CHAPTER TWO "If
there were dreams to sell, -
Thomas Lovell Beddoes
ONCE UPON A TIME (the proper beginning of all romantic tales of fancy), in the early spring of a magical, faraway land, there lived an innocent young girl named Joyce. Joyce was a 19-year-old blue-eyed lass who had just graduated the previous June as valedictorian of her high school class. There's nothing so enticing as a young girl on the doorstep of both adulthood and great promise. Being valedictorian was an esteemed and time-honored tradition in her family. Her older sister had been valedictorian of her graduating class and her younger brother was about to do the same. Upon graduating, Joyce left her modest home in Parkersburg, West Virginia, to live with her newly-married older sister in metropolitan Huntington, less than one hundred miles to the south. Oh, rapture! One can only imagine the profound philosophical discussions which permeated the tranquil evening air around that Appalachian Algonquin round table. Eisenhower was finishing his second term. The nation was about to embark on the space race. Leisure suits were still no more than a glint in the eye of some still unknown nemesis of good taste. Times were a changin' all right. While attending college in the Mecca of Huntington, Joyce supported herself waiting tables at a local restaurant. It was here that this 5'6" honey-haired girl met a most charming 24-year-old man from the majestic land known as Ohio. (Indiana without the glitz.) Although the
Mysterious Man was married and had fathered a child, he swept the
intelligent yet impressionable Joyce off her dainty size eight feet.
Joyce and the Mysterious Man immediately fell madly in love, as was
the custom of the time. Not long after they met, their genuine love
brought forth a beautiful child. The Mysterious Man, upon hearing
of the miraculous conception, immediately put his tail between his
legs (amidst other things) and ran home to his wife in a truly masculine
fashion. After all, he had been caught in the proverbial nookie jar
with his pants down. He received the obligatory rap on the knuckles
as he fled and all responsibility was removed from him. As we all
know, it is the woman who carries the shame and guilt in such cases.
The man only does what's natural; what's expected. She knew what she
was getting into; she knew what he wanted. No one can seduce someone
pure of heart. Everyone knows that. Besides, she was just asking for
trouble. What did she expect? Flaunting her pulse the way she did.
The young girl obviously stole the gentleman from his family. She's
lucky she wasn't tarred and feathered. The divine social workers lovingly said to Joyce, as they handed her a pen with which to sign the relinquishment agreement, "Fear not, tainted little one, for you are granted total confidentiality as well as absolution. In time, you will forget this whole ordeal. You will have other children. You have nothing to fear. Now or ever." The not-so-innocent Joyce, with the magical pen held in her delicate hand, signed without hesitation and with an air of self-righteous confidence that would have made Joan of Arc proud. And, of course, once she signed, her innocence and virginity were magically restored, as was the custom of the day. The child was taken to a loving foster home. Unfortunately, the foster mother became ill and could not properly care for said child. How sad. The caring, loving social worker immediately placed the mistake in another foster home... perhaps even more loving and caring than the first. Could that be possible? Could these divine, awe-inspired social workers expect lightning to strike twice? Ask, and ye shall receive. These extensions of God's arms got exactly what they wanted! An even more loving foster home was theirs for the asking. The second foster mother, like the first, loved this young child so very much. And who could blame her? Everyone knows orphaned waifs score high in the Adorable and Loving categories. Second only to a basket full of puppies. That's live puppies. The kindly social workers, after several painstaking weeks and sleepless nights of individualized searching, found THE perfect family to adopt the young infant. A divine couple, still very much in love after twelve years of marriage. Their references were impeccable. Their charm, undeniable. The only thing missing from this happy family was a happy child to enhance their (all together now) happy lives. Only the most perfect family would do for this equally perfect child. This adoring couple resided in a suburban small town to the north. The happily married couple, who went by the noble names of Arthur and Mildred, wanted a child more than anything in this world. They believed that a [semi] newborn would make their lives complete and fill the void in their hearts. This was a complex, primitive era, dear reader. Thirty years later this feeling of emptiness could have been more easily remedied by a satellite dish and a case of Moonpies. As with many romantic legends, there is some sadness associated with this one. For you see, the second foster mother so adored this above average infant that when the social workers collected the child he actually had to be pried from her arms. She cried a cry of genuine grief. The grief of a 'mother wannabe.' Who could blame her? This was an exceptional child... as all adopted children are. With this momentary melancholy aside, the intellectually gifted child was given, without reservation, to the appointed family as they sauntered forward from their Currier & Ives existence. The beautiful former orphan immediately bonded with his NEW & IMPROVED legal family. The storybook parents instantly adored their brand spanking new prepackaged infant (no assembly required.) The almighty social workers beamed with the pride of yet another job well done. Another satisfied customer. The newly re-born birthmother, as fresh as a springtime morning, immediately forgot all about her former child and went on with her life (just as the social workers had promised her). All broke into song. Doves filled the skies. Love was everywhere. Somewhere, in the distance, a dog barked (but not too loudly so as to not bother the neighbors). MUSIC SWELLS AND FADE OUT CHAPTER TWO "Truth
never comes into the world but like a bastard, John Milton ONCE UPON A TIME (some catch phrases work on both sides of the mirror), in the early spring of 1960, there lived a naive but not-so-innocent young girl named Joyce. Joyce was a 21-year-old, blue-eyed lass who had dropped out of her small town high school three years earlier, only six weeks into her senior year. This second-eldest daughter of a part-time Nazarene minister dropped out of school because she was "in the family way" sans the "family." There's nothing so enticing as a minister's daughter on the doorstep. Period. There was no valedictorian here. There was no esteemed, time-honored tradition of academic excellence in her family. Her older sister had not been valedictorian of her graduating class and her younger brother was not about to do the same. Not only were there no valedictorians in the family, I think it's safe to say no one in the family ever uttered the word. She left her over-populated home in an undisclosed small West Virginia community to live with her newly-married older sister in metropolitan Huntington so she could have the baby in good, old-fashioned, shameful secret. Once her pregnancy was announced, she was all but run out of town on a rail... and that rejection came from her own family. Why let strangers chastise when you can be condemned in the comfort of your very own loving home? Upon hearing the news, one sister cried out, "She's disgraced the family!" A true Christian if I've ever seen one. I'll bet she's "all that and a bag of chips" at a lynching. Joyce gave birth to a daughter in May of 1958. She kept this child and raised it to the best of her abilities (which were only limited by a most contemptuous society). Joyce supported herself and her daughter by waiting tables at a local family- owned restaurant. It was here that this 5'7" honey-haired girl met a most charming 21-year-old newly divorced soldier from an ultra-small suburb of the ultra-small Huntington. The Charming Mysterious Man, who was in town on military leave, sauntered into the eating establishment one evening and eased his 6'1" solid frame onto a stool at the lunch counter. Joyce felt her knees buckle under her as he ordered a hot dog and a soda. The knees may have buckled, but the instinctive urge to spread them as far apart as possible was taking over. They began talking and he asked her to go out with him that night. She said she couldn't. Undaunted, he suggested they go out the next evening. They did. In and out. The Charming
Mysterious Man had already fathered a child within the confines of
his marriage. That marriage was, like his interest in his child, brief
and fleeting. He showed very little concern about his responsibility
to his first [known] offspring. He told her that he loved her and, starving for love and acceptance, she believed him. The Mysterious Man said he loved her simply to find the best possible ending to an evening (one where he wouldn't end up screaming out his own name while developing an early case of carpel tunnel), as was the nature of the beast. Not long after his insincere profession of love (one could say it was his means to her end), Joyce found herself pregnant again. In the meantime, the Mysterious Man remarried his ex-wife and skipped town in a truly masculine fashion. As you can see, men, whether in fairy tales or in real life, are pretty much the same. Isn't it comforting to know you can always count on the fact that some things never change? Upon informing her righteous sister and brother-in-law of her condition, it was strongly recommended that she not only give the unseen and unknown child up for adoption, but that she do it secretly, so that the slightly respected, but mostly feared, parental units would be "none the wiser." (I assure you, no matter what the outcome, one thing for sure is that they would probably never be "the wiser.") As they say, what you don't know won't hurt you. I'm not sure who "they" are, but "they" tend to blab more than one would prefer. Joyce was not totally sold on this idea. She was truly confused. How could her own flesh and blood expect her to just give away another family member? How could they just pick and choose which child she should keep and which one she should give away? This process seemed no different than choosing one melon over another at the local grocery store. This time there was no thumping or squeezing of the melon. The Mysterious Man had done that a few months before... and just look at the result! Easily manipulated, Joyce agreed to meet with a social worker to discuss the possibility of adoption. Her sister, on the other hand, fully intended to make the possibility an inescapable reality. Families are always there to help one another. I find that to be so beautiful, don't you? Of course you do. The up-and-coming sister and brother-in-law were moving to a more prestigious neighborhood and refused to allow Joyce to join them. What would the neighbors think? The sister and brother-in-law helped with the raising of their niece; both financially and emotionally. They "did not resent helping [Joyce] with Rebecca but, of course, they felt it was a young girl's mistake, and should not be held against her." (Quoted from an interview with Mrs. Dolly Hall, Social Worker from Hell, on December 7, 1960.) They decided, however, that they just couldn't be human beings a second time and felt that tossing Joyce out on her pregnant butt, as well as handing over their own flesh and blood to total strangers, was clearly the answer. Joyce was booted out and faced with living in a Salvation Army home. Joyce and her unborn child were abandoned because the opinions of total strangers in the street were far more important than the well-being of their own family. They're Christians, don'tcha know? Charles Filius
is Bastard Nation's Publications & Arts Chair and Graphic Design
Editor of the Bastard Quarterly. An adoptee reunited since 1994, Charles
often speaks at adoption conferences around the country. He has presented
at conferences for Bastard Nation, Concerned United Birthparents (CUB)
and the American Adoption Congress (AAC). His website is www.plumsite.com/filius. ******************************************************** (This feature appeared in the Summer 2001 issue of the Bastard Quarterly.) Copyright 2001
Bastard Nation
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