Bastard Moments

This is an archive of the original Bastard Quarterly newsletter, edited by Damsel Plum and Charles Filius. It was published in print and on the web between 1997 and 2002.

Bastard Moments The term "Bastard Moment" was coined by adoptee-author Betty Jean Lifton in her groundbreaking book Journey of the Adopted Self.

How to Thicken Your Skin

by L.B. LaRocco

(This article first appeared in the Spring 1997 issue of the Bastard Quarterly.)

I think Charlie Brown must be a Bastard. Only a Bastard would keep going after that football, knowing that Lucy will probably, likely, almost certainly (oh, but there's still a hope!) pull it away at the last moment. And down he goes, again. Resilient little Bastard, our Charlie Brown. Here he comes again!

What? You don't understand? It is precisely because you deem yourself worthy that the Bastard Moment grabs you. That faith just before you fall on your ass is the essence of the Bastard Moment. Sending off yet another letter to the agency, the judge, the Department of Health, the woman with the same name as your birth mother, all are acts of certitude that the world works the way it should, that you are no less deserving than anyone else. Then there's the waiting, the deep breaths, the mailbox, the promise, and the tattered soul when the rejection comes.

Or maybe it's finding out that your photo gets stuck in a drawer when you leave their home. Or that your sisters and brothers will never know you exist. Or the realization that your adoptive parents' stories change, that they snip little bits out of documents, to protect you. These are your Bastard Moments.

Thought you were worthy, did you? You have degrees, you have a job, you have a life and love. Maybe you're even beautiful. It counts for nothing when the Bastard Moment comes along. The Bastard Moment uses your own confidence as a weapon: bang your strong-willed head against this wall, and let's see who wins. Don't you know what you're up against? Ritualized sacrifice and walls and walls of bureaucrats' paper.

The hospitals refuse you your records because you were adopted. Then the state refuses you your birth certificate because you were adopted. The attorney who handled the adoption has lost his records in a fire, or the agency suggests you get counseling. Your non-identifying information tells you that your birth parents were young, healthy, and white. Or brown. Or of European extraction. "And we hope that this will be of help to you."

Everyone has an opinion, and some have a need: "Why would you want to meet that woman? She gave you away!" "She has a life, maybe no one knows." "She's probably some loser." "You can't just go knocking on her door. That's not fair to her." "How could you be so selfish? We're your parents." "Let sleeping dogs lie!" "Just tell everyone you're a friend of the family." "I wish I'd had an abortion."

The Bastard Moment will not let you forget that you were not meant to be, that there are a few people in the world to whom your very existence is a shame and an embarrassment. Not an affront, mind you. You might welcome open hostility; at least the battle lines ould be drawn. They don't necessarily loathe you. They might even be warm to you. But you make their innards crawl. The neighbors! How to tell people? "Couldn't we just... wouldn't it be better for everyone if..." They would be more at peace if you... went away. Or better yet, never were.

Go ahead, be angry, curse, hurl, get drunk and scream, vomit up the disgust, run so fast you could stumble and break you neck. Or sit and stare. Curl up on the couch and listen to dirges that make you want to hang yourself on a sunny day. Just don't fool yourself into thinking that your suffering is their fault. It isn't. You need a thicker skin.

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 Spring 1997 issue of the Bastard Quarterly.)