Take Your Pick
Take Your Pick
When I was searching for my birth father, the old-timers mentioned three separate names as possibilities. None of the people I contacted seemed to be positive about who my mother, a lonely miner’s wife with three older children, was having a relationship with during the time period I would have been conceived.
My first preference: Mr. Nice Writer guy because, of course, writing is one of my favorite things. 2. The well-respected Mayor who was married to the embarrassing town drunk. 3. A very bright geologist whose sometimes poor choices in life weren’t always quite as impressive.
I had no intention of finding my half-sibling’s father instead. Ten months after my birth, my birth mother found herself with another unplanned pregnancy. She and number 2. (the Mayor) as it turns out placed my younger birth brother for adoption. Apparently, the proud Mayor always knew who his son was and watched from afar his career and achievements that, amazingly, had paralleled his own. I am still holding this information close to my heart in case my birth brother ever wants to know.
Yes, I was a little disappointed … my birth father was my last choice: the geologist. He had supposedly turned his life around and unfortunately, passed away just a couple of years before I started searching for him. I wanted to ask him to please put his name on my birth certificate as one of the few pieces of truth in my adoption story.
But, I am still trying to find the connection that one of my birth relatives has to be some great author. If not, I will keep telling my birth parent’s stories to show that sadly, life really hasn’t changed that much from then to now when it comes to the definition of “faithfulness.”