It was a late night for me, being one of the oldest dudes at a Pink concert. She has an awesome voice, but the most captivating moments of her show are the circus-like aerial acts that she performs. We nearly did not get into the show, as the StubHub tickets that I bought were forged and our entry was denied. After a conversation with a box office supervisor, I was advised to call them and request replacement tickets. For some reason, I’ve somehow always expected that the piece of paper with a bar code that you now get instead of a ticket would eventually not work. There are too many scam artists out there, and fortunately companies like StubHub have ticket insurance. They were very apologetic about the circumstances and immediately provided better seats at a slightly lower cost. This is why you shouldn’t buy a paper ticket on the street.

With our very active nightlife and travel schedules these past few weeks, not much has been happening in Banister World, the story of my adoption. I’m writing today because it’s the 86th birthday of the woman who brought me into this world but chose not to keep me. Instead, I was raised by the Johnston family and certainly have no regrets. I’m lucky to be alive because in today’s modern era, I might have been a casualty of abortion. With this in mind, I remain grateful to this stranger who faced humiliation at the tender age of seventeen, and was sent away to the big city to endure the pain of childbirth. She apparently doesn’t remember and has rejected any opportunity to communicate.

There is a trail of paperwork that follows any adoption, including court records that have been sealed to protect identities. Years ago, a friend was able to circumvent this legal process and provide me with my birth mother’s name. Only recently, have these documents been released to the public. Although I doubt that there’s information that I don’t already have, I applied for copies. This was about four months ago and last I heard there was still a three month backlog. At some point, I’ll go to my mailbox and find a packet from the State of Indiana that will legally substantiate my relationship with this woman. In addition, I have a strong DNA connection to the daughter of her older sister. There is little doubt, regardless of her memory, that I am her first born child. I’m not really sure if I need anything more to prove this, and I certainly want nothing from her. I would just like to say Thank You and Happy Birthday.