I.
My first encounter with Bethany was when I was twelve years old at a friend’s birthday party. She was one of those kids who had her growth spurt early in life and spent the majority of those inevitably awkward middle school years towering a foot over every boy and girl within a 3 mile radius of her - parents included. On top of her height, Bethany was also built like a bulldozer. She was the type of girl you envisioned as a viking in a prior life. For all I knew, she ate her way out of the womb, bit herself free from her umbilical chord, and attempted to escape, cursing out in Old Norse the twenty or so doctors and nurses trying to contain her. Had she crawled away free, Bethany most likely would have gone on to become an olympic gold medalist weight lifter or a highly successful competitive eater.
But instead she went on to live a pretty standard American life. She attended school, did her multiplication tables, became a staunch republican, graduated high school and then went off to college. Although I had already met Bethany when I was younger, it wasn’t until high school that we had any sort of real interaction.
We were on the varsity basketball team together. My most vivid memory of her was one day we were in the weight room lifting for practice. She had this amazing ability to linger, as if requiring ample time to psych herself up, before initiating any sort of conversation. I was standing in the middle of the room and felt a presence behind me. I could physically feel her begin to open her mouth, close it, and then open it again. It was during that pause that I decided to turn around. We locked eyes and I looked waiting for her to say whatever it was she had intended to say two minutes prior. She gave me a half gritted smile, nodded her head and then stepped to my side. We stood there side by side for a few minutes. She then turned her palms face up like the models on The Price is Right do as they reveal a prize. I waited for her to tell me something incredibly exciting but instead she blurted out “SO I HEAR YOU’RE ADOPTED!!!?!!”. The words echoed through my mind as if her statement had been announced through a megaphone in a tunnel.
You're adopted.
My thoughts were racing and I tried my best not to smile or laugh. Sure I've been asked about being adopted but never as an opening line or conversation starter. Usually it's the kind of thing you ease into. There were countless ways to respond to this. On the one hand, I could pretend I had no idea I was adopted and that Bethany had somehow outed this significant aspect of my life I was “unaware” of. But that option was too implausible to be read as anything but sarcasm. On the other hand, I could acknowledge she was correct and change the subject to something else. But like...why?
I looked down, paused and then looked her straight in the eyes and said “Yes, I was adopted from China". It seemed like the appropriate and natural answer at the time. Looking back, I probably could have handled the situation more maturely. After I told her I was from China, her head moved backwards with a skepticism she could only bring herself to express physically. I watched her quickly decide that any sort of verbal disagreement would be too risky were the absurd statements coming out of my mouth actually true. So with my blonde hair, blue eyes and 5 foot 8 inch tall frame I continued, explaining that my biological family in China were victims of the one-child policy act and that unfortunately as the only girl born to the family, I was given up for adoption. Her head cocked forward and she said “oh…oh my god…wow”. It was clear she had no idea how to react and for good reason - some blonde chick had just told her she was technically Chinese. I never told her I was kidding.
We all come from different places, different circumstances, different backgrounds - different everything. And while I may not actually be from China, how I came into existence is as foreign a concept to someone like Bethany as anyone else. I for one thought I had Bethany figured out the first time I saw her. But like my fake story, Bethany too was a whole bunch of incongruities. For one thing, she had the highest voice I have ever had the pleasure of hearing. Out of that hulking frame of hers was the voice of Mickey Mouse. But I digress - Bethany’s extremely high pitched voice is besides the point.
There is always more to someone than meets the eye. We’re all products in some way or another of our circumstances and experiences. The girl who I thought I had figured out was much more than I had unjustly given her credit for. And, like Bethany, my story was more than just a passing question in the weight room.
II.
My Mom and sister picked me up 2 weeks after I was born in front of the Hertz Rent-A-Car desk at the airport in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. I don't remember because I was a screaming raisin incarnate, as all babies are, but I'm told that I was handed off in a way that sort of resembled a drug deal. One party stood loitering with the white ghost (me) while the other party flew in on a plane, no IDs were exchanged - solely pleasantries - the goods were handed off (7 lbs of screaming mush) and 20 minutes later the receiving gang got back on their plane and left, no questions asked. The flight crew was the same crew from the flight down and the flight attendant promptly asked my Mom "did you have that baby on the way down?" to which she put on her brass knuckles, kindly backhanded the woman and said "you only speak when spoken to". Fine that last part didn't happen. My Mom smiled and said "no". But everything else happened.
By industry standards, I costed about the same amount as a luxury car. If I weighed my weight in cocaine I would have cost like $106,310.71 according to www.narcoticnews.com so in all honesty I was a total steal. I tell my parents this and I make sure they're reminded of the fact that I was never the sibling who wanted a fucking horse. To give you a sense of what I was like as a kid - when I was 3 I asked for a red box for Christmas. That's all I wanted. Just a box. Nothing else. So I guess in reality I really was like a pimped out, cost efficient, Prius who was easily amused. But this is neither here nor there.
III.
I've always known I was adopted. I wasn't one of those kids who found out later in life or never at all. It's not like my sister got mad at me one day because I broke all the legs off her dumb breyer horses and shouted "FUCK YOU MIK, YOU'RE ADOPTED" as if some sort of insult. I never received a cake on my 13th birthday where a cat pops out and is holding a sign that says, "Happy Birthday Mik, You're Adopted". And I never found out from that relative who gets too drunk at family functions and who no one likes. I've always known and it's always just been a part of who I am. A part of me that I openly talk about and will discuss with any who ask. Because family is family is family like love is love is love. Even if I may be the only blonde one with blue eyes. And if Lin Manuel Miranda wants to adopt me, fine.
IV.
But I do have to admit that sometimes it is a bizarre feeling knowing that you are a biologically blank page with a blinking cursor. The cursor blinks. The page stays empty. Names, faces, medical histories. Blank. And there's not much you can do about it except shrug your shoulders and say "this is just the way it is". My adoption was what's called a "closed adoption" so no information is shared directly between parties. Instead it's mediated through an adoption agency (honestly like baby brokers). So throughout the majority of my life I've known very little.
There are days I look in the mirror and wonder whose eyes I got—whose nose? How much of the me I am today is from the two strangers who's lives and DNA were once intertwined and out of it came me? And how much of me if from my circumstance and my family? They're silly questions. I get that. There's no way to know and it's obviously a combination of both. But I still wonder. I can't help it.
V.
Politics.
I know. I went there. But I feel like I have to. Because I think it's important and I want to explain.
When I was a senior in high school I visited Duke that September. I told myself I wanted to go there when in reality I had absolutely no idea where I wanted to go or what I wanted to do with my life. I spent the weekend with a friend from high school who was two years older. I had the stereotypically iconic college weekend. We went to a bar Friday night with a mechanical bull. I got lost and taken home by a couple in a cab who saw "If lost please return to: _________" sharpied on my forearm. Saturday we day drank at a frat that had poured handles of vodka into watermelons and had rented a bouncy castle and turned their entire backyard into a giant slip n slide. Saturday evening we sat on those big benches the students burn when the basketball team wins, inhaled some natural substances, and talked to the one black guy in the frat about what it was like to be the token black dude in a predominantly upper class and white social scene. You know, typical college stuff. (Don't worry, I promise we're eventually getting into the politics)
But it was between the moments of debauchery that I tried to pay attention, hoping I'd get a better sense of if I actually wanted to go to Duke and if it was a place for me. I ultimately decided it wasn't. But that's not why I'm telling you about this visit. I'm telling you about the visit because there was a moment I'll never forget. It was small and inconsequential but it's stuck with me ever since.
It was dinner time and we were walking through east campus which is where all the freshmen live. There was an activities fair and groups of people from their respective clubs were standing behind tables and banners, trying to engage with all those who walked by. The student groups were what you would expect. Green initiatives, dance troupes, acapella, religious organizations, political groups. We walked by one group wearing matching shirts that said "former embryos". They were a pro-life group just to spell it out for you if that wasn't blaringly obvious.
The friend I was staying with mumbled something along the likes of "gross...so fucking dumb". And I nodded but deep down felt guilty. Because while I by no means support the government ever telling women what they can and cannot do to their own bodies, a significant part of me identifies with those shirts. I'm a former embryo. And not in the sense that we're all former embryos, I'm a former embryo in the sense that my existence flirted with abortion. It was a real and weighted option in my circumstance. But because of adoption and because my birth mother had the selflessness and foresight to consider alternatives, I was able to celebrate my 25th birthday a few weeks ago.
And so after some thought I realized that the initial disconnect I felt with my friend had nothing to do with our values but rather the framework in which we approach and understand the issue. Her distaste was coming from the right to choose whereas my reaction had to do with what comes next.
Which brings me to my next point: I have a really big problem with the way women's reproductive rights are discussed. Even from those who's values are totally aligned with mine. Yuuuuugeeee problem. Like Houston we have a problem, problem. And I'll tell you why.
Today’s discussions regarding the right to choose simply revolve around the decision to keep the baby or abort it. Where my life began is where the discussion seems to end - something both ends of the spectrum are guilty of. And people seem more concerned making sure that that life exists in the first place rather than ensuring that life a happy future. So let's say you are pro-life. You're probably not but let's pretend. Rather than get inexplicably mad at you and dismiss you, I want to ask you something and what I want to ask you is this: what you plan to do next to support all the babies who have the right to live? Does the right to live, mean the right to a good education? Does it mean the right to a good life?
At this point in the conversation you might try to end the conversation by calling me a baby-killer because I am pro-choice. And I get it. I get both sides. But find me one person who actually wants to kill babies...my point being that to boil the debate down to that fact is to hide behind the realities of the situation like a coward. Because pro-life laws only guarantee shelter, family and food within the womb. Beyond it, babies are left to fend for themselves. And I am incredibly sick of politicians and pro-life supporters thinking that keeping an embryo alive is a job well done. The rhetoric has remained the same. And time and time again they are applauded for this stance as if it is heroic and as if it is really that simple. But it’s not that simple and I often think about what it will take to shift the discussion. Because until you become an ally to all those who are disadvantaged because of injustice and inequality, in my opinion, your stance on abortion is nothing to be celebrated. It is instead the self-imposed pedestal in which you place yourself on to avoid dealing with the real social issues this country faces. For too long we have allowed pro-life supporters to use the abortion debate as a conversation ending, righteous, holier than thou excuse to ignore their complete lack of moral consistency and application in productive and meaningful ways. Moral inconsistency? I'll give you some examples.
Take politicians for example who identify as pro-life yet seek to dismantle federal standards of public education, standards that have traditionally helped to provide equal opportunity for lower income families. They identify as pro-life yet work to defund Planned Parenthood, which provides the only convenient reproductive health care for many women across the country. They identify as pro-life yet support a war that has seen the loss of over 500,000 lives. They identify as pro-life yet oppose gun control laws, laws whose lax terms have been responsible for over 35,000 gun related incidents this year alone. They identify as pro-life yet have proposed a budget blueprint that will make dramatic financial cuts to significant American welfare programs.
So yeah. Politics. I went there and I went there because I challenge all of us as people to take a long hard look at what it means to be pro-life. To think beyond the question of abortion and instead focus on how we work to ensure that all babies are given the opportunity to live happy and satisfying lives. And to not get so mad at those who are pro-life. Don't roll your eyes, don't dismiss them - engage. Meet them face to face. Ask the difficult questions and demand answers. Because to me, pro-life is the right to a good life, the right to equal opportunity and the right to a chance. And until all individuals who enter this world are afforded those opportunities, we're approaching the entire topic completely wrong. Abortion is merely a symptom of the greater issues and sickness this entire world struggles with. And we get distracted focusing on the symptoms rather than the issues that cause them. And so my hope is that one day we can all work together to create an environment in which women want to bring life into this world, a world where abortion is no longer the best option.
I recognize that I am one of the lucky ones; that I exist because I am an example of a happy alternative: an embryo that was guaranteed shelter, family and food beyond the womb or as Donald Trump would say “a total superstar”. I would be naïve, however, to not acknowledge that I am unfortunately in the minority. So many children do not get the happy endings they deserve because of unequal access to opportunity. There is still so much work to be done. I owe my life to a woman who had the right to make a choice. I owe my happiness to my parents who have filled my life with love and support. And so from the bottom of my former embryo heart, I cannot thank them all enough.
VI.
It was my freshman year of college and I was home for winter break. I had been looking through some old photo books and saw a photo of me as a baby in the hospital in Baton Rouge right after I was born. I had seen the photo many times before but for whatever reason this time around I noticed the bracelet on my wrist. It was the bracelet that all babies wear after they're born. The one that identifies which baby belongs to who. I looked down at the photo and staring back at me was her last name. After all these years, the one piece to the puzzle that would give me enough information to find her had been there all along.
I closed the book.
When you're adopted the life you could have had, at least for me, always just seemed like a distant figment of my imagination. It never felt real and it never felt like something I was ever going to tangibly experience or get remotely close to. Sure there were times when I felt the emotional peculiarity of having no idea where I came from but because I was lucky enough to feel so loved and fulfilled in the life I was given, no part of me felt that immediacy I think some adopted kids feel to get back to their roots. Especially those who enter the system later in life.
But all it took was a google search after 19 years of wondering and just like that, in 0.80 of a second, there she was. This figment of my imagination became something. I wasn't sure what but it was something I no longer could control.
We emailed a few times back and forth but I went into it blindly. I was 19 and I didn't know what I wanted. I wanted answers but I wasn't ready for anything more. So I suppose when I initially reached out and the body of the email only said:
August 10th, 1991
I was so sure it wasn't her. There was no way it could be her. My birthday would only mean something to her if it was her and how could the figment of my imagination possibly be real. I never thought I'd get a response and my blank existence would carry on, maybe even a little bit to my relief. Because deep down I knew I wasn't ready.
But it was her.
We emailed back and forth a few long emails. I hadn't told my parents and felt guilty and like I had to tell them in person so I said I had to stop communicating with her until I told them. I was never home for more than 2 weeks for the following few years.
VII.
"Just so you know...no you cannot erase biology, but you can embrace it to the best of your capabilities. We both went into this with no expectations. There is no manual on how to do this and even if there were I'm not so sure I would follow it anyway. The main thing to remember is that relationships should enhance your life not hinder or make it harder. And to build anything, comes with sharing feelings, being honest and open and getting to know one another. I would say we are both doing a pretty good job of that even if we get caught up in life sometimes, and that's OK. There are no wrong answers or ways to do this. I think for me it's not so much about question marks but more about building something, whatever it may be that suits each of us in our lives. I would like to think that one day we can both look back on this and say to ourselves "I am thankful that happened and that I took a chance, it was worth it".
This is the last thing she wrote me in our latest email chain.
VIII.
We email about once every month or so. Life has its ways and time manages to wedge itself between our correspondences but for now what we're doing works for me. I still have no idea what I'm doing or where any of this might lead. It took me 4 years to finally say something. And then another year to reach out again. My parents didn't care, they understood. I always knew they would. I think everything I felt was internal but there was still a large amount of guilt I felt towards both parties and I'm still trying to reconcile why.
I reached back out to her in the fall.
She still lives in Louisiana and has two kids of her own. I suppose you could say I have a half-brother and a half-sister. The oldest is 3 years younger than me and the youngest is 12.
Biologically I'm 1 of 4. There's another one of me. He was born on July 15, 1992. Just shy of a year after I was born. Somewhere in the depths of my brain I had a feeling he existed. I think I had heard at one point that the adoption agency had reached out asking if my parents were interested in another but I had no idea he was a brother nor did I know that we shared the same biological father.
He was also put up for adoption. His story is a bit different than mine and I won't go on that tangent today but he's out there somewhere. I think about him a decent amount. I joke that I have to be careful who I date. But more than that, I often think about the fact that there are two of us out there who are connected through biology but totally disconnected via our environments. I wonder how similar or dissimilar we might be. I was told he also was blonde and blue eyed. Deep blue eyes that we got from our biological father. I wonder if we'll ever meet but I know we likely won't. Not anytime soon anyways and I know this because I was told that there's a chance he doesn't even know he was adopted. And if he doesn't know he was adopted, then he definitely doesn't know that I exist.
And no part of me would ever want to shatter that reality for him.
Nothing would ever be worth that.
IX.
And so I take it one day at a time. My cursor blinks on and - I'm okay with it. Because this was the life I was given and at the end of the day when all is said and done, I feel pretty fucking lucky.
So we'll see what happens. There's no way to know.