This is National Adoption Week, as an adopted person it means something to me. I was adopted as a baby by what would be considered today as an old couple. I have never tried to find my birth parents for several reasons. I had quite a strict upbringing and those of you who know me well may find some of the following revelations amusing. There was no alcohol allowed in the house and it was Bible class on Saturday mornings and then Sunday School and evening service at the Baptist Chapel. Yes I have made up for lost time!!
My adopted Father was a gentle quiet man who had survived the first world war. He hardly ever spoke about it. My adopted Mother was very much in control of the house. Very strict about many things. Made me into a liar sometimes when I wanted to stay with friends. I was never allowed to have anyone to stay. They did the best they could in the only way they knew how.
There was a time when I considered finding my birth parents, but because of my job I decided against it. Did not want my life story dragged through the press. I have been on the register of adopted children for a very long time and no one has tried to find me.
I used to do a lot of performance poetry and the one I wrote about adoption was requested on Poetry Please on Radio 4. They asked me to record it and it was ultimately used on the CD that the BBC released to celebrate the 25th Anniversary of Poetry Please.
I will leave you with the poem. Know that I have no regrets, my back ground made me strong and I live a very happy life. I have no relatives at all but am richly blessed with wonderful loving friends. Not to mention you lovely people on Twitter who make me laugh so much and cry with joy when you do those kind amazing things you do. I may not have relatives but as that wonderful boy Harry Moseley used to say I love my Twitfam. XXX
If you want to know more about how you can give a home and a wonderful love filled life to a child please go to http://www.nationaladoptionweek.org.uk/
I discovered your name
I found it written in real ink
on a paper as old as me
permanently creased by time
and the need for secrecy.
I knew of you from nursery stories
but only in the abstract
with Cinderella and Red Riding Hood.
What they thought I needed to know
just enough for my own good.
Occasionally I would weave a
fantasy of imagined beginnings
in rebellion to my actual situation.
But if the truth be told
I had no real need of you.
We have one day in common
do you think of me then?
As a burning loss or a skeleton
which history promised would
remain securely locked in a past life.
Should I search for you
while there is still time?
Perhaps you are no longer alive
should I have felt your passing?
Have I you to thank for my grey hair
or was it him whose name wasn't written there?
Is there any history of breast cancer?
The medical questionnaire laid the truth bare.
I do not know.
Did you ever hold me to your breast.
or did THEY think it best
you should have no sight of me?
Barbaric days, thank God they're gone
when neighbour's condemnations
and unreal expectations
were considered more important
than the lives they tore apart.
I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt.
I don't think you had a choice
a single pregnant women had no voice
in those hypocritical times
when men were free
and free women were sluts,
second hand goods
with a baby badge of shape.
I don't know if we'll ever meet
for now it is enough I know your name.