Adoption after the first year of discovery

It has been 1 year, 2 days and a few hours since the adoption bomb was dropped on me via Ancestry. The ANGER and HATE I feel for my adoptive parents is still off the charts. 100% because of their lies and taking my adoption to their graves. The biological family, I met B-cousins, B-dad, B-sisters and B-aunts 5 months before I met B-mom who was wintering in Florida. The first 3 weeks were a wind-whirl. I met with people I never knew existed and there was talk about the summer, get-togethers and meeting the rest of the B-family over the next few months. Of course none of that came to pass. I quickly realized that despite all the sincerity, we were all strangers who really shared no common story other than what might have been if only.... Regardless of the truth about my birth, I can say I am truly grateful for my A-parents. I was really one of the family (they had 4 children after I was adopted) and I was never once any different than the rest. In fact I never even once suspected anything, otherhan when someone told me something was wrong with my birth certificate when I applied for a passport or a copy of my original birth certificate. Every now and then over the past year i feel "bad" about all this hate I have for my A-parents because they were probably the best (NORMAL) parents a kid could have. But all that is erased because of their lies. I really feel like a person without a heritage (I have my history) but I have no roots. Thanks for being here to listen....

When the glitter fades...

So, most are wondering where the hell I have been..what the hell happened? So back in December 2018 I jumped in with both feet into what I knew ws uncharted water..actually it turned out to be a swamp, but those details are for a later blog. Anxiety is always high when being introduced to a new environment. Particularly when the previous environment has served me so well for 58.833333 years. We always want to believe we can go back to our original dream, even when we hear Thomas Wolfe shouting in our one good ear--YOU CAN NEVER GO HOME AGAIN. It's not that home is suddenly unreachable or has some how been taken from existence, rather it seems Thomas Wolfe knew that once we gain knowledge that is outside our current home, it changes our home and it is no longer recognizable as the home we left, even though it was only a few minutes, hours or even days--HOME WILL HAVE FOREVER CHANGED for those who step beyond the boundaries, aka confines, of the comfort zone. How home changes is what really creates a chasm in one's psyche.

#001 Am I really Me?

The dream always starts out the same. Yet, I could have never been prepared for what my subconscious would eventually reveal.
Driving along the winding mountain road, I feel queasy. I am not sure why or even if there is a reason for this feeling. I sense I have been here before. Yet each time I find myself thinking about this road, I realize I am in a different vehicle each time. Yet I am familiar with the route, even though I have no clear destination.
As I continue the climb, it occurs to me I am alone, there are no passengers with me, and the weather begins to slowly change. Or is it the day is giving way to night and it resembles storm clouds rolling across the horizon? Either way, I am sure of one thing, I am alone, climbing this 10% grade and the guard rails are extremely suspect.
At one point I begin to question the stability of the truck--or is it the terrain that has become unstable? I am unable to differentiate between the two and all I am sure of is my forward momentum is slowing.
I flashback to high school in the parking lot when we used to depress the brake while holding the gas pedal to the floor. The smell of burning rubber and wicked screeching of the tires were all I could think of as I pushed the gas pedal further into the floor. The engine RPMs hit 6, 7 then 9 thousand as I inched along the mountain road at 25 miles per hour.
At some point the truck launches forward as if shot from a canon. I feel a THUD on the passenger side, but the sudden acceleration holds my attention as I head into the curve at 50 miles an hour.
As the truck goes into the turn, I have a vision of past dreams...the sudden sway of the front end tells me that this is more than a dream..it is is now my reality..the thud is being replayed in my mind. What I so casually ignored is now in my face. I realize the front right tire is GONE! Did the lug nuts come loose? Were they sheared off? This is my dream come to life. One I have had hundreds of times. I brace myself knowing how this ends. The truck starts to slide to the right, front end first. I am fighting the steering wheel for control, praying to avoid the enviable.
And just as the front end of the truck jumps over the edge and free falls down the mountain...I reach for the driver's door, fighting to get it open...and just as the truck clears the road and plummets for the river below, I bolt out of bed in a cold sweat. Just as I have a hundred times before..
Loewenberg calls this dream of FALLING a “red flag from your subconscious.” She believes this dream is common in people who are having a major life problem with work, relationships, or elsewhere. Grant’s work concurs with this viewpoint, even citing the same examples.
I really should have spent more time getting to know my dreams. Perhaps a few books might have provided insight? I have read that men who dream of balloons are actually thinking of women's breasts? What little I did read about dreams, mostly seemed irrelevant and written by those whose objective was to make a dollar while putting forth little effort.
It was not until December 2018 that the meaning of this dream would be understood. That somewhere within my subconscious, I was dealing with a major life problem I had no idea even existed.
It all started with an Ancestry dot com DNA test. Who'd a thought so many secrets were contained in a vial of spit.

#002 Hi, I have you as a close cousin....

Ever since I can remember, I have loved opening the mail box to see what had been delivered. It felt like Christmas everyday...walking down the 250 foot drive to retrieve the mail was a great journey for a 6 year old.
I was so disappointed when my parents moved the mailbox from the street to just 4 foot from the front door.  No longer would I make the trek to the box through knee deep snow, or stop at the puddles for an extra jump, nor would I ever again have to endure any weather elements as the four foot walk from the door was now covered by the porch.
Later on on life, I had this same excitement when checking my e-mail.  Always looking for some wonderful news, a great free-offer, or surprising announcement from a close friend or family.
On November 22, 2018 I received an e-mail that was not only SURPRISING, but it was from a close family member.  WAIT..a close family member I have NEVER met? A first cousin?  ROFLMAO.  Oh. no she didn't...I knew all my first cousins, and I even knew their names.  We were of proud Irish Duquette descent (maternal grandmother), tough German Koester ancestry (maternal grandfather) or on my dad's side strong Cherokee Hightower and robust people of the Appalachia Vowells.  I had zero idea where the Karinen name originated from.
I had just rebuilt my credit and was almost financially stable (LOL).  This had to be one of those phishing schemes.  I was being targeted by some third-world, backwoods extortionist.

I  suppose at this point of my journey I need to provide some sort of backstory?

I had been raised in a solid blue-collar house.  My father worked nearly 37 years in a steel mill, the same company I would work for after graduating high school in 1978.  My mother had an early "career" with Ford Motor Company in Dearborn, Michigan and would work on-and-off throughout the years I was growing up.
 There are five of us kids, four boys and the youngest a girl. We were all taught our family heritage from an early age.  While none of my siblings showed much of an interest in the family history, I was intrigued by the stories of my great-grand-mother, Cora Lee Hightower--FULL BLOOD CHEROKEE.
It was this genealogical information that eventually led me to ANCESTRY'S DNA analysis.
The end of July, 2017, I decided, with some prompting from my wife Melissa, to order the Ancestry DNA Kit.  This decision was made in part because Melissa's brother had just done Ancestry, and at the time it was just $69.
My interest in my Cherokee heritage had grown immensely since 1996 when I moved to Madison, Wisconsin and got involved in social activism.  Melissa and I had even gone to Cherokee, North Carolina to get up close and personal with my culture. When I was about 10 or 11, my paternal grandmother had told stories of going to Cherokee to see an Uncle Joe. She did not have anything good to say about "those" people, but in my heart, I knew I was one of those people.
So, it came to be, I had to do the Ancestry test just to affirm my history.
My results arrived via e-mail on August 09, 2017. I eagerly clicked on the link to see the actual data identifying me as NATIVE AMERICAN.

Just like that stupid lederhosen commercial for Ancestry, I had ZERO matches for NATIVE AMERICAN, and less than 3% IRISH and nearly 34% FINLAND / NORTHWEST RUSSIA.  Additionally Ancestry showed my migration pattern as from the Norwegian area to Pennsylvania?  I knew that my history showed my people (maternal)  migrated from GERMANY to the Northern Ohio area and from IRELAND to the Michigan area.  Paternally I should have found a migration pattern from England to the Appalachians.
Of course someone was wrong...and I was positive it was not my parents. I then called one of my brothers and convinced him to do Ancestry DNA just to verify my results.

While his DNA data was different, it was not remarkably different..except his migration pattern pointed directly to the SOUTHEASTERN area of KENTUCKY.
I then left Ancestry alone and would not return until 8 months later to review my DNA results summary.

When I logged into Ancestry 8 months later, not only had my Ancestry DNA data changed, my entire LIFE was shattered.

NEXT: Were there any adoptions in your family around 1960?

#003 Were there any adoptions in your family around 1960?

So there I was on the night of December 22, 2018 and the far fetched idea that I may very well be the person that answered the question: Were there any adoptions in your family around 1960?

To say that this was a shock would not be completely accurate.  My initial shock rating was off the chart.  Then, as I allowed myself to breathe--why they say that you need to breathe is beyond me, as I was hyperventilating, breathing seems to be the last thing I needed to focus on--I immediately went through my mental filing system pulling out past events.

Sometimes I hear a comment and for what ever reason I do not think it important to listen. But, months or years later I can recall the comment as if it were being said here and now.
As I read the email I had received via Ancestry asking about any adoptions that may have happened in my family around or about the time I was born (1960) I heard a million voices from the past.

"You really don't know, do you?" the clerk behind the counter at the Dearborn Post office asked.

I must have looked like the person who had just been asked to speak Finnish, never having heard the language.

I was going to Europe over Christmas break 1995.  I had just graduated from eastern Michigan University with my teaching degree and an endorsement in special education in April 1995.  By May that year I had accepted a teaching position for September.  My first real professional job, and I wanted to do some traveling.
My brother had been to Europe, China and Australia over the past 4 years and agreed to do another trip at Christmas with me. So naturally I needed a passport, which is how I ended up in Dearborn looking at the clerk as if I were brain dead.

All I could say was "Know what!?"

The clerk went on to say that the document I submitted, what I believed to be a birth certificate, was not acceptable as a legal document. I was bouncing between laughing like a maniac and shouting like a mad man. How is it I always end up with the most unqualified person on the other side of the counter.  Seriously, where do they find these people that work for our government!

Eventually the clerk realized I was absolutely and totally dumbfounded.

She handed my my "birth certificate" saying, "You need to go talk with your "parents."


NEXT:  MOM, YOU HAVE A LOT OF 'SPLAINING TO DO..

#004--Mama, you've got some 'splainin' to do

February 05, 2019

I have done it many times before. I get into the car, adjust the seat, tweak the mirrors, and tune the radio to whatever station is my current favorite before sliding into drive and going on down the road.
Eventually I am aware of my surroundings.  Usually I am 20 or 30 miles from where I started with absolute zero memory as to how I got to where I am.  On those unique occasions, I have even driven several hundred miles--totally oblivious to the route I had been traveling.

I suppose I wasn't at my best when I drove up at the house. As I remeber (it is always better to be retelling the story with a few years behind you) I entered the house rather forcefully..or maybe the buzz word of the day is FIRMLY.

I tossed the birth certificate on the table and screamed---"WHY HAVE YOU NOT TOLD ME I WAS ADOPTED!"

Mom then looked at me as if I were a saint who had just been tempted by Satan himself and said, in the coolest, calmest manner any human could possible speak, "Oh, it is just a silly mistake and misunderstanding on their part. I just need to write a note explaining there had been a few technical errors and that your birth certificate is indeed valid.  It will all be OK."

So, as if I had just been handed a HUGE glass of KOOL AID, I believed that all mom had to do was write a note, like she had for elementary school to excuse an absence, to the post office folks and that would clear everything and that they should give me a passport?

This was not the first time I had seriously asked this question, nor would it be the last.

NEXT:  Knowing what I didn't know I knew

#005--Knowing what I did not know I knew

FEBRUARY 16, 2019

I have forgotten how many times I will start out to do something, only to realize that it feels like   déjà vu all over again.
As I sat at the table, listening to my mom's exaltation about why my birth certificate was "different" than most other peoples' I had a million images jumbling through my brain.

In random order, I found myself recalling past events, conversations and exchanges where I stood apart from my current family.

Why was it no one else had wild curly hair like mine?  I literally had the best naturally curly hair in the city.  It was just loose curls that sprouted from my head (I always compared my curls with Sampson's in the bible) and framed my face.  i was also the only offspring to have blazing green eyes. My hands were smaller than the rest of the family. I was the only one who seemed to love the outdoors.  I had this insatiable wanderlust urge for adventure and travel.  This had also caused great concern for my mom.  I now wonder if she was terrified that in my travels I would accidentally stumble into the truth of my adoption?  Mom was always trying to deter my travels.  She was particularly nervous whenever I did extended trips in and around our home state of Michigan.

At that moment I suddenly realized that other family members have always looked at me just a bit differently. Aunts and uncles had this look that subtlety said, "I know who you're supposed to be, but I also know who you are not."
At family gatherings and picnics, conversation would stop when I walked up.  I now know it was being quickly redirected, as I have become well versed in the art of automatically changing the topic to avoid embarrassing the eavesdropper who was the topic of conversation.

Though I never had any reason to question it then, I seem to have always had this need to connect with the Upper Peninsula of Michigan.  As a child, mom and dad took us kids camping almost from day one.  Though we had done some excursions into the UP, we did the majority of our camping in other states.

After high school graduation, I was hired at the local steel mill in Trenton. My father had worked at the mill for 26 years and was able to secure me a position in July 1978.  A year later I had accrued two-weeks of vacation time.  Since I had low seniority in a department of 200, the only time I could reserve for vacation was the last two weeks of January, all of February and the first two weeks of March.

So when I announced to my parents I was taking a two-week vacation to the Upper Peninsula at the end of February, confusion is probably not the word I would have used to explain their look.
They insisted I not go lone, after all I was just 19, had a band new Jeep Cherokee and money.  Fortunately, a friend was currently unemployed and agreed to accompany me on this journey.
The Cherokee was loaded with a canvas tent, heater, Coleman stove, 20 gallons of white gas (no lead fuel), 2 rifles, a shotgun and a .357 revolver.  When my parents argued about my traveling to the UP, I justified it by saying it was bobcat season and I was just going hunting.
When they say it snows in the UP, what they really man is it S N O W S.  The Upper Peninsula is the reason God made snowmobiles.

Anyways, before I digress and get totally lost in the rabbit hole of memories, the original point in this reference is to share, what at that time, was an inexplicable attraction on my part for the Upper Peninsula.  This had been lightly touched on in previous posts and will be more relevant in future postings.

As I continued to act on this innate wanderlust, I found unique and unconventional ways to satisfy this desire for adventure.
In 1982 I packed up my Schwinn Voyager 11.8 with full panniers and a Diamond tent and headed for for Williamsburg, Virginia for a 5,000 mile cross country bicycle trip.
In an attempt to quench my wanderlust, my travels would eventually take me to Honeybrook, Pennsylvania in 1985, Honor, Michigan in 1987, Madison, Wisconsin in 1995, Boulder, Colorado in 1996.

Even as these memories and more rambled through my head, I looked my mom and said, "I love you. I never should have questioned you."

Subconsciously questioning just what was the truth and would I ever find it.


NEXT:  The Rabbit Hole gets deeper