Well, it's not really *that* bad, but it's an appropriate metaphor.
I guess I'd always known on some level that I was adopted - one memory I have from childhood is waking from a dream where I'd flown through a knothole in the hardwood floor to be with my "real" parents - when I was let out of my room, I immediately went to that spot, and when quesitoned by my parents as to precisely *why* I was lying on the floor with my face plastered to that spot, I answered "because I want to see my real parents" - needless to say, that didn't go over very well and I got beaten for it.
That's another issue I'll have to tackle in another post - the beatings.
Child protective services would have had a field day with my parents.
So, back to the adoption issue. At different points in my childhood and adolescence, I point blank asked my mother if I was adopted, and she would always say "no".
I was pretty much satisfied with this, until one time when she contracted pneumonia, and I went against her wishes and contacted her physician for a status report.
His response completely floored me, because he said "well, she's doing as well as can be expected for a 77 year old woman" ... and I said "no, you're mistaken, she's only 67" - he said "no, I happen to have it on the best of authority that she's 77" - at which point, I said "that's impossible, because then she would have had to have been 53 when I was born and 55+ when my sister was born, and I know we're not in the Guiness Book of World Records for oldest births" - so I asked him point blank if I was adopted. His response? "Ask your mother"
What happened next was utterly amazing - I got a call from my mother chewing me out for calling her Doctor to find out how she was doing. I let the adoption issue drop for another couple of years, until one of my Uncles died.
For those of you unaware of Jewish funerary traditions, there is a ritual called "sitting Shiva" - this is the first week after the funeral, when you receive callers - it's the period of the most intense mourning, followed by a month of lessened grieving, then a year, culminating in the Yatzherit, or mourning candle lit on the day of the person's death.
Anyway, this was the day after the funeral itself, and my Aunt was receiving visitors, primarily the relatives, for Shiva. That night, I happened to be leaving at the same time as one of the cousins and his wife. Never having been particularly close to this cousin, I figured that opportunity was knocking, and I have to admit, I took advantage of the situation.
I stopped him and his wife, and after some nondescript chit chat, I fired my opening volley and came out and asked him directly, "there's something I need to know, and you're probably the best person to ask ... am I adopted?"
The color drained from his face, as I can guarantee that this was nowhere near any question he thought I'd fire off. He stammered for a second, and then his response back was something I'd heard before, "ask your mother". I looked at him and said, "you know my mother, what kind of response do you think I'm going to get, and why do you think I'm asking you?"
Thankfully, his wife was with him, looking on in amazement at this display of dysfunction. She hit him on his arm and said "look, if you know something you need to tell him, he's got a right to know!" ... so, after another few seconds of indecision, he came out and said "yes, you were adopted".
Finally having confirmation, I wasn't planning on addressing this with the parents until later, however that was not to be the case. The next day, back at the Aunt's house, I arrived earlier than my parents and was using the opportunity to socialize with relatives I hardly ever saw. When my parents arrived, I was told they needed to talk to me outside - when I went to see them, I was blindsided myself by my mother, who wanted to know why I had been asking the question I had, and by what right? (My family really did put the FUN in dysfunctional)
First off, I was shocked that my parents had heard about this, as they had already left the night before and I seriously doubted that my cousin would have gotten on the phone to alert them that he'd broken the silence. As it turned out, he hadn't called my parents but had called his mother (my mother's other sister) and in the course of telling her what had gone on that day, mentioned my question and his response, and bet her that she couldn't keep it to herself.
She couldn't. Apparently, no sooner than she hung up the phone with her son, she dialed my parents to let them know what had happened. In retrospect, this shouldn't have suprised me as this particular relative and I were definitely not close, dating back to an incident that occurred during Shiva for my sister. I'll relate that incident and some others in a separate post.
Anyway, back to the confrontation with the parents - there we were, in the front of my Aunt's house, with me in near hysterics over the fact that my parents had lied to me for over 25 years, and them defending the lie with the statement "we were told not to tell you" - not exactly the most compelling of arguments, but the only one my parents ever offered.
After about 20 minutes (that honestly seemed like an eternity) of raised voices, tears and I'm sure, relatives poised at the windows to catch every nuance of the drama unfolding outside, calm was again restored. When we went back inside, I was pulled aside by my cousin (the one who'd broken the silence) and asked what had just happened - when I told him, he immediately looked at his mother and said "you owe me $200".
That's when I knew how my parents came to know that I finally knew the truth.
Knowing made a lot of things easier to understand, especially when viewed through this filter - why we were the youngest cousins with the oldest parents, why we (my late sister and I) always felt somewhat alienated among the other relatives, why I knew so little of the actual family history and other things like that.
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