I found out about my adoption when I was barely five years old. Growing up, it seemed like just another fact, nothing that would come to haunt me -- like knowing my best friend liked cats and had a tendency to break her wrist when she skateboarded. I liked soccer, surfing, and didn't know my birth parents. No big deal.As she describes her desire to keep searching, "The burning desire and curiosity, the need, won't die out."
Once I hit puberty, finding out anything about where I came from was of utmost importance to me. I spent hours in the library, researching adoption laws, e-mailing Congressmen and Senators who voted in favor of adoptee rights, even joining websites that promised the Holy Grail of reconnecting family members. I applied to the Wisconsin department of Children and Family Services to "open" my records.
In the last seven years, I've been turned down six times.
Being “Yellow” and Ashamed
6 days ago