Tonight, December 5th, he will ride the roof tops of many houses on his white horse, assisted by his Black Petes to bring gifts to children. I am talking of Sinterklaas, of course.

When I first asked my adoptive parents why they didn't have children of their own, they told me they couldn't get children of their own. I don't know if they used the word "infertility", I was too young anyway to understand five syllable words at the time. Had there not been more to it, I would have never heard and probably would never have asked.

The escape took place on August 12th 1989, which happened to be a Saturday. The day before that I had returned from holidays. I had been to France with a friend of mine. Now that had been a first time for me. Up till then I had only spent the holidays with my parents, but that time around I had managed to have holidays just for me. This I had deserved.

Though I was born in 1965, I feel my story starts on 25 November 1954. That day both my natural parents and my adoptive parents got married and the often hard to explain who is who of my life story was formed. The short version would be, my natural father's sister and her husband adopted me, turning my aunt and uncle into my mother and father, my father into my uncle and my mother into the ex-wife of my uncle. On top of that it turned my brother and sister into cousins.

In two days it will be New Year's Eve, having barely recuperated from Christmas. For me New Year's Eve is the worst day of the year. It dwarfs Christmas in comparison. Every year all missed opportunities, failed achievements and utter stupidities of the past year come bombarding me. It's a day of sadness and decay while its outlook is the bleak month of January; the cold, barren winter time stretching out for at least another two and a half month.

When I was a small child I loved and adored my adoptive parents. They were my world and I couldn't imagine a life without them. Years and years later I left them to start living on my own at my wits end, feeling I had to go, it being the death of me if I didn't. The love I once felt for them was completely gone. For years I couldn't look at families who got along fine without getting angry and frustrated.

I usually check up the latest child placement news on the internet and when interesting put the article here on PPL. This month though we are faced with headlines like:

I just found out my natural mom died, just a few days ago. I never met her again after our separation, over forty years ago. For a long time I didn't want to meet her, until I started having second thoughts, only last year. Right now it is too late to ever meet her. My own indecision has decided for me. Today I'd like to dedicate my thoughts to the woman who gave birth to me and honour her with my gratitude of giving me life.

Contrary to many adoptees I've met, I know where I come from, I've always known where I come from. I am the product of a within-the-family-adoption. I was born September 9, 1965 in The Hague. So much for the verifiable facts, the rest is part truth, part legend, part fact.

My birth parents had been married for about 10 years and already had two children, a son 10 years older and a daughter 5 years older than me (fact). Their marriage hadn't been going well and being the sixties they started experimenting with the notion of free love (legend).