Flashing into Existence

I’ve written about this before, but it is something that has been on my mind recently so I’m coming back to it.  It is one of those things that probably doesn’t seem terribly significant until it isn’t there and that is the birth story.  I grew up without that story, apparently flashing into existence at 3 ½ months looking very angry in a series of pictures taken by my adoptive parents on the day they brought me “home”.  The fact that I looked so angry in those first day pictures was often commented on, why I might look that way was never, so far as I can remember, discussed. 

The only tidbit of information I knew about my birth growing up was that I had been premature, born before the middle of February when I shouldn’t have been born until the end of March.  There was more information in the paperwork my adoptive parents had but for whatever reason none of that was shared with me until they gave me a copy of it when I was in my late teens.  When I was growing up I knew logically that I had been born like everyone else but it became harder and harder for me to conceptualize it.  I have specific memories of thinking about my birth and despite understanding that it had to have happened not being able to accept it as real.  I always felt different because it was something I couldn’t talk about when the subject came up.  That made it seem like it was something that never happened to me.  I often wonder now if the reason I never made any serious effort to find my natural family is that inability to accept that despite the complete lack of information about it I still had to have been born and therefore I still must have family out in the world somewhere.  I don’t have any memories of conscious thoughts in that respect but I wonder about an unconscious influence.

A subject related to the birth story that often appeared and served to remind me I was different was the “who do you look like” conversation.  This is not an unusual subject at family gatherings, it just seems to be part of human nature to compare family members to each other and see what features they share.  I suppose I was lucky in a sense since we had no family close by most of the family gatherings I attended were around holidays and therefore not very frequent.  Everyone in the extended family knew I was adopted but that didn’t stop them from having these discussions in front of me.  I suppose no one even considered that I might feel left out or otherwise isolated by the fact that I didn’t share any features with anyone in the family because I didn’t share any blood with anyone.  I can’t really blame anyone in the extended family though; people who are not adopted don’t give these sorts of conversations a second thought.  Even so, every time one of these conversations happened it made me feel that much more out of place. 

I don’t think either of my adoptive parents set out to intentionally hurt me or make me feel isolated or alone.  I think they considered infants to be a blank slate (which was common thinking at the time) and expected me to be molded in their image much like a biological child would have been.  Instead I came to them with much of my “programming” already taken care of by biology.  The person I was and continued to be as I grew was not particularly compatible with them and their ideals of who their child should be.  I didn’t understand any of this at the time nor do I believe they did.  It wasn’t until I met my natural family and discovered so many similar traits and personalities that I really understood why I always clashed with my adoptive parents.  I hope I can eventually come to terms with all of this and accept it.  Right now that seems like a very long road.