There has been a story in the news of late about Maria, the blonde
haired, blue eyed girl found living with a Roma family in Greece. The Police became
aware of Maria when they were alerted by a member of the public who suspected a
kidnapping. The girl was taken from her
Roma parents and is now in the care of the “Smile of the Child” charity.
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| Maria |
Kidnapping is a terrible thing, but let’s consider the impact
this will have on Maria, and both her biological and Roma parents. Both set of
parents have now lost a child, and poor Maria is left ... nowhere. She will struggle
with her identity. Who is she? Where does she fit into the world? She is currently
coping without a biological connection to family, and separated from the only
family she has ever known. No nature, no nurture. As I watch the media coverage
I see her as being portrayed as the “prize” that will be won by her biological
parents, once they have been identified. Or, the “prize” will be given a new
set of parents, and they will feel righteous for having “saved” her.
I should come clean here ... my feelings on this come from
the fact that I am adopted. My experience of having both biological and
adoptive parents is that the story is always told from the adult’s perspective.
Whether it is an adult explaining that adoption is the best option because they
are not in a position to look after a child, or the adult that chooses to adopt
a child into their family. Very few people ever think about the process from
the perspective of the child.
I met my Birth Mother many years ago, in the early 90’s. I
still get a buzz to this day whenever I see her, or hear her laugh. She looks
and laughs just like me. It’s weird. I find people, who have known their
biological parents all their lives, don’t really “get” how surreal these moments
are for me when she and I say something in unison, or express ourselves in a
similar fashion.
My mother told me I was adopted when I was seven years old,
and I have to admit, I wasn’t particularly bothered by it at first. I was told
that she and Dad had tried to have kids, but they couldn’t, so they decided to
adopt. Fortunately, she didn’t give me all that crap about “out of all the
babies available I chose you” she actually told me the truth. It was that late
60’s early 70’s, and they had to go through rigorous interviews and endless bureaucracy,
and finally they were advised that a baby was available for them ... me.
The next day at school, I told my best friend what my Mum had
told me. Her smiling face turned serious, and she placed a gentle hand on my
arm and said to me “it’s Ok, I promise I won’t tell anyone.” Huh? Why wouldn’t
you tell anyone? Is this something to be embarrassed about?
This was just the beginning of the odd responses I get from
people when I say I am adopted.
“Oh, Im SO sorry”. “How old were you when you found out?” “How
awful for you”. “You must be SO grateful to your parents?”
That last one always gets me. It makes me wonder what would
have happened if I hadn’t been adopted by my parents? What was the
alternative for me? I guess I would just have to be put down?
I should be grateful to have parents – which is something I’d
say many of us believe every child has every right to - but for some reason I
need to be grateful about it? Obviously, the suggestion is that there is
something wrong with me to have be given up in the first place – although not
overtly said, that is what I hear – and what I have heard all my life.
People want to know why I was given up (the adults story), or why my parents couldn’t have their own kids (obviously suggesting this would be the preferred choice – and an adults story again). Very few people ever ask me how being adopted has affected me, as a kid and an adult.
As a kid I just chose not to tell anyone, because it was
obviously something to be embarrassed or ashamed about. I was kind of confused
about this, however, as I didn’t understand how this piece of information
changed who I was in the eyes of others, and why it would warrant a stern, sincere look of
pity?
This is a sad memory of my childhood, however, upon meeting
my birth mother, I discovered that I came from a long line of female artists,
from craftspeople and painters to milliners, and I was inspired to pursue my
creative tendencies, and am now an artist – so, those points go to nature.
This all makes my adoptive mother sound quite harsh – and to
be honest, I thought she was the scariest thing in the world when I was a
child. I couldn’t relate to her, or she to me. We really struggled to connect,
and the last thing I considered her to be was maternal. I don’t recall many
hugs, or displays of affection offered. She certainly wasn’t abusive, but we didn’t
exactly “bond”.
Our relationship didn’t really improve much until I had grown
up and left home. I started to see her more as a person than the scary
mother-figure, and our relationship bloomed. Turns out she was an awesome lady –
and I like to think she finally saw me in the same way.
My relationship with my Birth Mother is also fraught with “issues”,
as I am not sure how we are supposed to fit? What is she to me, and I to her?
Is she my Mum? Am I her daughter? Are we “just friends”? Also, as much as I hear and understand the
adult story of her being “too young” to keep me, a part of me is still a little
girl who is angry about being “abandoned” by her, and I’m not sure how this can
ever really be resolved?
And to think – this is a story from a pretty “average”
adoption experience, imagine the ups and downs poor Maria is going through as
the adults make decisions for her about her life? How is this event going to
impact on her in the future? What lessons (be they good or bad) is she taking
away from all of this?
My thoughts are with her, and I hope she is strong enough to
take care of herself – no matter what stories the adults tell.
