The Other Daughters

I've been tossing a few things around in my mind lately. I'm excited to come on board as a contributor here at Lost Daughters, and as I’ve thought about what I might post here versus on my own blog, I’ve found myself mulling over the title “Lost Daughters.” I like the title, a lot. It’s evocative and appropriate. And ultimately, the question I’ve settled on for myself at the moment is not “What makes me a lost daughter,” but “Who is the lost daughter?”

To my adoptive parents, I am not the lost daughter. The lost daughter for them is someone else, someone who was never born. She looks more like them than I do. She might have been a lover of golf, a sport I never embraced. She would probably be a little taller than I am and more solid in her bone structure. I suspect she would be a little less spacey and bookish, a little more social and practical. My parents rarely think of her anymore because they have me—the found daughter, the miracle, the answer to prayers—but make no mistake: she exists, and her story is intertwined with mine.

On Being Generic Ethnic

by Lynn Grubb

Last week when I was at work, a Hispanic gentlemen came into my place of business.  He asked me (in Spanish) if I spoke Spanish and I responded “un poco” (meaning “a little”)  He then asked me if I was Hispanic. My reply was, “That is an unsolved mystery.” 

I'm not your "Sweetie." What's the Point in Correcting Microaggression in Every Day Life?

I lost count of how many times the car salesperson had called me "sweetie," "honey," or "sweetheart" during our stroll around the lot trying to discover the car I was looking for.  This young man was being just plain rude.  It wasn't just the inappropriate "terms of endearment" he was using to refer to me, his customer, a woman several years older than he, and someone he had never met.  It was the whole experience.  He talked "car stuff" with my husband; the safety ratings, the mechanics, and the operation of the vehicle we were considering.  He did ask me for my input when it came to what color car I wanted and on the size of the car.  The financial discussions were no different.  Instead of what I am, a mother with the job of taking care of two children and attending to her education to benefit her family, I felt painted as an "unemployed housewife" whose husband was buying her a little present.  It was my loan, my trade-in, and both of our funds going to purchase this car but it didn't matter, what I do has no monetary value.  I could watch my husband eyeing me the whole time, waiting for me to say something; he's not going to say something if I don't want him to.  And I didn't.  This was a convenient place to buy the specific car we needed, we were too deep into the paperwork to storm out now, and I didn't know when my husband would be free again.  So I endured the sexist microaggressions and couldn't wait to get out of there.  Oh and can you believe the salesperson was astounded when I refused to go on a test drive with him?

Who am I a Daughter to?

"You look just like a little doll" she said "I would love to have a daughter to play with."  I grinned from ear to ear when my classmate's mother came up to me and complimented the pair of pink denim overalls I was wearing with a white knit top underneath.  It was "field day" on the second-to-last day of second grade.  I had admired J's mom all school year long.  She was very pretty with wavy blond hair and a big smile.  I also admired the mother of another classmate, M.  She had short hair that was dyed different shades of blond and cropped into a fashionable style.  She always wore big hoop earrings and had not one, not two, but three holes in each ear on which she fashioned the biggest hoops.  That was so cool.  They both wore very stylish and I imagined that when I grew up I would have dyed hair, earrings, and wear fashionable clothing too.  What drew me to envision myself a fashionable blond and to pick out these mothers from all those in the classroom to admire?

The Once Silent, Now Activist Adoptee

by Susan Perry

I am happy and honored that Amanda has asked me to write for Lost Daughters.  I started my blog Family Ties in April because I have a lot to say about adoption, and it's hard to interest the media in those adoption stories that fall outside of the human interest realm.  I've been working with NJCARE for over ten years now, trying to convince legislators to pass an Adoptee Rights Bill.  Last year, we came close.  Both the Assembly and Senate had approved an acceptable bill, but Gov. Chris Christie conditionally vetoed it, opting instead for an unworkable system of confidential intermediaries.  The fight goes on.  To introduce myself here, I am going to include some of a post I wrote last month, because it documents my personal story and explains how and why my feelings about adoption have changed.  Once, I didn't talk about adoption at all.  Now I am motivated to speak out.  Here's my story:

Not who I thought I was

When Amanda asked me if I'd like to contribute to Lost Daughters my first thought was "but I have my other blog that I do as a natural mother". Then I thought, maybe I really should think more about my position as an adoptee. My focus so far has been my role as a natural mother of adoption loss but there is this other side to me. Well, maybe I should explain a little about my history.

Daughter To...

Question: We're all lost daughters. Who do you consider yourself a daughter to?

I'm a lost daughter.  I'm a found daughter.  I'm a searching daughter.  I'm a care-giving daughter.  I wear many hats as a daughter and I wear different hats to different people.

When Adoption = All Hope is Lost

I was sitting at a lovely tea today organized by one of my friends.  It really was a nice time.  I don't normally enjoy tea sandwiches all that much but I found myself all but hiding a few away in my purse to take home with me.  So there I sat.  The lovely woman on the right of me asks the lovely woman on the left of me if she has any children.

 "Yes, I have two." the woman replied.  "It took me a very long time to conceive my first.  I had considered adoption but then I got pregnant.  He was my surprise baby.  Then I had a second."

 The woman who asked gives her a compassionate look and says "what a wonderful story.  It just goes to show you that once you think all hope is lost, God finds a way."

 Adoption = all hope is lost?