This post is inspired by the comments to
this post. And it’s going to be wishy-washy. I’m not likely to come to a proper conclusion. But it’s an interesting topic.
I remember when this referendum came up in Matt’s former home state. At that point, I was vehemently against it. You see, the secrecy requirement goes both ways. There are a number of birth parents whose parental rights were terminated for cause and others whose rights would have been terminated for cause had they not voluntarily surrendered those rights. And my birthmother is one of them.
How do I know this, what with all the secrecy and everything? Well, my sister is also my biological sister. And she tracked down our birthmother. There is a whole separate post possible for this topic, but the Cliff Notes version is that it was very traumatic for me in a way that I didn’t expect. You see, for me, my parents are the people who raised me. Period. I feel no particular tie to the people who contributed my DNA. I didn’t really care to meet either of them or find anything specific. I guess it’s because I never really felt like I was missing anything. Like I said, my parents are my parents. Period, end of story. Except that it’s not, when your sister is your sister is also your biological sister, and she feels like she’s missing something.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I understand adoptees who feel the way my sister did. And my (our) parents understood this, too. They never made us feel that searching for our biological parents would be a betrayal of our real parents. In fact, they were very open with us about being adopted and the always told us that, when the time came, they would do anything they could to help us search if we wanted to. So, it wasn’t a fear of hurting my parents that made me not want to meet my birth parents.
What upset me so much about the fact that my sister tracked down her (our) birthmother was that it took away my choice. By meeting my sister, she got to find out about me, whether I wanted her to or not. I felt so incredibly violated. Even now, 6 or 7 years later, I can remember the feeling of powerlessness so clearly that it makes my stomach roil. I had nightmares and anxiety attacks for months before and after the meeting (in which I did not take part. I still have not met our birthmother and do not plan to do so.).
And so, I think to myself, if I (who had nothing to “hide”) was so traumatized by being forced to meet my birthmother, however vicariously the meeting occurred, how horrible is it to expect a woman who gave up a baby for adoption, expecting to have her identity and location kept secret for whatever reason, to just up and reveal herself?
“But Katze!”, I hear you say, “What about getting your medical information? Surely this is so important that it justifies the invasion of the birth parents’ privacy!”
Well... I don’t know. Maybe.
I know that my PCP has a special sticker on my file, indicating that no family history is known and extra testing/screening is indicated. Knowing my genetic history might help to focus or even eliminate this extra screening. However, it might not. Forcing birth parents to file a medical history if the child they gave birth to requests it is not a very sensible solution, though. Putting aside issues of psychological damage or invasion of privacy, there are several downsides. There is no guarantee that the histories are accurate—and an inaccurate or incomplete medical history is just a useless as a blank one. The administration of the requirement would be burdensome on someone, probably the state. Who is going to pay for the costs of enforcement? Who will pay for the services of an investigator to find those biological parents who have moved or even left the state? What about people who give their baby up in a state that does not have such a requirement and then the child moves to a state that does have such a requirement? Can you imagine the number of court cases that would arise under such legislation? And guess who the burden of paying for the cost of those cases would fall to... that’s right, the state. Attorney fees aside, the state would need to pay the costs of maintaining the docket, paying the judges, the clerks, the bailiffs, the stenographers, etc., etc. And I think that it’s likely that, if the issue were pushed, the courts would eventually hold that, as in proceedings regarding the termination of parental rights, there is a right to court appointed (and state-paid) counsel.
And just in case anyone needs this to be pointed out, “the state” means “you” in the form of the taxes you pay.
Given the developments in technology, perhaps some kind of genetic testing would be preferable. Perhaps a test is (or will soon be) available that would be performed on the adoptee to see if there is a pre-disposition to certain diseases. Perhaps a test (such as is already performed on some parents whose families have a history of certain genetic diseases) would be done on the birthparents at the time of adoption (or at the time of the birth, just in case the birth parents decide not to show up for any future proceedings) and attached to the files at the adoption agency or to the birth certificate retained on record by the clerk of courts.
In our case, we were each given a 8 ½ x 11 page with a short summary of the known medical history at the time of our birth (“Your maternal grandmother was 61 years old at the time of your birth. She was diabetic, but otherwise healthy...” etc, etc). In my case, there was not much information because everyone was still quite young when I was born. In my sister’s case, there was a little more information on the maternal side, but nothing at all on the paternal side. As a child, my sister had numerous medical and mental health problems that defied diagnosis. We spent hours and hours in hospitals and doctors’ offices. There were psychologists, psychiatrists, and counselors galore. Nothing seemed to help and no one seemed to be able to pinpoint a cause for her problems. My mother contacted the adoption agency that we came from (heh. Like the stork, but different...) to request an updated medical history and was shot down because she had no standing to make such a request. How crazy is that?
When my sister and parents started searching for our birthmother, they turned to just such a dual key registry as Matt proposes in his comment. My sister registered her name. If the birthmother also registered her name, the registry would notify both of them and they could be put in contact with each other. My parents also requested an updated medical history minus any identifying factors, should the birthmother not want to meet her or be contacted.
In meeting my(our) birthmother, we discovered almost nothing about family medical history, except that the birthmother had some problems verrrry similar to those my sister had. It turned out that between me and my sister, there was another sister who the birthmother kept. She came along for the visit (I have not met her either, but might consider it in the future, for reasons that I’ll come to in a moment). My sister met with the sister a few times after that and we learned some interesting things about the birthmother, including the fact that the birthmother eventually abandoned the other sister to be raised by her grandmother. We also learned that she tried to keep my sister, too, but was unable to care for her properly and eventually gave her up. There is some drama involving domestic violence and alcohol (or possibly drug use). In short, this woman’s parental rights would probably have been terminated eventually. I do not desire to have a relationship with her... so why should I have to?
And if I have a choice, why shouldn’t she?
You know how, at the end of a horror movie, you have the exhausted and bloodied heroes limping off into the sunrise after vanquishing the horrible monster to the pits of hell... and then the camera pans over to a shot of the hand of the supposedly vanquished monster breaking through the dirt on its grave, signaling that a sequel is in the offing?
Well, a few months after all of this happened, we got a call from the adoption agency. It seems that another “sibling” had contacted them, looking for information about his birth family and would we be willing to let him contact us? My sister agreed immediately, as did my parents (although he probably could have cared less about meeting them). My first reaction was to say no, for the same reasons that I didn’t want to meet the birthmother and the other sister. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that the situations were not at all the same. This kid had no more choice about all of this than I. And if I’m going to stand here and say that I understand why other adoptees want to find their birth families, then I have to realize that it would be unnecessarily cruel to deny him the chance. So I agreed, on the conditions that a) he understand that I did not meet the birthmother, didn’t want to, and would not want to hear about her (should he meet her first) and b) we meet separately from my sister. I wanted him to meet me, not me and my family. I am very different from my family in some important ways and I wanted to make that clear.
One of the most common explanations that adoptees give for wanting to find their birth families is: “I just wanted to see someone who looks like me”. People who are not adopted generally take this for granted. You have your mother’s eyes or your father’s nose. Some people look eerily like a younger version of one parent or another. Or maybe you look like your grandmother did when she was your age. I never really felt this need. Maybe I’m strange or something, but there you have it. I don’t look like either of my parents, but I don’t look really dissimilar, either. If you didn’t know that I am adopted, you might think that I have my dad’s hair color and my mom’s body type. The eye color and skin tone might come from my mom’s dad.
Prior to meeting my “brother”, if I were forced to guess, I would have said that I probably look a lot like my birthmother. My sister and I have some very similar characteristics (although different hair, skin, and eye colors make us look more dissimilar than you might think), and we have different birth fathers. Plus, I know my birth father was blonde and had blue eyes, which is about as different from me as you can get. When I opened the front door to my apartment that night, I was floored. He looks exactly like me—except a lot taller. We have the same eyes—same shape, same color, same set. We have the same skin and hair color (ahem. That is, if I still had my natural hair color. Which I think I actually had at the time, for a change.) In taking that evening, it came out that we have similar medical issues with asthma and allergies. It was very, very strange for me to sit across the table from someone who looks exactly like me.
I disagree entirely with the premise that re-uniting adopted children and their birth families is desirable. It works in some cases. But in many cases, especially now, where the vast majority of domestic adoptions are older children—many of whom were involuntarily removed from the birthparents-- there are reasons why the birth parents were removed from the picture to begin with. And even beyond that, what happens to people who meet with differing expectations for the future? At the end of the evening, I told the “brother” that I didn’t expect us to start behaving like brother and sister, but that if he wanted to contact me again, I would like that, and if he never wanted to talk to me again, I would understand and would not be offended. But what if all I wanted was to meet once and he wanted to be my brother—with all that entails? What if, after being told “no”, he refused to take “no” for an answer?
It is my opinion that the current system, which in most states is one variant or another of the dual key system, while not perfect, is the best. This allows all parties to maintain their privacy if they so desire. After meeting with the “brother”, I allowed my name to be entered into the registry, but only for other siblings who had been adopted. We know that there is at least one more, but my mother suspects three more (based on her conversations with the other sister and the grandmother who raised her). So far, I haven’t been contacted by anyone else. I’m comfortable with being in the registry because I got to choose who could contact me and because I’ll be asked again if and when someone asks to contact me to see if I’m still willing to be contacted.
But, as with most of life, I may change my mind.
Labels: family
