Bastard Moments The term "Bastard Moment" was coined by adoptee-author Betty Jean Lifton in her groundbreaking book Journey of the Adopted Self.
"The Pit and the Pendulum"
by L.B. LaRocco
(This article first appeared in the Summer 1997 issue of the Bastard Quarterly.)
When I was a child, I loved the stories of Edgar Allen Poe. I haven't read "The Pit and the Pendulum" in years, but I still have a picture in mind, as vivid as a movie screen, of the main character waking up in total darkness, not knowing where he was, finding a wall, and tracing it seemingly forever, without finding anything like a doorway. Eventually, he rips a piece of cloth from his robe, wedges it in the wall, and then starts pacing along, groping the damp and moldy bricks in the darkness, only to find that he returns to the shred of cloth he left behind. He is in a circular pit, in total darkness, and there is no way out.
Searching for my birthmother is like being in that dark pit. No matter what logic and ingenuity I apply to this predicament, no matter how far along the wall I walk, I keep returning to my little scraps of information about her: a name, a place of birth, an approximate date of birth. Any or all of them could be lies.
When a bill was introduced in Illinois this year to open records to adult adoptees, I barely allowed myself to hope that it might pass. It didn't, of course, and now the original sponsor is having second thoughts about disclosure vetoes. Representative Sara Feigenholtz looked at veto statistics from British Columbia, and has decided that there might be a good number of birthmothers out there who really don't want their children's records released. She plans to support vetoes in the next bill.
It would be so easy to confuse search and legislation. Completing my search may hinge on a law that would open my records to me; I could verify so much of the information that I have. And if that law did contain a veto, either a disclosure veto or a contact veto, what of it? My birthmother may well have moved on to Florida or California, may never hear of such a thing, let alone actually place one against me. Even with vetoes part of the law, the odds would be on my side. Think, I hear other adoptees say, of all the people who would finally get their records. Wouldn't it be a huge step in the right direction?
If the name of the game is to complete searches, then yes, by the numbers, any legislation that would open records to the vast majority of adoptees would be an improvement. There would still be those left out in the cold, of course, perhaps 5% who would find out that their birthparents wanted nothing to do with them, not in a phone call or a letter, but from a bureaucrat, typed on a form, and with an official state seal.
How desperate am I in my darkest moments? Would I be willing to get my records, knowing that it meant throwing someone else into the pit? Would I be willing to surrender my own belief that my records ought to be mine, unconditionally, in order to complete this search? Well, I've already lied and spun yarns, and discovered an ability to deceive that I never knew I possessed.
There are really two games here. One is the search. Some of us will search, open records or closed. We do it for personal reasons or practical reasons, but even with an original birth certificate, some search will be necessary. The search won't go away, and it will always require a bit of cunning and perhaps a few lies.
The other game is about our dignity. I believe that my records ought to be mine, without condition and without vetoes. Nearly every adoptee agrees with the premise, but not all agree with the implementation. Some are looking at the search, and at the numbers, and will take any law that brings about reunions. But it seems to me that such desperation tells us something about ourselves that no state records could reveal: our rights be damned, we will sacrifice our own dignity and throw our fellow adoptees into a far worse pit without a qualm, and without a backward glance.
You can reach Representative Sara Feigenholtz (D) by writing her at the following address: 1057 W. Belmont, Chicago, IL 60657, by calling her at (773) 296-4141 or by faxing her at (773) 525-5058.
L.B. LaRocco, M.A. is a Cornell-educated linguist and Network Manager residing in Ithaca, NY. She learned of her adoptive status at the age of 28, after the death of her adoptive mother.
(This article first appeared in the Summer 1997 issue of the Bastard Quarterly.)
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