Being A Wean

When I was born, I was given up for adoption. The most I know about my birth parents, is their age. My mother was 14 and my father was 19. I never knew I was adopted until my sixth birthday, my adopted parents thought it would be best to tell me as soon as I could understand, a smart move I think. I can only imagine how I would have handled the news as a teenager. Probably, with lots of anger. Being adopted is one of those conversation nightmares for me. People either say to you “At least you were chosen. It makes you special.” Or, “Have you ever thought about finding your birth parents?” These, are the annoying opening gambits that I would like to touch on. Well, not altogether annoying, more monotonous. And not really touch on, more warn you about. .

Let’s start shall we. First up, “At least you were chosen. It makes you special.” Not really, you condescending swine. Yes, somebody chose to take me in, and I’ll be eternally grateful for that, but for every parent that gets a child, there is a deserving couple still waiting. My adopted parents were looking for a healthy baby, and they got me. They had their name down on the register for a while, and I was the first healthy, baby boy that came along. Then in a matter of days, I went from baby William, (John Doe, for orphan babies in Scotland) to baby Mark. I was special in the sense that I got to be adopted into a family that could feed and cloth me, special in the way I wasn’t born in a third world country, but that’s where the special runs out. I’ll delve more into my colourful childhood in later posts, so for the moment, lets just say I can’t watch Annie without wanting to slap the freckles of that smug little cow.

So, that brings me to “Have you ever thought about finding your birth parents?” Well, yes and no. Yes, because it would be nice to see if they looked like me, or had any of my eccentricities, or felt guilty enough to buy me a house. And no, because of the fear of rejection, or finding out they’re worse than the parents I already had. After all, they didn’t get off to the best of starts dumping my gorgeous bum. It is something that I need to deal with eventually, but there are so many mines to dodge whenever I get to thinking about them, that I tend not to dwell on it. Deep down I know I will try to trace them some day. As Logen Ninefingers would say, ‘Once you’ve got a task to do, it’s better to do it than live with the fear of it.’ Good advice.

Well, in a round about way, that’s the warning. Whenever you talk to an adopted kid, try to keep away from the ‘special’ quote, and don’t ask them about their birth parents. You might be opening a wound that will make you both feel difficult. Instead, try something a wee bit more original when somebody tells you they’re adopted. Something like
‘Why did you tell me that? Are you after my parents now?’
Or
‘So! Giraffes, in Norway, brought me up!’

Go on try it. It’s fun. The best one gets five stars.