An adopted persons view

This will be hard to write as separating my emotions from ranting may be difficult...we shall see. First let me say I am for adoption as it most certainly beats out any alternative good or bad. I am especially for open adoption as it will help in the future, and help situations like mine. One of my biggest frustrations is going to a Doctor office and seeing family history. I just write n/a and move on reminded that I am the test animal for my biological descendants... but hey I do get out of checking boxes and remembering painful illnesses too so there is an upside. I am not sure if it's better to know what runs in your genes and biological roots or not, nor do I have an option to ignore or prevent. Nothing can take the place of parental love, unless of course your daughter finds an insignificant other and stops taking your advice... but that is a whole other story. See I warned you rant number one! Well here goes...

I guess I had a pretty normal childhood and I enjoyed my life and family. Looking back I can only wonder why I was the only person I ever knew or met that had his birth certificate framed on his bedroom wall. Of course back then I did not think it was strange at all, nor did I pay it any mind. I just played with my toys and musical instruments. My Mother was a music teacher, and my Father a factory worker who later became a shop teacher when the factories started laying off too much for lack of work. Teachers only had to strike every couple of years for better pay and lay offs were much more unpredictable. He became a very loved and good teacher, but the deal was that he had to get his degree and spent the majority of his life going to night school and being exhausted.

I first asked my Mother about a comment a cousin of mine yelled at me while wrestling. That comment was "get off me your just a step child who should have been an orphan!" obviously he was upset that I was winning and had him pinned down. I won that fight, but certainly lost the war as that triggered years of depression, and thoughts of who am I. When I asked my Mom about it and told her I was disturbed by it she replied " Oh don't you worry about that Kids can say cruel things and it's not true." Mrs. Cleaver statement number one. That happened when I was about 8 or 9 and it quickly went out of my head. My growing years were happy and I enjoyed a vast amount of instruments that my Mom presented we with. I was a child prodigy on the piano giving recitals, then not wanting to play anymore after a piano teacher hit me with a pen on the knuckles hard. I wasn't using proper hand posture. Posture was an issue apparently as my elementary school teachers use to write on report cards that I slouched at my desk too. All went well and I played with a small circle of friends. My closest friend was Eric Bazilian of the Rock Band The Hooters, and co author of Cyndi Lauper's Time after Time. He also wrote If God were one of us. We both enjoyed learning guitar together, and playing in a band as Beatlemania had arrived. We also enjoyed riding our bikes in our underpants pretending to Be Charles Atlas the man that held the world on his shoulders... enter the eccentric rebellious live style right there folks! Eric's father was a shrink and we use to crack a whole bunch of Psychiatric type jokes. The Hooters first major album was called Nervous Night, just a foot note and yet another side track from an uncomfortable subject. We both started growing long hair and hanging out at coffee houses. We met the 60's protest/ topical singer/ songwriter Phil Ochs there who was impressed by our young ages. We were 13 by now. Phil became a major influence in my life and writing. We sure could use you around today Phil. He died by his own hand in the 1970's after bouts with bi-polar, depression, and feelings of not having any purpose. The VietNam War was over.

Eric and I grew apart as the city neighborhood we were living in was becoming integrated. My parents were one of the last to leave, finally giving in when I was attacked in school with the point of a compass. I was one of the few Caucasian kids left. I met another friend there Richard Adler of the Philly Blues Group Dukes of Destiny. I taught him his first d chord and he  taught me to smoke a joint which he learned from his brother. I was 14 now, had long hair, survived the neighborhood changes and prejudice and was now in the suburbs. My Folks could not afford the "cool" burbs on a teacher's salary so they moved further out. Now this city boy was in an area that had very little city influence and was lost in the early 50's. Cheerleaders, crew cuts, and a lack of anything artistic presented itself. I presented myself and got thrown out of school for long hair. I never went back as I refused to cut it and was put into a private school for kids with issues. There I met new kids that were on medication and had morning cutting rituals. I could not wait to get home play guitar and stay the weekend at Bazilians house. Finally this behavior of vanishing on weekends disturbed my parents, as did my withdrawn state after school. They wanted their son and got more than they signed up for...litteraly. They talked to Eric's Dad, who recommended a colleague to speak with. The advice they were given by this shrink was devastating. One night after school I was watching TV, guitar in hand and my parents came into the room. " We need to turn the TV off and talk, Son". This did not seem good and it wasn't. With flowing tears and the only crying I ever heard in his voice, Dad said "You are Adopted, we didn't want to tell you but were advised too." My immediate reaction was oh Shit now I have lost my Parents. Gloomy days followed full of reassurance that I was their child. Those days turned into months as they needed that. Later in life I would hear from my Grandmother that I was a step child she refused to give the 50.00 dollars to me that My Pop-Pop left me in his will. She died a few days later those being the last words I ever heard from her. I wasn't even close enough for 50.00 bucks, I wasn't blood. Aparently everybody BUT me knew all along, but were cloaked in secrecy. I always felt out of place at family gatherings. Even later on in life I held adult discussions on the subject with my Father's best friends daughter, she had always known. My questions went unsolved as my Parents knew nothing about my biological roots. These were different times and closed adoption was the norm. As a rule an adopted kid was thought of as a mistake that was passed on to a second chance by the legal system. Biological parents were kept hidden at all costs and for the most part these records are still sealed. I gave up any desire to locate long ago so I really don't know. Is it better to find out? Now, I really don't care and the threat of being rejected again makes no sense, so like a good son I give them want they most likely want...no me.

After the news was told to me I went seriously down hill inventing many of today's teenage act outs and was quickly placed on my own medication. One night I got upset at my Mother and chased her around with a cigarette lighter. She was scared of fire. She accused me of being drunk, which was not the case. I was experiencing the effects of my prescribed medication along with my smokable self medication. The police were called and I ended up screaming all night in a detention center called monkey hall. That's were all the "monkies" were housed. The next day I was taken to Norristown State Hospital in Pa. for a mandatory 30 day evaluation. These were warehouse places. I was greeted by friends from the public school that had disappeared in the night, . 5 kids from my art class were there, showing the intolerance Plymouth Whitemarsh had for artistic children. All had been referred thru the Vice Principal via their parents. My generation caused the laws that are in effect today. Once you are 14 your parents can not place you in a mental hospital for any reason including grounded ones. This too would later backfire on me as I do have a daughter that has unfortunately inherited my emotional issues. Recently she told me that my biological parents must have had terrible genes. I gave her the fantasy of my Mother I developed in anger, a drunken hooker in a cheap room lit with the wash of red from the neon hotel light. It is s 4th story room and the o in the sign is burned out....ho. el. In Philly we have a subway called  the el or elevated as it comes up from underground most of the time. Being on the 4th floor made her elevated. My fantasies were not. My last conversation with her ended with her saying " Make something of your music, it's my childhood memories." I intend to grant her wish with help from a yet to be found recording company.

After my "time" in the tute (patient slang for institute) I was welcomed back to my private school now an important citizen. I was in a state run facility while most were recent graduates of private hospitals. This made things even nuttier as the real hard core crazies were all about being friends, and my "normal" friends didn't have much time anymore. After a few months I decided to run away from home. I told my parents I needed to search for my biological parents and felt NYC was a great place to start. My Father drove me to the train, bought me a ticket, gave me $40.00, slipped a piece of paper in my hand and told me to call collect often. It was actually an act of love as bizarre as it may seem, but then again this was the same man that put my birth certificate in a frame on my wall, another act of love. The hippie thing was going strong in a new part of Greenwich Village called the East Village. This was my main reason for going, the parent line was just nasty guilt I was throwing on people I thought had hurt me. I read the note on the train my Dad gave me, it was the Golden Rule, Do unto Others, I still follow that rule. The East Village was The Lower East Side and full of tenement buildings. Today it is a yuppie paradise and home to many on Wall Street along with the artists that still linger around. Back then it was a melting pot of traditional immigrants now mixed with runaways. I made money, by playing in coffee houses, and even ran into Phil Ochs who remembered me from Philly. "How could I ever forget my youngest fan's where's your friend? Bobby (Dylan) is jealous!" We shared coffee many times and I thought of him as the big brother I never had. My daughter's birthday is the same as Phil's 12/19. I slept on roof tops when I couldn't find a place. I even did a stay at the YMCA made famous in the song, and was approached by a pervert.  After running the life on the streets scene of which I am suppressing many side rants, I returned home.

Now I went back to school even cooler than before. I was a runaway kid, with a history of emotional hospitalization. In that community it didn't get much better and I soon had more girlfriends than any kid in the place. However they weren't the kind you brought home to Mom so my hanging out in Philly's hippie area continued. Allthough if we needed a place to go my parents were happy to ignor anything that was happening in my room. All of my acting out was just masking the sad heart this teenager should not have had to deal with. After all a teenager has plenty of junk going on in the brain to handle.

Soon my Parents realized the school thing wasn't a great idea and I was lucky to get into The Parkway Program which was a school without walls run by the Philly School System, somebody had noticed the need for non traditional education. We were able to pick classes which were taught by local people, such as a Social Studies class on city government taught by an ADA. One of my classes was with Ira Einhorn a local hippie guru who taught creative writing out of his apartment. He is also known as the founder of Earth Day and The guy who murdered his girlfriend, stuck her in a trunk for a year and then fled the country and hid for 20 some years. I was taken under the wing of a photography teacher, who would be a patron at a bar I was playing at years later. He had given up teaching and was a regular...sad he was a great teacher. My list of odd influences was growing as this kid was yearning to belong and be loved.

I always had a problem with girlfriends preferring the one who broke up with me last over the present relationship. I never ended a relationship until many years later. I guess I loved them more after they threw me away as after all my own Mother did that. This became a problem and my relationships were never of any quality. When a good one came along I would pay little attention too it preferring to mourn the one I lost. To this day I am single although very capable of being in a good relationship. I now know how to love and participate, but it took many years. My most recent significant other I caught being an escort behind my back, gotta watch leaving your computer on when living with someone. After still giving her a chance and me a STD test, she dropped me for a 46 year old virgin who had a bigger bank account, and excess skin to be surgically removed after major weight loss. After getting married she told me how unhappy she was and had made the worst mistake of her life. She was looking for a denied extra marital affair.....there's another rant. I still believe one day a woman will love me for who I am, my talents, sensitivity, honesty and oh hell this ain't match dot whatever....an even longer rant. While I am capable I guess I still can't pick them. I have remained single for a couple years now.

Things changed for me when my first daughter was born. After many emotional battles, severe depression, and bi-polar disorder which went undiagnosed for years until it became the disorder dijour, I had what I always wanted. A biological link. She has had many issues  is not doing well right now, and is a story for her to tell one day. She experiences many of the issues I had. Her Mother kicked her out at 14 for a new husband. 14 s not a good age to get heavy. She has not recovered yet but is working on it. I have 2 other daughters one who is doing very well and studying to be a RN and one who just turned 18 and doesn't talk to me. I love them all.

So I guess my feelings are about spent right now. Plese don't take it as a pity party, it is not that. It IS a celebration of my present life as my trials, and experiences formed the man i am today. My outlet for all of this built up stuff has been my music. I usually don't tell what a song is about except for the occasional blurb between tunes at a solo acoustic gig in an intimate setting. I am taking this moment as such... Take a listen to my song Gentle Man it is about my Father... Good Night Mary Jane about my last relationship, as is Gotta Be A Reason, her wanting to come back. I don't think I ever expressed  my love and appreciation to my Father while he was alive. I am a passionate performer as i still have a need to make people want me, but I tell it like it is as I can't mask my feelings. I hope this helps any who are parents, and certainly adopted persons and pray that we make more head way with the open adoption philosophy. If you think this write was long, you are right. It's really just the cliff notes of a movie script so many have said I should pen.