Her dad doesn’t know she exists. Finding him proves problematic, but she is determined to do so.
Writing about this search for origins is proving somewhat difficult for me. I know from whence I came. Should I ever doubt, you can put me and my brothers in a lineup and pick us out by the very obvious (nose) features we share. Of course, we share more than physiology. We share history and interests and (sick) humor. We share facial expressions and verbal expressions and non-verbal expressions. Those things aren’t nature; they’re nurture, and they would be found in any close family, even a close family with all adopted children.
This weekend, I watched a “documentary” about the problems of the closed adoption process. The camera followed five 50-60 year olds as they tried and failed to gain access to their birth certificates and simultaneously their pasts. These were folks whose adopted parents had died and wanted the chance to find their birth parents before the same thing happened to them.
The hour ended for me in confusion. These adults who, by their own admissions, were reared in loving adoptive families and had created loving families of their own, were still driven to find out who they “should have been.”
TT: The best part of the whole thing (and it isn’t saying much because I was mostly annoyed with the perspective of the piece) was that Kansas is the only State that allows adoptees open access to their birth certificates. It’s nice to be known for something positive for once.
Rather than answers, I was left with the basic question of what drives otherwise competent, successful people to seek out their origins to the point of obsession? Why can they not accept that where they are is where they were meant to be?
Since I don’t know that I’ll ever have an answer, I must work that question into my story.
What about you? Have you ever confronted origin issues? Do you think knowing your personal past would make you a better or more complete person?