I promise you that I am not as horrible as I sound. I don’t hate the world, I just dislike it very much. I am realistic and pessimistic in general. For some reason finding out that I was adopted stirred a sleeping monster inside of me. I was twelve when I found out. My Dad and I were arguing, he always stayed on my case, and he blurted out “Thank God you aren’t really my son!” I saw in his face that he had finally given the underlying problem in our relationship a voice. I didn’t even have to ask questions when he tried to back pedal and take it back. I knew. My Mom came in and explained the truth, and suddenly my entire life made sense. I understood why I felt different and disconnected. I realized why my Dad looked at me like I was an alien-- I was an alien.
My Dad. He’s a good guy, he works hard, loves Mom, and pretty much stays out of my way these days. He’s a real estate celebrity around here. You’ve probably seen his face plastered on signs. Clinton T. Malone, let HIM find YOU a HOME! That pretty much says it all.
My Mom. She’s a saint. She loves me, even though I am not really hers’. She follows Dad around with a broom sweeping up the messes that he makes, and reminding me that he “didn’t mean it,” and that he “doesn’t know what he’s saying!” I always assumed she would leave him eventually, but because he is an honest, faithful husband, she stays by his side. Did I mention she’s a saint?
Today I contacted a company about finding my biological parents. They were perky and helpful. I felt like gagging. Why do I need to find my real parents anyway? That, I don’t know. The woman I spoke with told me that the search started with me. I am supposed to be upbeat and excited about the long a grueling process that awaits me. She told me to make a list of information that I know about myself, starting at the beginning. “Write down everything you know about your birth and adoption, from the name of the hospital in which you were born to the agency which handled the adoption! Everything you know!” she sounded like she was beautiful, her voice was soothing and reassuring, but she was probably four hundred and thirty pounds. You could never tell by a woman’s voice. So now, I start with myself…
Name: Myers Malone
Birthday: September 28th, 1984
Hospital: Inova Alexandria Hospital, Alexandria VA
Birth Mother: Unknown
Birth Father: Unknown
Reason they didn’t want me: To Be Announced
Date of Adoption: September 29th, 1984
Agency that handled adoption: Unknown
Adoptive Mother: Sarah Sterling Malone
Adoptive Father: Clinton T Malone, let HIM find YOU a HOME!
And that’s about all I know.
The next step? Approaching my adoptive parents for possible clues. I am supposed to write down every little miniscule detail because “you never know which insignificant detail will be a lead.” The beautiful voiced bombshell told me to ask as many questions as I was comfortable asking… That would be none. I am skipping this step. Mom couldn’t handle this step. She doesn’t need to worry about this. She and Dad really were enough, they would have been more than enough for most people. Only problem is that I am not most people.
It looks like I’ll have to do it on my own. It won’t be the first thing that I’ve handled alone. I’m in my mid-twenties now and can only remember three times in my life that I have asked for help… I plan to keep that number at three.
