I always have viewed a trip to the mailbox like a treasure hunt. You never know what you’re going to find there – good or bad, including an unexpected check, a package you ordered, a surprise bill, a letter from the I.R.S., a note from an old friend, and three pieces of junk mail for every keeper. My first stop after the mailbox is usually the recycling bin. Yesterday I found one of the biggest surprises ever in my mailbox, but let me give you some background first and express my feelings through a poem. The rest of the story follows.

I was adopted as a baby (See Post #104) by the couple that I will always fondly remember as my parents. In the back of my mind, however, was admittedly some curiosity about the couple that gave me life. Who were they and why did we never become a family? I’ve always felt strongly that my birth mother made the right choice in giving me up for adoption, and that I was fortunate to end up in a loving home. In fact, I wrote this poem many years ago to thank her:

Thank You 

Some women aren’t ready,
To serve Mother’s role.
Raising a child,
Is not yet their goal.
.
A selfish moment,
Of love and lust.
But nothing like this,
Was ever discussed.
.
Two at the time,
Now left up to one.
He may have not known,
Or decided to run.
.
There’s feelings of shame,
Maybe left all alone.
But worst of all,
Your future unknown.
.
Financial hardship,
Not quite mature.
Is it fair to the child?
If the parent’s not sure.
.
If you’re not prepared,
There is an option.
If you’re not able,
Consider adoption.
.
If you’re not excited
About motherhood.
If you’re not happy,
Someone else would.
.
There are loving couples,
Who can’t conceive.
It’s the right thing to do,
You have to believe.
.
Can’t give up a baby,
So helpless and small?
It’s time to consider,
What’s best for all.

.

There may be guilt,
Or thoughts of regret.
But you can’t match,
The love they will get.
.
Please don’t abort,
A gift so great.
A life’s in your hands,
Don’t hesitate.
.
If you’re undecided,
Just ask me.
If not for someone like you,
I simply wouldn’t be.
.
If you need forgiveness,
For letting me go.
You did me a favor,
I want you to know.
.
Among the many things,
That I’m grateful for.
It wasn’t just my life,
I’ve added three more.
.
Not that I wouldn’t have,
Had a great life with you.
You wanted more for me,
And I know that’s true.

.

Thank you for me,
Sorry for the pain.
Though difficult to say,
Your loss was my gain.

.

Copyright November 2011

johnstonwrites.com

 

I had done a DNA test through 23andMe a year ago, hoping to simply get some general background information on my ethnicity. In the process of discovering my Northern European roots, I was put in touch with a total stranger that shares .96% of my DNA analysis.  He lives only about 4 hours away and has been researching his family tree for several years, having only recently discovered that the man that raised him was actually not his biological father, and began a search for his identity. In the process, he found a connection to me, since we are genetically related within three generations, that he suspects is on his mother’s side. Her name was Alta Constance Carpenter and she was born February 26, 1920 and died in April of 1995. She lived in Pendleton, Oregon, coincidentally only about three hours away from where I currently live. The song, “If I Were a Carpenter,” by Tim Harden immediately comes to mind. He performed it at Woodstock at 1969, and it was covered by Johnny Cash/June Carter, Bobby Darin, Joan Baez, The Four Tops, and Bob Seger, as I predictably drift away from the emotional subject at hand to take a humorous diversion.

As has been the case throughout my life, other people have done the searching for me, as I remained true to the only parents that I know. My allegiance was always with the couple that adopted me, and that somehow looking for my birth parents was a betrayal that I rarely pursued. When I mentioned to others that I was adopted, they always seemed to be more curious than I was. As a result, they did the work for me. A media friend in Indianapolis, for example, did an illegal search of sealed adoption records and gave me the name and address of my birth mother.  The address turned out to be the home for unwed mothers were I was cared for after birth, but the location of Edna Faye Bannister has always eluded me. After that initial shove, I reluctantly took a few “baby steps” and contacted the adoption agency. They provided me with general background information on the mother and her family, but nothing specific that I could pursue.  I did get a copy of my original hospital records and birth certificate that listed me only as “Infant Bannister,” confirming the Bannister name connection. The adoption paperwork also mentioned that my birth mother named me “Jerry Lee.”  This was six years before Jerry Lee Lewis made the name famous by recording his 1957 hit “Whole Lotta Shakin’ Goin’ On.”

At that point, a had a dual identity (See Post #104), but search “angels” sent me on a wild goose chase to an Edna Bannister in the Rome, Georgia area. It was information in yesterday’s mail, sent to me by my 23andMe connection, that proved that theory wrong. Almost 30 years after I had been given the name, Edna Faye Bannister, I had a copy of her birth certificate and a 1940 Census that matches all her seven siblings to the general age information from the adoption agency report. I had found her, simply by opening the mail. Further investigation yesterday has led me to her son’s Facebook page with what I believe to be pictures of her along with my potential step brother.

I knew there was a reason that I’ve always been a fan of the movie, “Planes, Trains, and Automobiles.” In fact, I made a reference to it in my last post. One of my favorite scenes is at the rental car agency, with the “gobble, gooble” lady behind the counter. He real name is Edie McClurg, but also known as Mrs. Poole from the TV show “Valerie.” My birth mother’s married name is now Mrs. Poole, and she has a son three years younger than me named Jerry Lee (she must have really liked that name).  I’m in the process of determining what my next step will be, but given all the information I’ve gathered, I feel very strongly that my birth mother is alive and soon to be 85 years old. She may be in for the next mailbox surprise. I will keep you all “posted.”

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