The Story: My Grandfather's Adoption

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This is a family story about my grandfather's adoption that was told by various people over my lifetime. I did not listen very closely when I was child. And when I was an adult the story was different. The culture of the moment not only affected what parts of the story could be talked about, but how the storyteller viewed the story. My grandfather, John, died recently and I feel an urge to write down the story before it changes again.

The story actually starts with John's grandmother, Rebecca.

It was 1899 and Rebecca was managing the family farm while her husband was away working on the railroad. She had 6 children under 10 years of age who helped with chores, but it was not enough. Rebecca had to hire a man to help with the farm.

This man was black with some Indian blood. He helped with planting and he helped with harvesting. He and Rebecca got very close and she became pregnant. He stayed for about 10 months and saw his daughter, Mary, born.

Neighbors and Rebecca's newly returned husband commented frequently and loudly on Mary's ugly tightly curled black hair. And Rebecca's husband knew how to count. He had been away 10 months.

Mary grew up on the farm with her half brothers and sisters. I don't believe that her stepfather accepted her. She probably always knew that she was different. And certainly some people told her that she was a child of sin. Her skin color was so light that she could and did pass for white. She had enough troubles and did not need the extra burden of her racial heritage so she just ignored it.

Mary left the farm as soon as she could and married an abusive man. She gave birth to my grandfather, John, in 1921.

The depressed economy was a huge burden on Mary's family. They were very poor. 1932 was the year that Mary hit her breaking point. She could not stand her marriage. She did not like being a mother. She could not stand her life. She divorced and neither she nor her ex-husband wanted the 11-year-old boy. So John was dropped off with a cousin.

Mary asked her cousin something like, "Cousin Julie, can John stay for two weeks? I have been sick. With the divorce and everything, I need a rest."

After a month, Julie figured out that Mary was not returning. For the next two years John was passed from household to household. Once, he came home from school to learn that his unofficial foster family had moved without telling him. Here was an 11-year-old boy that kept getting rejected over and over.

Finally, John arrived at a second cousin's farm. He was 13 years old now and growing taller every day. John was put to work and told that he could stay as long as he wanted. John thought that he had been adopted. He so badly wanted someone to love him. But at times, he was treated more like a hired hand. Other times he was treated like just another family member.

Here ends the story of my grandfather's pseudo adoption.

As an adult, John reconciled with his biological mother and became closer to his "adoptive" mother. He married and helped raised 3 children. He was never a burden on society and played wonderful music. When he died he had 30 harmonicas, 3 violins and 1 guitar.

2000 (c) anon
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