Dorie Morgan’s Rising Up
Navigating Twenty-Something Suburban Life
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Archive of "adoption" Category
How to name a cat
Over lunch at Panera a few weeks ago, my husband started questioning my ideal cat names. Usually, this is a topic he avoids like the plague because it ultimately ends with my relentless questioning of his ideal baby names but somehow, we plod through it without mocking each other too much.
I like names with character, names that are quirky. I think a name shapes a creature’s identity – a generic name would therefore lead to a life with a generic creature. I lean towards names like Roark (from Ayn Rand’s The Fountainhead) or Mercutio or Puck. I like names that make my well read friends smile and my other friends say “what an unusual name!” One of my suggestions with Pierpont, as in J. Pierpont Finch from How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying (one of my favorite musicals ever) but that was met with an embarrassing snort bursting out of my husband’s face so clearly, Pierpont was off the list.Naming a pet is a bizarre process. I guess it might be a little easier if you buy a kitty from a pet store or a breeder but Brian and I love the animal rescue route. Which means the newest addition to your family was recently the newest temporary addition to someone else’s family and that foster family has given your precious kitty a name.
My parents recently adopted a kitten from the SPCA who had named the kitten “Fang”. Fang. As in “I’m a vampire and I have a Fang”. Weird. “Fang” was quickly changed to “Alex” but then there were questions about “Alex” so it became “Sir Alex Meowsalot”. Ultimately, it was decided that the whole naming process was just too hasty and after much thought and deliberation Fang/Alex/Sir Alex Meowsalot became Pippin and then normally patient vet realized that my parents were nuts as they kept calling to change the name for the appointment.
The name you chose for your kitten says a lot about you as a person. Are you a crazy cat lady who names her kitten names like “Whiskers” or “Paws” or “Tiger”? Are you the person who is trying to meet your human needs with a cat so you name the cat something like “Pete” or “Sally” or “Ralph”? Maybe you are the sarcastic teenager who thinks it is very funny to name the cat “Cat” but in another language (FYI: Kissa is Finnish for cat). Ultimately, our cat name would reveal more about our hidden quirks and tendencies than the contents of our medicine cabinet.
After our lunch, we made our way over to pet store to see who was up for adoption on a Sunday afternoon. In the car, my husband started telling me a secret trip he made the day before to the pet store where he saw a black behemoth of a kitten. The kind of kitten that you look at and realize that you’ll need to feed it a small dog each morning for breakfast because kitten food is just not going to cut it. The kind of kitten that is one part adorable and one part panther escaped from the wild. Of course, my husband instantly loved this cat until he saw the name on the cage. “Twilight”. Like “I’m in love with a sparkly vampire”.
This was not the small dog eating kitty my husband dreamt of owning. Somewhere out there, a teenage girl desperately wanted a black cat named Twilight.
As always, we kept our expectations low. Or my husband did. I was too busy falling in love with a black four month old kitten named Oliver.
Define Family
For the last few months, I’ve been thinking a lot about blended families. I grew up in a blended family. My father is not my bio father. My mother is my biological mother. I was raised by my grandparents. And then I was raised by my mom and dad but not bio dad. And then I was adopted.
It gets confusing.
But I’m not the only one in this situation.
I would tell you that the face of a typical American family is changing but the truth of the matter is the face of the typical American family has not existed for years. I hope I am not telling you anything you had not heard or experienced before.
As the composition of families change, many of us are going to have to reevaluate our definitions of families. Does a family consist solely of a husband, a wife and at least one child? How do adopted children fit into our ideas of family? Can step parents be included in our definition of family while excluding bio parents? Can grandparents realistically double as parents? Is there really such a thing as immediate family versus extended family? Can a couple constitute a family unit? Does gender or sexual orientation matter when we talk about family structure?
As we struggle to answer these questions within the context of our own lives, we will also find that many companies will have to do the same thing. But, the upside is that as Gen X and Gen Y rise through the ranks of their organizations, their home life experience will have a large impact on how these definitions are shaped. We grew up in a world where these questions had to be asked. And while our Baby Boomer friends may have created that world, they never had to face the repercussions.
And really, that benefits all of us.
Adoption 13 years later
Thirteen years ago today, I wore a plaid skirt and a red turtleneck at a courthouse. I also wore a deer in the headlights look while a judge in Doylestown, PA approved my adoption. I was 13 at the time.
I didn’t know how adoption would change my life. At the time, I just thought that it meant that I would get my dad’s last name. I also knew that it meant that if something ever happened to my mom, no one would be able to take me away from my family. I had no concept of the larger changes it would create.
I grew up in a single parent home. I don’t have all of the details of how we ended up in that position but they aren’t really necessary. No child really needs to know the personal details of their parents’ divorce. And in my case, it probably would have been too much for me to comprehend. What I know is this: my mother left Florida and her first husband when I was five months old. The divorce was final around the time I turned two. I have no recollection of my birth father – I have not seen him in at least 24 years.
I didn’t realize when I was little that my home life wasn’t “normal”. My grandfather and my mother’s younger brother stepped up to the plate and fulfilled most of the dad functions. I took my grandfather to the “Daddy & Daughter” dances my Girl Scout troop held. My uncle sewed buttons on my Halloween costumes and went to all of my recitals. In fact, I was slightly confused by the two parent household concept that my friends experience (wait, you have a dad and he’s always here?).
And then when I was eight, my mother met Thomas. Four months later, they were engaged and one day shy a year from their first date, they were married. And from that moment on, he wasn’t “Thomas” anymore. He was my Daddy.
He wasn’t just a step dad. He was my family.
He was the one who was insistent that I participated in summer theatre, even when money was tight, because I loved it so much. He was the one who commuted over an hour to work each day so I wouldn’t have to change schools after the wedding. He was the one who took care of me.
In his first year of marriage, my dad was the sudden parent of a nine year old girl (at a point when my parents should have been enjoying the honeymoon phase of marriage) but he did it with such grace and consistency that you would have thought he had been he had been there since the day I was born.
While I would love to tell you that I was just so lovable you couldn’t help yourself from loving me, it isn’t true. I was a pain in the ass. But my dad loved me and I am so blessed for that. I never thought of him as “my mom’s husband” because he immersed himself in creating our family.
His love was unconditional, even when I thought it wasn’t. Which might be a universal truth about learning how to be parented (something we all must learn) but it was so profound for me. I had/have a very hard time with letting myself be loved because once a long time ago, a man who was supposed to have a biological urge to love me unconditionally did not. Learning how to accept unconditional love was a painful and bitter process but something that I could not have survived life without.
My family
Is blood thicker than water?
My mother gives me a lot of unsolicited advice when it comes to married life. I suppose it’s a natural and overwhelming urge for her to pass on these gems of wisdom. Nine times out of ten, I strongly disagree with what she believes to be true, which is making me wonder how I lived in the same house as this woman from birth until adulthood.
Lately, the advice has been relating to interacting with his family. Since I am an only child and an only grandchild (yes, I know I blogged about my cousin last week but she’s actually my step-cousin), I need all the advice I can get when it comes to interacting with siblings. While I spent the first 24 years of my life learning how to be quiet by myself, Brian learned how to survive having 3 older sisters.
When it comes to healthy family relationships, I am in over my head.
So my mom gives me advice to make up for the fact that reproduction is not my family’s strong point. She seems to think that if she passes on enough pieces of truth from her own life, it will make up for some of the confusion in my own life.
But really, her advice is just getting under my skin. “Blood is thicker than water” is her favorite phrase to utter over the phone during my commute home.
The way I catch myself interpreting her advice is that biological family ties will be the bonds that trump all other bonds. I’m not sure that is what she really means but it is what I keep hearing. And in my life, there are so many things wrong with that mentality.
For example: I don’t know who my birth father is. Despite the fact that he was married to my mother when I was both conceived and born, I have not seen him since I was six months old. In my house, we don’t talk about it. I don’t know what he looks like and no one will answer my questions. Which then leaves the question: If blood is truly thicker than water, is the blood flowing through my veins just really crappy? Is it less bonding than other blood?
Take another example: My step dad adopted me when I was thirteen. I’ve called him “Daddy” since the day he married my mother. He gave me away when I married Brian. But despite a slight resemblance, I share no genetic material with the man I identify as my father. There is no “blood” between us. If blood is truly thicker than water, does an adopted child only have a chance at a deep relationship when they grow up and have kids of their own?
But more troubling, my mom’s advice makes me think of baby boomers and the waves of divorce I have watched my friends survive. Even as adults, the experience of watching their parents divorce has shaken the world they live in. And the shared blood through their children still was not enough to make things work.
If blood truly is thicker than water, how does a marriage survive and thrive? Will sibling relationships always take the cake for closeness?
And then I wonder about my life and my marriage. And I wonder about the world of twenty somethings and their budding marriages. Will our ability to learn from our parents’ mistakes enable us to change the face of American marriage? Could we decide as a generation to make the difference between family and friends irrelevant?
Anniversaries
Note: While a good part of me is desperate to give a scathing review of Britney Spears and its impact on pop culture and another part of me feels obligate to write something about September 11 and what it means to remember, I have decided that I will not be touching those topics until later in the week. There is still too much hype from Britney and it is so cliché to write about September 11th. I don’t believe that I can address those topics in a meaningful way at this time so I decline to do so until I feel ready. But trust me, I will.
On Saturday afternoon, I found myself shopping in Macy’s for dress clothes for Brian with my father which was not something I had planned to do. I had planned to go to my parents’ house, have my mother iron Brian’s new dress shirt and then head home but my mother’s quick departure to a hair appointment threw a wrench in those plans. I was grateful when my father offered to show me how to iron the dress shirt but one burnt fifty-five dollar French cuff shirt later, I was wondering if I made the correct decision.
Both fortunately and unfortunately, Macy’s was having their Labor Day One Day Sale on Saturday which meant prices were great but the lines were massive. We managed to find something similar to the burnt shirt in the very last one in Brian’s size. The line seemed to go on forever and very quickly, I found myself engaged in awkward conversation with my father.
My dad is not really a much of a talker in the best of circumstances. He’s a quiet guy, insightful. He’s the type of man that you have significant conversations with at home or in a nice restaurant on a predetermined date. He is not the type of man who wants to have a great conversation in line at a Macy’s. Whereas I’m the type of girl who does want to have those conversations.
We very quickly burned through the conversation he was willing to make. So I moved on to birthdays, anniversaries, upcoming significant family events. It just so happens that my parents’ sixteenth wedding anniversary is in two weeks so I asked my dad what he and my mom would like for a gift.
I was quickly alerted that this was an inappropriate question for me to ask. My father, apparently, believes that an anniversary is a private, intimate event between two people. An anniversary has nothing to do with anyone other than the two people who were involved.
I was shocked. And mildly insulted.
In a strange way, I realized that the words coming out of my father’s mouth went against everything I was raised to believe. And somehow, I felt like I was being left out in the cold by my family.
As a child raised with just a mother, I knew any marriage she was able to make was also a marriage with me. A potential husband for her was a potential father for me. We were a package deal and there was no way to separate us. My mother’s second husband adopted me following the wedding, making him the only father I have ever known. The marriage that took place in September of 1991 marks not only the beginning of my mother’s life with my father but the beginning of stability for me as well. Their anniversary is far more than just them.
Even more importantly, I was hurt as a Christian. A wedding between a man and a woman is not a rope with two strands but a rope with three strands representing Man, Woman and God. My father seemed to be leaving God out of his marriage. I also believe that a marriage is an event with in a community and therefore, shouldn’t the anniversary of that marriage also be an event within a community? If it does not continue to have that significance, then why do we take the time and effort to engage in premarital counseling through the Church, have the wedding ceremony take place in a Church and then invite a multitude of family and friends to the event? It seems to me that in order for a marriage to be successful, a community needs to stand behind it and in it. The support of other followers of Christ is what separates Christian marriages from our contemporary counterparts.
I’m still not sure what I want to say to my dad on the matter. I did some sleuthing and discovered where they are celebrating the day with a meal. It’s my intent to do something nice to mark the day, regardless of his desire for my involvement. Maybe its stubbornness or maybe it is a desire to be more Christ like in my actions. I have yet to determine which option it is.
Babies
Our pastor and his wife announced yesterday in church that they are expecting a baby in February. They are currently in the process of adopting a little boy from Guatemala so they will suddenly jump from 1 child to 3 in just six month.
I’m jealous.
I know Brian and I promised each other that we would wait four years before we started trying. We want to be sure that we are ready for babies but we also want to be sure that we have time to be a couple. A baby would change everything in ways that we are not prepared for. A baby is more than we can handle.
Still. I am jealous. I want to experience the world through the eyes of a child. I want to watch in amazement as a little person grows and changes in front of me. I want to fuss over bonnets and little shoes. I want to laugh with a little face.
I know I am not ready.
I know that my priority at the moment is to be a good wife to Brian and to be a good person to myself. I know it is not realistic, practical or ideal. I know at the moment I have a strong preference to be Crazy Aunt Dorie instead of “MOM”.
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