Recently there was an editorial piece about the need for open records for all adoptees in the state of Iowa. The piece went on to describe the current system that is in place for adult adoptees who wish to access their original birth certificates or medical information and pronounced it a hit and miss hodgepodge that really doesn't allow people easy access to the same information that the non-adopted have unfettered access. Interestingly here in Canada, the provincial government of Ontario was forced by the courts to rework a law that would have opened up adoption records for all adoptees, past and present. The law in its original form was retroactive to sealed adoptions even and caused quite an uproar among those who believe that birth parents have rights that supersede those of the now adult children they relinquished.
I find the debate interesting from a personal standpoint as I was adopted as an infant almost 44 years ago now in Dubuque county. The agency that handled my adoption, Catholic Charities, had long had a policy of supplying non-identifying information and medical histories, if that information exists, to adult adoptees. As I result, I know quite a bit about my birth parents who were in there later teens when I was born. I know I am of Swedish/Irish extraction and my birth mother was a classic blue-eyed, strawberry blond Irish Catholic girl. I know that both my parents came from broken homes, hardly the norm in 1963. According to the information in my file, there were no known medical conditions that I need to worry about but since we are talking about an era when medical histories were not really deemed as important as they are today, I am not certain I trust this particular revelation. I can tell you the height and weight of both my birth parents. There religions of record. The number of siblings each had and that my birth father worked at a gas station and my birth mother was anxious that I should be in a home before Christmas. Still, for all I do know, I don't know who these two people are and if it is from them I inherited my athletic ability or my gift for writing? Is it her or him that I look like or like my own daughter, am I an even mix?
People who grew up in biological families can't know how it is to be related to no one. To look in the mirror and not see anyone but yourself. Until the birth of my own child, there wasn't a soul on the planet who I shared genetic ties with that I personally knew. I am not an advocate of the red-neck position that is prevalent these days that biological ties trump all. I can recall far too many conversations with my students in various Des Moines schools about how awful people must be to give away their flesh and blood. Perhaps this new, if it is really, attitude accounts for the decreasing numbers of babies available for adoption these days and the increasing number of unprepared teens raising babies who will likely fare no better in life than their own parents did.
Do I have a right to my original birth certificate? Yes, I do. I am an adult and I should have the same right to that piece of paper as any other adult in the state of Iowa or elsewhere. The contract (because that is what an adoption is) that was brokered (because that is what adoption agencies and lawyers do) between my birth parents and my parents was between them. As an infant, my opinion and rights weren't an issue, but I am not an infant now.
Birth parents and some adoptees will tout privacy issues as the main reason for keeping records, especially older ones, sealed. That's not a good enough reason. There are consequences and responsibilities that go along with bringing a life into this world, signing and sealing adoption papers doesn't relieve birth parents of that no matter what they were told or still believe. They have an obligation to the children they created and this includes providing information to their birth children about who they are, where they came from and, of course, medical information which can change drastically from one's teens to one's middle age or later. As an example, my first husband died as a result of an inherited metabolic disease that no one in his family even knew they carried the effected gene for until he got sick. A medical history is on-going and not the finite thing that adoption agencies would have us believe.
One of my younger sisters searched out her birth parents and found a mother who she is still in touch with though her birth father rejected her utterly. Her search was time consuming and in the end turned out to be a mixed bag though she did discover some health information that was not included in her original adoption files.
Personally, I have no interest in knowing my birth parents on anything other than paper. I am curious to know the circumstances surrounding my conception naturally and what they might look like. I would like to know that they are in continued good health and that no illnesses that I should worry about cropped up as they aged. I would like to know how I got the awful name of Yvette. Was I named for the actress? Or was it a family thing? But beyond that, I have a family who might not be perfect but are broken in and comfortable to me.
Friday, November 16, 2007
Thursday, November 15, 2007
The Best
Here in Alberta licensing is out-sourced. The provincial governments allow private businesses, like insurance companies, to set up outlets in towns and cities and they handle the paperwork and fees. These businesses handle all types of licensing from marriage to driver’s to hunting/fishing to animals. Because of this, there is often quite a lengthy wait when applying for whatever type of license you might need. Last week I was finally able to get the GDL designation taken off my driver’s license as I had recently received my proof of licensing from the state of Iowa. It took over a large chunk of my afternoon between standing in line and waiting for approval from the provincial authorities who needed to see a faxed copy of my paperwork before giving the okay for the change.
During my second stint in line, I noticed a couple at the counter who were obviously getting a marriage license. I must say I love the rituals associated with marriage in the Alberta province. If you ever have need of writing marriage vows, I urge you to check out the Alberta official ceremony. It even impressed my staunchly Catholic mother and aunt and that is significant. At one point in application process, both parties are required to raise their right hands and swear that the information they have given for their application is valid. I think it’s neat, the seriousness of the application process and the ceremony after all this is a country were people don’t have to marry. There is a common-law option. I watched the couple thinking what most people would think “Isn’t this sweet? Two people starting life together as a committed pair.”
When they were finished, they had to walk right by me to leave. The woman was young but still a bit older than Rob’s oldest daughter by my estimation and the man about thirty, give or take. She was smiling in a dreamy sort of way, and he was putting his credit card back into his wallet (a marriage license is about $77 dollars) with a disgusted look on his face and he muttered loud enough for nearly all about to hear, “Well, that was a waste of money.” I was a bit stunned and I wanted to chase the woman down a few minutes later and tell her to run, far and fast, but I chose to stay in line because you can’t really know what is going on inside a relationship from bits and snippets. Although as I told Rob recently that what you see is generally what you get in terms of how people’s public behavior is usually not far off their private persona. As my old English supervisor, Jerry Wadden, was fond of reminding us at the start of each school year, “These parents are not keeping the good children home and hiding them in closets. They are sending you the best they have.” And so it follows that it is the same with adults. They aren’t saying their best for a stand-up routine in front of the mirror each morning as they brush their teeth. They are giving the world the best they’ve got. I think though, as in the case of this young couple I observed, that sometimes people tend to settle for less than the best they deserve.
During my second stint in line, I noticed a couple at the counter who were obviously getting a marriage license. I must say I love the rituals associated with marriage in the Alberta province. If you ever have need of writing marriage vows, I urge you to check out the Alberta official ceremony. It even impressed my staunchly Catholic mother and aunt and that is significant. At one point in application process, both parties are required to raise their right hands and swear that the information they have given for their application is valid. I think it’s neat, the seriousness of the application process and the ceremony after all this is a country were people don’t have to marry. There is a common-law option. I watched the couple thinking what most people would think “Isn’t this sweet? Two people starting life together as a committed pair.”
When they were finished, they had to walk right by me to leave. The woman was young but still a bit older than Rob’s oldest daughter by my estimation and the man about thirty, give or take. She was smiling in a dreamy sort of way, and he was putting his credit card back into his wallet (a marriage license is about $77 dollars) with a disgusted look on his face and he muttered loud enough for nearly all about to hear, “Well, that was a waste of money.” I was a bit stunned and I wanted to chase the woman down a few minutes later and tell her to run, far and fast, but I chose to stay in line because you can’t really know what is going on inside a relationship from bits and snippets. Although as I told Rob recently that what you see is generally what you get in terms of how people’s public behavior is usually not far off their private persona. As my old English supervisor, Jerry Wadden, was fond of reminding us at the start of each school year, “These parents are not keeping the good children home and hiding them in closets. They are sending you the best they have.” And so it follows that it is the same with adults. They aren’t saying their best for a stand-up routine in front of the mirror each morning as they brush their teeth. They are giving the world the best they’ve got. I think though, as in the case of this young couple I observed, that sometimes people tend to settle for less than the best they deserve.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Let's Talk About Time
I’m running the risk of sounding whiny by broaching the topic of my lack of time again, but it has been eating at me all day. I had nothing on my schedule today but an appointment for a haircut at 1PM. Everything else was optional but for finding some time to go to the gym, buying cat food and getting over to the bookmobile at 7Pm. And yet somehow, my day completely slid away from me to the point where even though I did get quite a bit accomplished - for example: the laundry is near done; the kitchen is clean; I made a crock pot of homemade chicken veggie soup and a wholesome lunch and supper for husband and child; I got over to Sherwood Park to the pet store for food, the Starbucks to replenish tea supplies and hit the grocery store - whew! Right? But, I still feel like I got so very little done. Here it is nearly 7:30 in the evening and I am only just getting to my blog, and I haven’t touched my novel more than a handful of times since last Friday between traveling, helping Rob’s mom and child-minding. Valuable things all too. Don’t get me wrong. And perhaps I am just insanely selfish. Do I really need to work-out for an hour and a half every day? Do I need to blog daily? Is the novel something that has to be done by the end of the month, so I can spend December editing?
Sadly, I still have the widow tendency to putz around and waste time. However, is reading the newspaper daily(okay, two newspapers) a waste of time? Am I wasting time reading and responding to others’ blogs? When I choose to write this blog instead of going to writing group, is that being as productive as I could be?
Rob says it’s a matter of prioritizing, but the trouble is that what is most important seems to vary from week to week. Last week my deep water exercise class went by the wayside because Rob was working on finishing the roof - which is a matter of some urgency with winter basically upon us here in Alberta. Tonight both water aerobics and writing group bit the dust because I needed to write. I just needed to and I can’t explain the importance of this need any more clearly than it is like an athlete who misses too many training days in a row due to an injury. After a certain point your body just cries out to move and sweat and be allowed to do that which it was trained to do. The same is true of writing. My mind just screams to be unleashed on the keyboard. I need to write almost like I am beginning to really need to run and lift weights. I don’t feel like myself otherwise, and it has been so long since I have felt like me that I am afraid to take even the tiniest break lest I fall back into the dark times when writing and movement were luxuries.
I don’t know. The scheduling thing is still eluding me, and I can rationalize that there are more important things that come up because that is the nature of life, but the truth is much simpler. I am still not using my time wisely. I still surf the net aimlessly when I can’t string words together instead of using that “think time” to do something productive. In the old days when I wasn’t writing, I was reading. Really reading. Novels. I sadly don’t have the attention span for that yet, but the Internet is hardly the place to pump mental iron. And I could be getting up earlier. I have shamelessly luxuriated in my timelessness these last months. I don’t wear a watch or set an alarm clock at bed, but those days need to end mostly.
I know there are probably many writers who dink about and write here and there, but I don’t think many of them are published much less successful. To be good requires commitment and discipline and probably sacrifice. And, I just cannot do all the things I would like to do and still spend time with Rob and Katy, and whatever my aspirations, they come first.
I guess it is back to the drawing board for a little more scheduling and organizational fine tuning, remembering always that they are just details.
Sadly, I still have the widow tendency to putz around and waste time. However, is reading the newspaper daily(okay, two newspapers) a waste of time? Am I wasting time reading and responding to others’ blogs? When I choose to write this blog instead of going to writing group, is that being as productive as I could be?
Rob says it’s a matter of prioritizing, but the trouble is that what is most important seems to vary from week to week. Last week my deep water exercise class went by the wayside because Rob was working on finishing the roof - which is a matter of some urgency with winter basically upon us here in Alberta. Tonight both water aerobics and writing group bit the dust because I needed to write. I just needed to and I can’t explain the importance of this need any more clearly than it is like an athlete who misses too many training days in a row due to an injury. After a certain point your body just cries out to move and sweat and be allowed to do that which it was trained to do. The same is true of writing. My mind just screams to be unleashed on the keyboard. I need to write almost like I am beginning to really need to run and lift weights. I don’t feel like myself otherwise, and it has been so long since I have felt like me that I am afraid to take even the tiniest break lest I fall back into the dark times when writing and movement were luxuries.
I don’t know. The scheduling thing is still eluding me, and I can rationalize that there are more important things that come up because that is the nature of life, but the truth is much simpler. I am still not using my time wisely. I still surf the net aimlessly when I can’t string words together instead of using that “think time” to do something productive. In the old days when I wasn’t writing, I was reading. Really reading. Novels. I sadly don’t have the attention span for that yet, but the Internet is hardly the place to pump mental iron. And I could be getting up earlier. I have shamelessly luxuriated in my timelessness these last months. I don’t wear a watch or set an alarm clock at bed, but those days need to end mostly.
I know there are probably many writers who dink about and write here and there, but I don’t think many of them are published much less successful. To be good requires commitment and discipline and probably sacrifice. And, I just cannot do all the things I would like to do and still spend time with Rob and Katy, and whatever my aspirations, they come first.
I guess it is back to the drawing board for a little more scheduling and organizational fine tuning, remembering always that they are just details.
Monday, November 12, 2007
Traveling to B.C.
Friday night after ballet, we drove down to Calgary to get a jump on the long drive to Penticton which is in the Okanagan in British Columbia. Rob’s younger sister and her family live just outside of Calgary and we spent the night there and left just before lunch for B.C. Rob’s mother relocated to Penticton recently.
Calgary is a big city. About one million and it’s probably the biggest city per square mile in North America. It took a while to drive through. Rob, Shelley and the girls lived there for about eight years. First while he was in engineering school and then when he was working at a refinery nearby. Rob’s younger sister, Sheila and her husband and their girls live here now and Rob’s younger brother and his family do as well. We had a nice time at Sheila and Kevin’s, but we didn’t see Ryan and his wife, Natalie.
The mountains can be seen from Calgary without any problem. They are about an hour from the city with nothing but prairie leading up to them. Once in the mountains, they rise and fall alongside, disappearing up into the clouds, falling down to disappear into tree thick valleys.
Our first stop after leaving Calgary was Canmore which is just outside the Jasper National Park. Rob told me to take a good look around. Canmore is an example of what happens to mountain towns that lie outside national park land. Overgrowth without restriction. Some would argue that it allows people an opportunity to live in beautiful areas like the Rockies and that government regulation hampers growth, but the truth is that towns that like Canmore are blights that are no different than the mountain pine beetle that is ravaging the old forest growth in B.C. There are some that go as far as to argue that man is an infestation on the planet and when you contrast the ugliness of a place like Canmore, you might be inclined to agree.
At the first high pass beyond Canmore, we encountered snow. Real snow. Heavy wet flakes driven at the speed of sound by the wind, they looked like giant moths caught in a wind tunnel.
White knuckle driving. I know this because Rob let go of my hand to take the steering wheel with both hands. He always holds my hand while driving, so when he lets go and takes the wheel, it’s bad.
As quickly as it came up, we were coming down and the skies began to clear.
We stopped again in Golden after crossing this bridge, but not before encountering wildlife.
Mountain settlements slow travel in addition to not being as picturesque as they lay claim to being. Sometime well after dark we finally reached Kelowna, and I am glad it was dark. As I told Rob, I wouldn’t want to be able to see the mountains around. The city is obscene enough in the dark. Spreading out and out like a retail Vegas with every chain name you can imagine. It wasn’t even pretending to be quaint and scenic.
Penticton has turned out to be a little nicer but still, a city is a city and there is a natural opposition between civilization and the wild with the former not bending much to accommodate.
Calgary is a big city. About one million and it’s probably the biggest city per square mile in North America. It took a while to drive through. Rob, Shelley and the girls lived there for about eight years. First while he was in engineering school and then when he was working at a refinery nearby. Rob’s younger sister, Sheila and her husband and their girls live here now and Rob’s younger brother and his family do as well. We had a nice time at Sheila and Kevin’s, but we didn’t see Ryan and his wife, Natalie.
The mountains can be seen from Calgary without any problem. They are about an hour from the city with nothing but prairie leading up to them. Once in the mountains, they rise and fall alongside, disappearing up into the clouds, falling down to disappear into tree thick valleys.
Our first stop after leaving Calgary was Canmore which is just outside the Jasper National Park. Rob told me to take a good look around. Canmore is an example of what happens to mountain towns that lie outside national park land. Overgrowth without restriction. Some would argue that it allows people an opportunity to live in beautiful areas like the Rockies and that government regulation hampers growth, but the truth is that towns that like Canmore are blights that are no different than the mountain pine beetle that is ravaging the old forest growth in B.C. There are some that go as far as to argue that man is an infestation on the planet and when you contrast the ugliness of a place like Canmore, you might be inclined to agree.
At the first high pass beyond Canmore, we encountered snow. Real snow. Heavy wet flakes driven at the speed of sound by the wind, they looked like giant moths caught in a wind tunnel.
White knuckle driving. I know this because Rob let go of my hand to take the steering wheel with both hands. He always holds my hand while driving, so when he lets go and takes the wheel, it’s bad.
As quickly as it came up, we were coming down and the skies began to clear.
We stopped again in Golden after crossing this bridge, but not before encountering wildlife.
Mountain settlements slow travel in addition to not being as picturesque as they lay claim to being. Sometime well after dark we finally reached Kelowna, and I am glad it was dark. As I told Rob, I wouldn’t want to be able to see the mountains around. The city is obscene enough in the dark. Spreading out and out like a retail Vegas with every chain name you can imagine. It wasn’t even pretending to be quaint and scenic.
Penticton has turned out to be a little nicer but still, a city is a city and there is a natural opposition between civilization and the wild with the former not bending much to accommodate.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
