At seventeen dad gave me his old car. I was free to go anywhere. While friends planned parties, I planned my first trip to Indianapolis to search for the woman who gave birth to me. I would later find her, although deceased, nearly twenty years later. I met uncles, aunts, cousins, a grandmother and even two brothers and… Continue reading To Adoptees: Enjoy the Ride of your Journey
Thirty years ago my wife, Carmen, and I opened a small jewelry boutique that was half the size of our tiny one-room apartment. We started slow. It was all we could afford. After a few newspaper ads, customers trickled inside. Looking back, it is amazing the amount of jewelry one could buy for only a… Continue reading Thirty Years and a Tiny Dream
As a young adoptee I had one simple quest: to find my birthmother. Twenty years later I found her, but she had already died. I did, however, joyously find loving aunts, uncles, two brothers, a sister, and even an 87-year-old grandmother! When it rains, it pours. My mission was successful, but a new quest began:… Continue reading The Secrets of the Universe
I never asked to be born. But I’m glad I was. I never met my birthmother or father. But I’m glad they met one another. That’s why I can type this. Whew! Their acquaintance was probably anonymous and brief. Sometimes humans need something from another at particular moments in their lives. Sometimes it’s a need to… Continue reading I Never Asked to be Born
Although I loved my adoptive parents, I always wondered how I originated on earth. Mom and Dad we’re both fair skinned. Dad was tall and slim. I was olive complected with thick, dark, curly hair. Dad’s nose was long. Mine was wide. The Holy Bible always rested in the living room. Through the miracle of DNA and the help from… Continue reading Would I Be the Same Person?
For the first 32 years of my life I was an only child. There was no one I ever met that shared my eyes or nose or skin color. Events like my birthday or Mother’s Day always made me wonder where I came from and who was the mystery woman who gave birth to me.… Continue reading To Adoptees- Enjoy the Ride of your Journey
My birthmother had a Christian upbringing. My birthfather was a Sephardic Jew. His father was a rabbi from Aleppo. I never met my birthmother or father. Although their acquaintance was probably brief, I wonder if they ever realized the holy books of their religions included the first five books of the Bible. And here I… Continue reading Is God Inside or Outside Us?
Today I paused to print my family tree that was painstakingly assembled with the help of the most amazing women researchers who became my friends. As an adoptee who never met my birth parents, I always wondered how I got here. Today I feel complete in knowing I arrived on planet Earth from the human… Continue reading Born from the Stars
Each of us has a book inside of us and a story to tell. If I ever say we should be thankful I don’t mean we should be thankful just because we were adopted, and we should not be thankful just because society expects us to feel that way. The word “grateful” has become twisted… Continue reading We Must Always Be Thankful
In honor of all mothers. I wanted to show that many adoptees are willing to search their entire lives for the truth of their origins. To a Birthmother I lie here awake Deep chasm of night Thick curtains are drawn To shield drops of light The moon cannot speak Inside this dark tomb Blackness within… Continue reading To A Birthmother
I loved my adoptive mother but I didn’t always agree with her. I’m glad she taught me to stand up to bullies and defend myself. But I remember her instructing me to stay away from the problems of others. Perhaps she thought if I shielded myself from conflict I would somehow be protecting myself. Later… Continue reading Courage
I was born and adopted in Indiana. When I turned eighteen I considered myself an adult. I could buy a pack of cigarettes.I could vote for the President.I could buy a gun. When I turned twenty-one I could go to a bar.I could order a drink.I could get drunk.But I was never allowed to inquire… Continue reading Infant is my name
On May 1, 2019 I spoke to my vanished sister, Deborah Kay, for the first time. When I was shown this old photo of her in our birthmother’s arms no one told me what happened to her. Was she adopted? Was she kidnapped? Did she die? My sister, born as Deborah Kay Price, is… Continue reading One Year Ago
This is my childhood home in New Albany, Indiana. In the summertime the hot sun would blaze behind the house where I would sit on concrete steps and squint into the sky. Gray paint would always flake off the steps like dried flower petals. As golden rays soaked into my bare chest I would try… Continue reading Concrete Gray Steps