piece by broken piece

I found more papers last night.

My kids wanted to know more about my childhood... so I told them about the time I was in the bicentennial parade, dressed as Betsy Ross.  My grandmother made the costume for me.  At least I wasn't alone... I had my brother with me; he was dressed as Ben Franklin.  We looked like dorks.  I wore a hat, and held a flag, and he wore fake glasses and carried a kite.  We sat on this huge float made of fake flowers because we were kids, and our dad made us, because our grandmother made the outfits.

The whole time we had to smile and wave.  The whole time we felt like idiots, so we laughed and wished we were off the wooden death-trap, hoping none of our friends saw us.

At the end of the parade, we learned our float won first-prize.  My brother and I were stunned.  We thought we were instant celebrities.  Some guy, Buzz Aldrin, shook our hands and everyone was all excited.  I remember thinking we would win something.  We got a letter in the mail, that was it.

We got to keep the ugly outfits.

They were really ugly.  Horrible little white stars, on red and blue fabric.  <shudder>

My kids asked if I had any photos of the outfit.  I found a newspaper clipping, it had made front-page news in our local newspaper back in 1976.

That's when I found some papers from the adoption agency my adoptive parents used.

Sister Mary Eugene Foundation.

My heart stopped.

A lump caught in my throat.

I recalled stories told to me from a few other women adopted through that agency.  Horror stories.  Complete horror stories of A.family-abuse.  There was strange comfort knowing there were other adoptees that got sold through that agency that didn't get the fairy-tale ending adoption supporters like to sell.

When I saw these newly-found papers, I recalled the story the social worker told me when I got my non-id info, told my real/original (blacked-out) name several years previously.  According to her, the social worker assigned my case, the agency was shut-down many decades ago, due to illegal practicing.  According to the SW story, the building where records were kept was torched.  Birth/adoption records were burned and ruined, and many were not salvaged, but supposedly, my papers were found.  I was one of the lucky ones to have some of my records saved from the fires.... fires started by whom?

LUCKY?

I suppose...

"Lucky" being a sick, twisted word in the world of adoption... sure, I was indeed "lucky".  I was not killed or burned in a fire.

Far too often, I feel too sad to feel lucky, but then, maybe I'm not grateful enough to appreciate all that was done for me by those who wanted to push others to adopt.

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My own "The Baby" Pages

Non profit

When I first heard the term non profit it rang a positive bell with me. What doesn't sound better than people who do things not for profit. Then I got older and a tad wiser and found out non profit only means tax exemption. Non profit organizations by definition can not make profit and therefore don't have to pay income tax. So instead of letting everyone profit from their business by paying taxes like for profit organizations do, non profit organizations are allowed to spend it all on operational cost.

Churches and other non-profit organizations are very entangled. Only look the number of Christian, Jewish and Catholic charities around. In all that entanglement the most horrible things happen. Agencies making sure the members of church get the children they want, whether they are fit for it. In a world where it is more important who you know than what you know, things don't have to go with legal money.

Non profit, my ass. There is always profit for someone, whether the tax man is aware of it or not.

failure to thrive... to bold and agressive...

This is the story of a survivor.  Very similar to a lot of information given to PAP's during the waiting period between assignment and placement.  The problem here seems to be very similar to MANY other adoptions:  Not enough attention paid to the "time spent alone" in a crib developing that flat side of the head; the hours that baby lay without attention. And then the gradual progression toward becoming what they call "bold and aggressive."  And just what does "bold and aggressive" mean?
To me, it's a child learning that they are all alone in this world and must survive alone in order to have a life at all.  As an adult, don't we still struggle against what we learned as a baby/child.  But, are we still "bold and aggressive?"

What did I ever do to deserve this... Teddy

Sister Mary Eugene Foundation

Myself and my two brothers were adopted into New Jersey out of Prince Edward Island through the Sister Mary Eugene Foundation in the 1960's. After being reunited with my mother and father I found out that large money exchanges for adoptions caused many children to be hurried into adoption. I was under the impression that the church played a part in family reconstruction. However, Catholicism, once again shows its commitment to family deconstruction! What if anything, can be done about these adoption atrocities?

What can be done?

<choking lump in my throat>

For many of us whisked into adoption, the best we can do is tell out stories, hoping the rush to process and fulfil an adoption dream will, at the very least,  be slowed-down so enormous mistakes are NOT made.

Pound Pup Legacy