Welcome Home Daniel
Welcome Home DanielWelcome Home Daniel
by Michael Avalloneemail address: mjcop@neca.com
I am an adult adoptee who recently was re-united with his biological family. Unfortunately, my birth mother took her own life before I could meet with her. I have written an as yet unpublished book about my experience. People who have read drafts of the manuscript, including some mental health professionals say is an emotionally powerful book, which may help other adoptees. It is simply a chronology of my life and the affect the buried issues from adoption had on my development. There are many painful segments, especially the impact these unkown demons had on my wife and children. If my story may be of interest to anyone I would consider sharing portions of it in this medium.
PROLOGUE
He [the writer] must teach himself that the basest of all things is to be afraid; and, teaching himself that, forget it forever, leaving no room in his workshop for anything but the old verities and truths of the heart, the old universal truths lacking which any story is ephemeral and doomed love and honor and pity and pride and compassion and sacrifice.
William Faulkner 1897-1962
This short recital reveals some reasons why a person, given up for adoption as an infant, undertakes a search for his biological family, forty years after the event. This is a controversial topic in contemporary society. There are nearly as many viewpoints as there are adoptees and birth parents. Some need to search, while others do not. Some people want to abolish adoption as an institution. Other individuals and groups look for a better way to administer the process. I do not pretend to have a resolution to the controversy. This is my story. Each reader must decide for themselves what is valid and what is not. I only relate the occurrence. I have no universal truth. This story is based on the experiences of an ordinary individual. I do not write as a great sage or enlightened prophet. I write of my experiences from the perspective as a member of the society in which I live. I have a vested interest, as we all do, in defining the direction and form we desire our society to take. I owe that to my children. This is not an ancient heroic epic of conquering lofty mountains or crossing oceans and deserts. It is about coming to grips with one's own self and acceptance of those things that cannot be changed and learning to live with them. There are no true "heroes" or "villains" in this story. This narrative must be prudently read as a cautionary tale. It is important adoptees thinking of pursuing what I have done view it from this vantage point. I use the term "cautionary" because what occurs to me is in many aspects a unique situation. My concern is adoptees or birth parents who read this story may be tempted to think there is some global truth contained within my experience. I do not want that impression to become a factor more significant than it is to anyone other than myself. The assumption that what takes place in my life is somehow appropriate to all adoptees is extremely dangerous. Such a broad based interpretation may lead to serious psychological or emotional problems for others. My intent is not to be the cause for such an eventuality in anyone else's life. Many of the problems I deal with are documented in other cases involving adoptees. They are by no means universally experienced by all adoptees. These conflicts can also be experienced by non-adoptees as well. The reactions expressed by my natural family are also not true in all cases of persons who have given up a child for adoption.
Recently there have been sundry stories on television and in the newspapers about wonderful, tearful, reunions of adopted children with their birth parents. These depicted events and the way they are so well received give the appearance the topic is of some intense public interest. Apparently, the interest is not limited to adoptees and their adopted and natural families. The general public also seems to have an interest in the subject. Perhaps the public interest stems from the real element of mystery inherent in not knowing exactly where you come from and who you are. The search process has elements of a detective or mystery novel. A wise sage once remarked that many times the greatest victories an individual can win are those you win over yourself. Often, our own self emerges as the most dangerous of all foes we face. I meet the enemy and he is me. As Socrates remarked: nosce te ipsum-"know thyself." The methods of dealing with these often disturbing issues are as varied as the circumstances of each individual human life. We all have our own road to travel. For some the road is easy. Others traverse a much more tortuous and circuitous route, strewn with unseen obstacles. I believe in the power of the individual and the strength of the individual human spirit to transcend difficult circumstances. The effort of the individual in trying is the testament to our humanity and the ultimate attaining of our full spiritual and intellectual potential. Along with the joyous reunion celebrations of adoptees and their natural families there are the less than blissful stories. These are the versions chronicling the anger of birth parents who want nothing more than to be left alone and forget what was an obviously difficult and often traumatizing decision. There are adoptees who have no interest in ever learning of their origin or meeting their "biological" contributors. I see these confrontational scenes on the television talk shows, so popular and so adept at delving into people's personal lives. I read about them in Ann Landers and Dear Abby and the other popular "advice" columns.
There are many common threads in the feelings related by adoptees engaged in the search process. Many are similar to my own, although the TV versions and to a lesser extent the written, tend to minimize the undoubted emotional conflict that must occur in these people. I understand short segments of TV shows are not the proper forum to probe sufficiently all these issues. People want to see a story with a beginning, middle and end. They want entertainment. The same circumstance is true in the print media. I have the liberty here to look deeper behind the scenes. The focus of this story is adoption and the conflict I endure in uncovering who I am. Adoption is the major focal and unifying point to this story. It is by no means the exclusive one.
This short saga is also about survival. Not only my survival, the survival of a family; watching as husband and father comes apart at the seams. The reason he triumphs over the demons tormenting him, is due to their unflagging love and understanding. This is a human tale, removed from the test tubes and stringent, unyielding equations of replicatable scientific theory. Emotions not logic, intuition not induction or deduction, rule this world. I begin by sketching a portrait of myself, the inner conflict of a child struggling with two identities. The child narrates the majority of this book. The child dominates and searches to grow into adulthood. The transfiguration of the confused child into a functioning adult is the true revelation of my account. Many non-adopted readers may see themselves and their own childhoods within these pages.
CHAPTER I
DISCONNECTED CHILD
No themes are so human as those that reflect for us, out of the confusion of life, the close connection of bliss and bale, of the things that help with the things that hurt, so dangling before us forever that bright hard medal, of so strange an alloy, one face of which is somebody's right and ease and the other somebody's pain and wrong.
Henry James 1843-1916
On a winter's day, over forty years ago, a baby boy is born. This is not an unusual event in the cosmic scheme of things. It is a mundane occurrence except to those immediately involved. Millions of babies are born on the same day throughout the world. They are born in all types of circumstances. At the opposite end of the scale, millions of other human beings, men, women and children, die on that same day. The age old cycle of birth, life and death playing out as it has for eons. It is to be hoped that it will continue for eons more. The baby is outwardly healthy. He comes into the world with a cry and a full head of hair. The boy does not chose to be here, as no human being or other living creature has a choice about when and where they will be born. They have no input about whether they want to be born at all. The boy has a mother and a father, which is the natural process, at least for the present. The boy does not know his mother or father. Such a condition is not unusual; when you are like him, an adopted child. The boy grows and wonders about his true origin. This wondering takes him on a bizarre journey. A journey destined to start that winter day. This is the story of that journey, told through a child's eyes. I see my spiritual self gazing down from Heaven onto the earthly landscape below. I have been here many times before. It is all so familiar. I stand in an open grass covered field. The field is heavily surrounded by thick woods. It is a clear moonlit night in early summer. I hear crickets chirping and I wear only a T-shirt and shorts. I intently scan the clear and darkening sky. The stars are brilliant against the black veil of the summer sky. There is a hint of reflected sunlight from the horizon adding delicate illumination to the otherwise dark background. The Milky Way is prominent. I see many of my favorite constellations. I see Pegasus Andromeda and Lyra the Lyre. I am here for a reason.
I wait. What do I wait for? I wait to go home. I see it! There, just over the hill, moving slowly along on the Western horizon, a brilliant glowing orange ball. The silent apparition moves silently over the tree tops and heads directly toward me. My heart beats wildly. Legs rooted to the ground as if I am one of the majestic oak trees standing like sentinels over my place of salvation. Surges of emotion envelop my body. I have waited for so long. I sense the presence of the occupants. I am in telepathic communication. They see me. I wave my arms hard and fast. They are only a few feet away! The ghostly ship is about to land. I will finally go home. Without warning, the ship is gone! My "family" is gone. I am "disconnected" once more. I fall onto the dew covered grass and sob. Failure plagues me again. How many more times must I replay this scene before it is real? Someday they will be back. They can't leave me here forever. I am not one of these earthlings. I don't fit in this world. I don't belong here. Please come back. Don't forget me. I need you. Please, don't abandon me. I was abandoned once already. Spare me from facing it again.
This dream persists throughout most of my life. I often believe I am not from this planet. I have been sent here to monitor the earth. If the rating is poor Earth will be vaporized by a fleet of interstellar battle cruisers. My report must be favorable. We are still here. I have many variations of the dream. The subject is always the same. I cry during the scene in the "Wizard of Oz "where the Wizard attempts get Dorothy back home. He fails. The Good Witch comes through and Dorothy goes home to Kansas. She has the power to go back all along. She simply does not know the method. Where is my Kansas?
Who am I? Sit on a secluded ocean beach on a warm summer day. Puffy white clouds skim slowly and methodically overhead, ephemeral wisps traversing a blue background. Listen to the monotonous sound of the waves crashing onto the shore. The intermittent squawk of hungry seagulls the only other sound you absorb. While there, ask yourself the question posed at the opening of this paragraph Three simple words framed in a question format. Contained within that question is the potential for unleashing a powerful force, when answered honestly and with reflection. Most people will give a predictable and straightforward answer to the question. The new genetics theorists say you are nothing more than a collection of neurons interacting in your brain. The majority of less scientifically orientated people will probably pen a relatively accurate description of themselves. You probably did it many times in grade school or high school. Certainly you can write enough to meet the requirements on a purely biographical note. The question can invariably be answered differently at various times in a person's life. We are not stagnant beings. Each day we perceive and learn. We change through our experiences with the world and those with whom we interact. The basic core values of who we are give us a foundation on which we build our home, a place where we are familiar and comfortable. The exterior color of the paint may change and the furniture may be replaced with new styles. The foundation usually remains the same. Sometimes the foundation itself crumbles and a new set of values replaces the old. We must begin building our "home" over from scratch. This can be a positive or a negative experience depending on what course the construction takes and the unforeseen obstacles which interfere with the process. What if you are an adoptee with no knowledge of your biological background? Assume you grow up in a warm and loving environment with your adopted parents and the adoption is openly accepted and discussed. Can you still honestly answer the simple question posed above? What if the adoption is kept secret, even after inadvertently being discovered by the adoptee? What if it remains a forbidden topic never discussed other than an initial acknowledgment by the adoptive parents? Could this sequence of events have any affect that alters your life?
My identity as a human being and entire perception of myself change completely and traumatically at eight years old. Accidentally, I discover I am not the natural son of my parents! I am adopted! Shock and confusion intrude into my daily routine. I stumble upon the adoption records in a book on the top shelf of a closet. This closet is an off limits place, which means my natural curiosity will lead me there eventually. I also find adoption records for my younger sister Donna, with whom I quickly share the discovery. Until this time, I have no definite proof I am adopted. I secretly harbor a suspicion about not belonging to my adopted parents. It is a mind boggling thing to discover the truth at that age, or possibly any age.
The papers are very official. The crest of the Catholic Church on top and in bold letters; the name of the Diocese. I am familiar with the crest and the Diocese as I attend Catholic School at the time of my discovery. These are certainly impressive. Below the heading, in smaller print, is the name of the agency. St. Theresa Home for Unwed Mothers. On a line by itself is the most startling part of my discovery. I have another name. Printed on the paper are the words "Baby Daniel". Daniel? Who is Daniel? Who gave me that name? Where are they now? How did I get here? Who am I really? Am I Mark, or Daniel, or both? Put yourself in the position of an eight year old child trying to sort this out. I don't realize this discovery and its subsequent handling by my adoptive parents; will become a causal factor in shaping my entire personality. This event will eat at me as a termite devours a tree. The effects manifest themselves in many circumstances over the years. I respond to things in ways I can't understand. At eight years old I don't have sufficient mental capability to see a cause and effect relationship. As I age, the tree rots and withers from the incessant gnawing of my personal termites.
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