Who do I look like?

my birth father around age nine

me at age 6

Growing up adopted, I wondered about a lot of things.  Who were they...that other mother and father?  What was their story?  More specifically, what was their story, when it came to me?  What exactly were they to each other?  How old were they?  Why did they choose adoption?  As I got older, I wondered about my medical history, especially at doctors appointment when I had no information to share.  But one question rose above all others.  It seemed silly or shallow or maybe even unimportant.  What did it really matter anyway?  But I always wanted to know who I looked like.  And to be honest, I wanted to know that more than any other thing.

When we went to Ethiopia to adopt our sons, we were lucky to meet one member from each of their birth families.  In those people, we can see our sons.  We have photographs.  The boys don't have to wonder who they look like.  They can see it for themselves.  I think that helps.  It's only one part of being adopted, but it matters.  When I was growing up, especially in my preteen and teen years, I would have given a lot to see a photo or to even know their first names.

I was 20 when I met my first biological relative.  It was my birth father, Tim.  He couldn't get over how much I looked like him.  I couldn't see it.  Absolutely not.

About a year later, I met my birth mother, Jean, I could some similarities, we have the same eye color and skin tone and my laugh sounds like hers.  I wanted more than that. I actually wanted to be the spitting image of someone but I wasn't.

Not long after that, I was in Boston with a friend and ran into Tim.  As soon as he was out of earshot, my friend said, "I know you don't want to hear this, but you look just like him."

my birth father as a young man

I went back to thinking about Tim.  Perhaps I did look like him.  But how could I look like someone that I felt no connection to?  Someone, to be honest, that I didn't like. A person who had a long history of drug and alcohol abuse, an extensive criminal history, and who was an absent father to the two other children he fathered?  I felt embarrassed that I was a part of him. How could I look like him?

After Tim's death 5 years ago, I met his siblings for the first time at his memorial service.  I liked them instantly and I liked them a lot.  I felt a genetic weight lift off my shoulders as I got to know them.  I wasn't from 'bad stock'.  Tim's life was a product of his own tumultuous childhood, choices he made and other factors that have nothing to do with me.

After the service, Tim's sister (my aunt), handed me a photo album of pictures of Tim from his babyhood to near the time of his death, I felt myself soften toward him for the first time.  I looked slowly at each photo.  In many of them, I could see myself.  It has taken the better part of 50 years, but I know who I look like and I have made peace with it.  I look like my birth father.

Here's the thing...

I can still show you how handsome they are.

I have been working on a blog post, but before I post it, I thought I would explain why it has been so long since my last post.  It is not because I have nothing to say, or that I have been too busy.  I have written at least a dozen blog posts.  They have been funny, sad, and I think, relatable.  But you're going to have to take my word for it.  The thing is this...the boys are getting big and there is so much less I can share.  I think (hope, pray) that they will one day appreciate the stories that I have told about them up to this point.  They are now about to turn 9 and 12, they continue to be interesting and funny, giving me awesome material, I just can't use it.

If I told you some of our best stuff, they might end up in the news for divorcing me.  They would show the judge my blog, and she would bang her gavel and grant their divorce from me. Then she would  order me to pay for  therapy, for the rest of my life.

There have been conversations about deodorant, body hair, girls, mean kids, and how dogs have puppies without even being married.  There have been moments of profound sadness as they begin to understand the depth of what was lost in Ethiopia.  We have talked a lot about race and belonging, fitting in and standing out, and what it really means to be a family.  First crushes have been revealed.  I have answered questions about boob jobs, finances, the elderly, and why you absolutely must not believe everything that you hear on the school bus, especially if it makes you feel kind of weird inside.

I have answered the question, "What exactly is sex?" by using my hands as visual aides.  They may never look at my pointer finger the same way.  I know I don't.  I wish I could have a do over.

So, I hope that explains my absence.  I will continue to blog.  There is still a lot to share.  Just know that if weeks on end go by, and you haven't heard from me...it is not because my life suddenly got boring.