinary had been taking place. I mean, how often do two people just sit at an Applebee’s for that length of time? Amy needed to start her trek back home. So, we finished up and headed outside.

We must have spent ten or twenty more minutes out in the parking lot. We’d say goodbye, hug, walk away, and then turn right back around and start talking again. It was obvious that neither of us wanted to part ways. Eventually, though, we forced ourselves into our cars and left.

It only took me about forty minutes to get back to my parent’s house. While I drove, I called my sister Juli. I had promised her that I would give her the low down ASAP. Once I arrived back at my parent’s place, we sat down in the living room and chatted. I explained as much as I could remember, and then I gave them the photo album from Amy. I did my best to remember all of the people in the photos. I must say, for all of the excitement that took place at the restaurant, I was able to remember quite a bit in those moments.

The Emotions:

On the original date of my first meeting with Amy, I was slightly anxious. Not that anyone would have known. More often than not, I’m able to keep a pretty calm demeanor, but when Amy called me to say that she would not be able to meet that day I became very concerned.

I had no reason to doubt that there had been an issue with her son’s flight. The problem was my highly imaginative mind. My thoughts began to run rampant with every single what-if. What if she had decided that she didn’t need a brother, after all? What if she had just momentarily gotten spooked? What if I had just calmed the hell down, and looked at the situation logically? It took some time, but I was finally able to calm my over-thinking.

I felt much better about the whole situation when Amy called the next day to let me know that everything was still on schedule. Although, the drive out to meet her turned into a chaotic stew of irrational thoughts and logic. I suppose it was a good thing that I had already started losing my hair. I certainly wasn’t doing my hairline any favors by causing myself so much stress.

Once I saw Amy for the first time, my stress level hit the roof. My entire body was shaking. I was worried that when I went to pick up my drink that I would end up splashing it around uncontrollably. It took the first few hours of our meeting before my adrenaline finally slowed.

During that time, though, I was simply in awe of Amy. Of course, I still felt quite nervous, but somehow I also felt quite comfortable. I couldn’t believe how similar we were to each other. I guess that all goes back to having a biological connection. We had spent twenty-eight years apart, but it as if we had never missed a day.

As for how I felt after hearing all of her stories, I had a mix of emotions. Hearing about our mother made me feel lost and heartbroken. Learning more about our grandparents made me feel glum but stronger. The part about our family origins simply made me laugh. I mean, George Bernard Shaw, seriously?!  When it came to how close in proximity Amy and I had been in Columbia, I was in utter shock. It drove me nuts to think that she had been so close.

I suppose the mix of emotions had one thing in common; they all caused me to feel more confused. Even though I had found Amy, and the rest of my living biological family, there was still something missing: my biological mother. I feared that I would never feel completely whole. I was also worried that I wouldn’t be able to bring all sides of my family together, and that made me feel helpless.

The Advice:

All I can say is that feeling every possible emotion in a situation like this is pretty typical. I don’t think anything more could have been expected. You’ll be confused and exhausted, but it’ll be worth the stress. Learning about your family is powerful, and you ought to take full advantage.

- 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

I'm At A Slight Loss For Words

The Story:

Maggie’s first attempt at reaching Amy didn’t work. The following day, Amy called her back, but Maggie was working and was unable to stay on the line for long. Maggie told Amy that she would call her back that same evening.

Well, that night Maggie called Amy and told her the big news; she had a biological brother. Maggie forwarded my e-mail address to Amy in hopes that she could contact me the following day. Maggie provided me with a summary of Amy’s reaction to the news. She wrote, “She is very excited about you. She said she remembers her Mom mentioning you but she thought it was a crazy story she made up and never believed her. I am sure you will hear from her... I am soooo happy for you both.”

Sure enough, I received a message from my sister the very next day. I was sitting in Lambert International Airport when my phone notified me that I had a new message. This is an excerpt from Amy’s e-mail:

I’m at a slight loss for words.  I cannot wait to see you, if you want to.  No pressure here.  And lord only knows what pictures Margaret may have showed you... And if you can handle her, then the rest of it should be a cake walk.

When I got that call from her last night, I was utterly amazed.  I’ve never won the Powerball, but imagine that it doesn’t feel much different.  To know for a fact that you are out there, it’s HUGE.  I have a brother. You. Wow…So please, (again no pressure) it would be great to hear from you.

My response:

Well, "wow" is definitely right... All those years we were both growing up, and neither one of us really knew that the other one existed. Wow. I have a huge grin on my face as I write this sitting in the airport. I can't wait to meet you, as well. I'm actually on my way down to Tampa for thanksgiving. It looks to be a few hours drive from Tampa to where you live. So, if we aren't able to meet this week, with all of the holiday craziness, then we will figure out something else, for sure. Maggie did show me plenty of photos of you. Even a really big one of you in High school? But don't worry, you looked perfect in all of them. Maggie is amazing, and our meeting was so perfectly comfortable.

I'm so happy you were able to get a hold of me. I'm still grinning like an idiot. The folks around me at the terminal probably think I'm on drugs. We have sooooo much to catch up on, but I'm so happy that all of this is taking place while we both have plenty of time to get to know one another!

The Emotions:

It was thrilling to read Amy’s words. After 28 years I finally had contact. I was very thankful that she wanted to meet me, and it seemed that her desire was genuine. I analyzed every sentence she wrote trying to determine her true tone. I felt confident that she was very excited, but all I had to go on was her e-mail.

I was nervous to respond, though. I wanted to make sure that I answered her in a meaningful way. My tone needed to relay how excited and enthusiastic I felt. It was slightly stressful, but I managed to get through.

On top of that, I had no idea when we would be able to meet. All I wanted at that point was to see her in person. It was still very odd to me how it seemed to take very little time to get to that point. I felt odd sitting in the airport reading her e-mail because I had nobody to help me celebrate. None of those people around me had any idea that something truly amazing had happened.

The Advice:

Well, I’m not really sure on which portions of this post I can advise. If you’re communicating with a biological sibling for the first time, all that I can really suggest is to roll with the punches, again. I tried not to infer too much after reading Amy’s e-mail, but sometimes that can’t be prevented. Human beings are always trying to find the deeper meaning in everything, but occasionally there’s just isn’t any to be found.

- Andrew