Category: DIARY OF AN ADOPTEE (Page 16 of 18)

As an adopted child, my thoughts and research.

Diary of an Adoptee: Down the wrong path #443

February 26, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 1 Comment

I just spent the afternoon at the Shelby County Library, hoping to find some pictures of my suspected birth mother and her siblings in the Shelbyville High School annuals. When I first pulled up to the location, I thought it was closed, but instead the entrance had been altered due to construction. They actually have an entire building, directly across from the original Shelbyville High School, devoted strictly to genealogy. I had the librarian pull all the annuals from 1941 through 1951 that would surely list some of the eight Banister children who had assumed went to school there in that decade.

It reminded me of over thirty years ago, back in 1985, when I first got the name of my birth mother, Edna Faye Bannister and an Indianapolis address that I originally thought was her’s at the time of my birth. I immediately went to nearby Wishard Memorial Hospital, that eventually closed in 2004, to get a copy of my birth certificate. As it turned out, the address was the Suemma Coleman adoption home where the mother and I were housed before and after delivery. This insured her privacy as an unmarried woman, and any related discomfort in being near friends and family. I also went to nearby High School, Indianapolis Shortridge, and looked through their annuals in search of photos, as I did again today. (See Post #104)

The results were the same today, as they were 33 years ago – not a single Bannister or Banister in any of the classes. I had obviously gone down the wrong path again in this search for my roots. Because she was born and spent her childhood in Shelbyville as the legal documents indicated, I thought that she continued to grow up there. The family must have moved at some point after the 1940 census. It still remains a mystery why Dovan and Lizzie Banister, who I have not yet been able to connect with the family, were listed as head of household, rather than her parents, Ivan O. Banister and Ruby M. Taylor?

I did find an article from 1959 about my likely birth mother’s brother, Charles Ray, and his marriage that indicated that he graduated from high school in North Vernon, Indiana. It’s therefore, highly probable that Edna went to the same high school, and that I need to check the North Vernon annuals instead for any photos. It is destroys my fantasy of any connection to the Shelbyville High school state basketball championship in 1947. One of the advantages to being adopted is that you can “make-up” anything you want about your background, as I apparently did in this case. I’ll have to find a new story about “Banister World” related to North Vernon. (See Post #422).

I have discovered that being your own Private Eye is not easy, and that this investigation into my birth mother has taken many twists along the way. It would be so easy if I just had heard back from my probable half-brother, Jerry Lee, who apparently has not come to terms with the relationship between my background and his. (See Post #393). I’m not sure how I would have handled the situation, and I apologize if it has created an uncomfortable situation. However, I’m not ready to give up, even though it appears like he is skeptical of my intentions. It looks like I will have to blaze a new path.

Diary of an Adoptee: Normality #441

February 23, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

Life was back to normal today. There was no snow, I ran outside, my wife drove herself to work, our trash was picked up, the mail arrived, and I was able to get to the regularly scheduled leadership meeting. I also did some vacuuming, picked up the dry cleaning, and went to Petsmart without incident. Next, I will need to get out of my retirement uniform and into a tie for the first of two fundraisers, while I prepare our pups for another lonely night without us. We did get out for “Date Night” last evening, despite our original plans to stay home. Needless to say, as a creature of habit, I never did get into a comfortable routine this week.

As we travel back to Indiana tomorrow night, I did call the Shelby County library to make arrangements to look through high school yearbooks from 1941-1951. There were eight Banister children who should have attended Shelbyville High School during this decade, and one of them may have been my birth mother. Since I haven’t heard anything back from the family, I would at least like to see some pictures of her and her siblings. (See Post #393). I remain convinced that my information is correct, but I will wait to see if my DNA test on Ancestry.com matches up to her nephew before I take additional steps. He is the keeper of the Banister family tree, and perhaps another gateway to potential contact with the family.

After the recent tragic Florida shootings, I was surprised to see a report on NBC’s Today Show about Shelbyville High School. I don’t think it would have caught my attention without this possible connection to my probable birth mother. Here are some excerpts from a recent USA Today article about the NBC story:

“Cameras with a direct feed to the county sheriff office. Teachers who wear panic buttons. Smoke cannons in hallways.”

“These pieces of equipment are a big reason Southwestern High School in Shelbyville, Ind., has been referred to as “the safest school in America” since the airing of a segment on NBC’s Today in 2015 (the network recently revisited the school). Shelbyville is about 27 miles southeast of Indianapolis.”

“The system was implemented in 2015 after the Indiana Sheriff’s Association chose the school district for the first-of-its-kind security program. The school declined an interview about the program Wednesday, but an administrator previously discussed that school shootings can happen anywhere.”

It was not the only recent signal about the school that I have recently run across. A friend loaned me a copy of the book, Getting Open: The Unknown Story of Bill Garrett and the Integration of College Basketball. Was it just another coincidence that Bill Garrett went to Shelbyville High School, as well? Are these all indications that I’m on the right track to finding my roots?

I was also struck by the fact that my school, Elkhart High School, also made national news a few days ago, The area around the school fell victim to massive flooding. It’s been over a hundred years since this has happened in my home town, where my adoptive parents raised me. Rarely does Elkhart, Indiana make network coverage.

Since I haven’t gotten a reaction back from the letter that I sent, maybe I’m just desperately looking for feedback, but I thought these reminders of my past were worth noting, as the search continues…..

Retirement is not without Hassles: The Mystery continues #431

February 14, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

I drove 21 miles to the mailbox today, hoping not so much for an unexpected treasure but rather for a simple reply from my birth mother’s son. If it weren’t for the prospect of reuniting with the woman who gave birth to me, I would not have taken the time to visit the Post Office. I’m still disturbed about the vandalism of our neighborhood mailbox a few days ago, and what I could have lost if the timing had been different. Fortunately, the break-in occurred late on Sunday night, after I had retrieved our mail. If my return flight had been delayed, I could have lost the pricey Broadway tickets that we ordered for Dear Evan Hansen in New York City, or had forever wondered if that still-expected reply had been answered and then stolen. The trip today was fruitless, as the wait continues for a the return of my self-addressed envelope. I will recognize the envelope immediately should it ever arrive, as I anxiously anticipate a response of any kind.

It’s now been over three weeks since the certified letter and documentation was received by the other Jerry Lee – actually 22 days – but who’s counting? (See Posts #393 and #404). It took 9 days from my home in Portland, Oregon for the letter to get in his hands in Seymour, Indiana as the specified recipient. Without being accused of stalking, I have not seen any updates on his Face Book page to indicate that his mom, and most likely my birth mother, is even still living. It was there that I found what I assume are pictures of her. However, all I have access to is his profile picture, since he has not responded to my friend request under the alias of Jerry Lee Bannister. He is Face Book friends with his cousin, who is the Banister family historian, and have been in touch with him through Ancestry.com. I am expecting a DNA kit that should genetically verify my relationship to both of them. Without making this too confusing, I had already done a DNA test through 23andMe, that initially put me in touch with the source of the birth and census records of my “second family.” (See Posts #391, #409, and #410.) His Banister family research apparently does not include both sites, so this should substantiate my connection to his family. Or, prove me wrong? Perhaps he can help me make a connection to his father’s sister, and at least provide me with more information on his Aunt that I believe to be my birth mother? This is my back up plan, should I not hear back from the son. I guess I’m becoming hungrier, but hopefully not too aggressive in solving this 66-year-old mystery. It is a sensitive issue and intrudes on the privacy of these strangers that could be family. It wasn’t exactly a Valentine that I sent!

Meanwhile, to resolve the security issues on my mail and packages, I may need to look into a Post Office Box to receive any valuable items that I might order. Sadly, it just creates another hassle in trying to collect my packages, but I’m suddenly paranoid about mail theft, should my neighborhood association fail to add measures to prevent this from happening again. It’s taken all the fun out of my daily postal treasure hunt, considering that the nearest Postal Annex is several miles away. (See Post #359). I guess I could start running to and from the Post Office everyday, hoping that nothing too heavy arrives.

Retirement is not without Hassles: Vandalism #428

February 12, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

Last week my wife’s daughter had a package delivery stolen from in front of her apartment door. This morning, I went to our community mailbox to send a postcard and all twenty-five boxes were standing open and completely empty. If I had gone any earlier that postcard would have never been delivered. It looked like someone had taken a crowbar to the doors. I’m confused through why they would do this on a Monday morning, after no mail delivery on Sunday. In my opinion, it looks like companies like Amazon, Federal Express, and the UPS have created a major problem in expanding home delivery services. I do not recall a time in history where there were so many porch bandits and mailbox thieves. Obviously, they are also what I would call “timing stupid.”

I have admitted to being a “mailbox monitor” (See Post #405), comparing a trip to the mailbox with a treasure hunt. You never know what you’re going to find in there – good or bad? This is what makes for some good retirement excitement. It also gives me justification to keep an eye on when the mail-person arrives. Lately, I’ve been anxiously awaiting the return of a self-addressed stamped envelope that I sent to my potential birth mother’s son. It’s been several weeks since the certified letter that I sent was accepted (See Post #397 and other stories throughout the “Diary of an Adoptee” category on this blog.) It would be a tragedy if that letter had been stolen, since I would never know if the effort had been made to reply. I also had just gotten back last night from skiing and rescued several days of mail before the thief struck this morning. I had some valuable baseball cards as part of that delivery and some 1099 tax information that could have been stolen. My neighbors might not have been so lucky, if they had mailed items last night, or forgot to pick up their Saturday mail. Also, until the boxes are repaired, it will be a 21 mile drive to our Post Office, so my daily treasure hunt will turn into more of an inconvenient adventure.

Package thieves probably experience the same sense of “mailbox” excitement that I do, in unwrapping mystery packages, opening checks, or finding cash like I sent to my grand kids for Valentine’s Day. It’s like Christmas morning for them as they sort through the mail and packages they’ve taken. I may need to reevaluate my confidence in these delivery services, since they are now being stalked by thieves as they make their daily drop-offs. Most of my friends do not even have a locked mailbox to even modestly “protect” their valuable mail. Look for big changes in the delivery business. As for me, I’ll keep you “posted” on whether or not I hear from my birth mother’s family, or if I find a more secure way to guard my mail.

Diary of an Adoptee: Banister World #422

February 5, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 1 Comment

Every now and then these past few weeks I’ve drifted off into what my wife calls “Banister World,” wondering the impact of my certified letter on total stranger? What has happened since the letter arrived? (See Post #404). Was it then hidden somewhere in a drawer? Was there ever a discussion about its shocking contents? Was a response slowly making its way to me through the mail? I don’t know why I suddenly expect instant answers to a 66 year-old unsolved mystery?

Would I next need to employ a different tactic? Or, should I just be patient and step back? I’m reading the book Getting Open, the story of Bill Garrett and the integration of college basketball. It presented itself as the closest resource to uncovering what life was like in my presumed birth mother’s home town, during the time just before I was born. It also seemed prophetic that my good friend just happened to have a copy of this book, when I mentioned a long-shot Bill Garrett connection with the Banisters. After all, it’s not exactly on the best seller list.

Shelbyville High School won the state basketball championship in March of 1947. My birth mother, Edna Faye, would have been 13 years old, soon to be 14 on April 9. Her twin brothers were only a year older, but sister Eva would have been 16 and in high school, perhaps along with 18 year old Elmer. Her older siblings included 20 year-old Elvin, Wilma 22, and Helen 23. Did they attend basketball games like most of the community who packed the bleachers? Cross Gym, where they played, held 3,500 spectators, one-third of the Shelbyville population at that time. Football was a minor sport in Indiana in that era, as farmers were confined to the fields until basketball season started in August. Did they know Bill Garrett or any of his teammates or coaches? Did they cheer for the “Golden Bears?”

Four years after Shelbyville brought home the hardware, I was born from an affair that took place around the Thanksgiving holiday of 1950. She would have finished her Junior year at Shelbville High with a noticeable baby bump and then secretly whisked-away to Indianapolis to give birth. Did she then return to Shelbyville or was she sent somewhere else to avoid any ridicule from fellow townspeople? Did my untimely appearance ruin her life plans? What happened to the father? Did the disapproving community brand her with a “Scarlet A?”

What happened next for her remains unknown? I’m appreciative that my life went on only slightly interrupted, with no recollection on my part. It wasn’t until years later that I began to even wonder about this woman that gave birth to me. Would she have loved me as much as my adopted parents? Would I have gotten to enjoy the same benefits and opportunities that only affluence could afford? Or, would I have just finished high school and stayed in rural Shelbyville my entire life? At that time, the Ku Klux Klan controlled Indiana’s laws, so it was rare for a predominately white school to have three regular black starters. As a result, they were mocked by the competition as,”The Black Bears.” Coach Frank Barnes was an integration pioneer, with a need to win games to preserve his job.

By the time, I was born in August of 1951, Bill Garrett had become the first black athlete in the Big Ten Conference, as the first to play at IU. Coach Branch McCracken made him an All-American his senior year. Garrett’s All-Star team then played the Harlem Globetrotters at the Indiana Fairgrounds in Indianapolis just after my birth mother’s 18th birthday, attracting over 14,000 basketball fans. Did she go to that game with classmates her Junior year to celebrate her city, with me still a hidden secret? Shelbyville’s most famous citizen was about to become a Boston Celtic, one of the first three black athletes to be drafted into the NBA. Or is this just another of my sports fantasies?

I feel a need to know more about the city of Shelbyville, so a trip to the city’s library later this month might be in order. I can look through some high school annuals and search for any Banister connections. The most important thing is to try to find a photo of my 5’2″ brown-eyed, mother. Will the unknown Marine father have also gone to Shelbyville High School? At twenty years old, he would have been the same age as my birth mother’s sister, Eva, and also could have gone to school with or played against Bill Garrett? According to the adoption agency, he was 6’2 1/2,” slightly taller than Garrett, and played basketball, football, and baseball. Also, my birth mother’s brothers, Elmer and Elvin, would have been about the same age as Garrett. Can I find them in a year book? If so, I can expand the “Banister World” fantasy.

Retirement is not without Hassles: Friendship #420

February 4, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

The month of February is all about friendship and love. It started with two concerts and dinner with good friends. We saw 72 year-old Bruce Cockburn and 65 year-old John Hiatt, two performers that I would not have normally gone to see, but thoroughly enjoyed. It was good to see two fellow Senior Class members still active on the circuit. I was envious of their continued passion for their work, extending their careers into the twilight of their lives. Both of my retired buddies play and collect guitars, so I often follow their lead on must-be-seen-before-they-die performers. I’m rarely disappointed, and get to experience some of the unique music venues around Portland, like the Aladdin Theater and Revolution Hall. Also, older audiences tend to be better behaved and prefer to remain seated, rather than interfere with your view of the stage in favor of their awkward dance moves.

My best friend & wife next went to see the movie, Lady Bird, as a popcorn dinner and holding hands is our weekly tradition. We certainly hold hands more often, but restrict our popcorn eating to theaters and sometimes ballparks. I will leave her for a few days this week to ski with old friends in Steamboat. She doesn’t ski and prefers warmer climates to use her precious vacation time, so she’ll spend just her weekend with us, as we celebrate the 65th birthday of our hostess. She and her husband just bought a retirement home near the slopes, so they invited several of us to join them for the week. I will approach the mountain with caution, as all retirees should, hoping to return without a cast. I haven’t skied in at least two years, as evident by the cob webs on the padded travel bag that holds my equipment. The only other item in our garage with more dust on it is my golf bag.

When we aren’t traveling, my wife likes to spend her weekends with her two best friends, our schnauzer pups. When she gets home at night after a hard day at the office, she’s too exhausted to spend much time with them, so she tries to make up for it with long weekend walks. I will run ahead with Tally until she quickly loses interest and then loop back to the slower moving Tinker, who no longer runs and stays at my wife’s side. Tinker is like me in her hesitation to spend too much time outdoors. She has so many allergies and hates the feel of some grasses on her paws, so the outdoors is nothing to her but a giant toilet. In her opinion, there’s no other reason to go out there, unless it’s to go for a ride in the car. On the other hand, Tally loves to romp, and it’s critical to keep her on a leash. The weekend walk/runs give both Tinker and Tally the opportunity to sniff the butts of their furry friends.

My wife enjoys music, but our tastes slightly differ. She prefers uplifting popular music, while I lean more to the blues and classic rock. She has already bought tickets to see Pink, Steely Dan with The Doobie Brothers, James Taylor & Bonnie Raitt, Hall & Oates with Train, Sam Smith, Def Leppard/Journey, and Elton John. I will enjoy all of these shows, for in most cases, the second or third time around. At least, Pink, Sam Smith, and Train are not yet of retirement age and will be fresh new experiences for me. Also, we have reserved seats for each of these shows. The two shows I just attended this past week were in much smaller venues than these Moda Center dates, so it was strictly General Admission. That meant we also had to be there an hour early and wait in line for a decent seat. It makes for a long evening. I much prefer the assigned seats that we have for these upcoming shows, and appreciate that even movie theaters now allow you to select seats in advance. It avoids hassle and saves time, but it still doesn’t resolve the problems associated with those sitting in neighboring seats. (See Post #121).

Our February tour continues from Steamboat to Phoenix, for my wife’s budget meetings. We will have to spend Valentine’s Day apart, but I will fly in the next day once the business sessions conclude. Friends from Tucson will drive us to their home for the weekend. We hooked up with them last year after several years apart, so we’ll get a chance to experience more of the desert. I will then connect with a Fraternity Brother, who I reunited with last year after nearly 40 years. We plan to go to Surprise, Arizona and watch the Oregon State Beavers play Cal Poly in a college baseball tournament. Unfortunately, The timing of the budget meetings is just about a week early for Spring Training, otherwise we would have had some other choices for games. I’ll fly out early the next morning.

The February “friendship and love tour” ends with a trip back to Indiana. My wife’s niece is expecting their first child, and she is being honored with a shower. We also have to take my wife’s 96 year-old mother to the doctor, as is the case several times a year for us. Hopefully, she’ll stay out of the hospital on this trip. In the back of my mind, I still have hopes that I will hear back from my birth mother’s family, but I would also like to go Shelbyville, her home town, and look through the high school yearbooks for some photos of her and her siblings. It’s been about 12 days now since they received my certified letter (See Post #404). It took 9 days for the letter to get to them, so I will approach the mailbox tomorrow like a kid waiting for Christmas.

When the short month of February comes to an end, after spending half of it on the road, I will promise to spend as much time as possible with my wife. I haven’t been very attentive, leaving her alone in favor of other friends. We’ll spend half the month of March on a cruise ship with little time apart, after spending Valentine’s Day in two separate cities. Last year, her meeting didn’t start until the day after, so I’m sure there are other employees disappointed about not spending the “biggest day of love each year” with their significant other. I’ll at least have the two puppies and the cat to keep me company. She’ll have just The Company!

Diary of an Adoptee: Adoptee Diary #411

January 27, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

I was having a conversation with a friend today about the potential of finding my birth mother. It’s inspired several posts that I’ve now decided to relabel as “Diary of an Adoptee” rather than “Retirement is not without Hassles.” I’ve also decided to go back through my posts from this past year of retirement and start this new category. I have already used the category of “Creature Features” to write about my love of pets and other animals. Out of that category of posts have generated a humorous children’s book idea about our Schnauzer Tinker. I will call it “The Poopingest Pup on the Planet,” among the 400 plus articles that I’ve written. Tinker is also an adoptee, as is our other schnauzer, Tally.

For any of you that know me personally, I’m not typically a serious writer, as I’m much more comfortable being silly and/or humorous. A majority of the poems that I’ve posted are supposed to be funny. However, sometimes my emotions get the better of me, as I use my writing of this blog to express my inner feelings rather than paying for a therapist. I’ve already had that experience several times in my life, and as the subjects turned serious, the flight mechanism of humor would automatically kick in. I also try to express my passion for sports through the category of “Old Sport Shorts,” that you will also find scattered throughout this blog.

The adoption issues in my life are very emotional, particularly since my adoptive parents died a few years ago. Suddenly, there have been developments that have resulted in the whereabouts of my birth mother. Unfortunately, she may not know about my discovery as yet. I’m waiting for a response from a certified letter that I sent, and this subject weighs heavily on my mind. It’s not funny, so please bear with me, and if you’re not interested in the adoption aspects of my life, then you can confine your reading to my other categories. I wrote this poem today to express some of these feelings, some of which are embarrassing:

Adoptee Diary

I was a child,

With no Family Tree.

Because I was born,

An adoptee.

My father unknown,

Suspected Marine.

The scared mother,

Still a young teen.

.

I’m given the name,

Of Jerry Lee.

And didn’t know who,

My parents might be?

.

The next thing I knew,

A couple agreed.

They’d give me love,

And what else I might need.

.

I was soon in their home,

With the court to decide.

If they were worthy,

To remain at my side.

.

I was named Mike,

As they both agreed.

And I soon began,

To grow like a weed.

.

They raised me as if,

I was their own.

And cared for me,

Until fully grown.

.

With love and support,

I was never alone.

Showed me the skills,

To live on my own.

.

I added a branch,

Through birth of a son.

My family tree,

Had just begun.

.

Grand kids were added,

But my parents passed on.

In the back of my mind,

Not all was gone.

.

I had a name of the girl,

That gave me life.

And the love of another,

My precious wife.

.

It must have been fate,

To find my birth mother.

After all these years,

I also had a brother.

.

With cautious hope,

I wrote to him.

A chance for reunion?

Predictably thin.

.

And as I await,

For a reply.

I’m glad I at least,

Decided to try.

.

As I’m sixty-six.

She’d be eighty-four.

If she’s still able,

I’d be hard to ignore.

.

But is she alive?

And my facts correct?

Could our lives,

Once again intersect?

.

Until I have the answer,

Of a new Family Tree.

I’ve started to write,

The Adoptee Diary.

Diary of an Adoptee: Thanks Cousin #410

January 27, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

With all the excitement surrounding the discovery of my birth mother, I needed to send a thank you note to my 23andMe source. According to genetic testing that we both did through the site, we share .96% of our DNA, putting us as close as third cousins. He’s searching for the exact nature of our connection, and in the process we’ve been exchanging information. I wanted him to know of my recent breakthrough, in hopes that it helps us solve some additional mysteries about our roots. This was the note that I just sent him:

Hi Terry – I’ve been remiss in thanking you for the information that you sent. It got me on the right track. The Edna Faye Banister of Shelbyville, Indiana birth certificate that you forwarded, combined with the 1940 Census, matched all 7 of her siblings (including twins one year older) and their ages exactly with the generic information that I received from the adoption agency. This extends right down to the railroad guard employment connections. I then discovered that she was married 5 years later to Charles Poole of Seymour, Indiana. They had a son that they named Jerry Lee (the same name that she gave me at birth through the Suemma Coleman adoption agency in Indianapolis).

The name Jerry Lee Bannister (or Banister) is on all the official court records that I also have in my possession. I was next able to get a White Pages address for Jerry Lee Poole and sent him a certified letter with many of the same documents you sent me. The certified letter was signed for last week and I’m hoping for a reply, once the initial shock wears off. If he decides to share it with his mother? I’m not sure of her health at age 84, but I was able to see recent pictures of her on his Facebook page. There is a resemblance. I apparently had two other younger step brothers through a second marriage that both tragically passed. Furthermore, I sent a note to the son of one of her twin brothers that maintains the Banister family tree through Ancestry.com. I bought a trial membership and entered all my new connections as the Jerry Lee Bannister Family Tree. Thanks to you I now have solved the most important piece of the puzzle, and perhaps can help you if I can get information on the Marine father. I’ll continue to stay in touch, as I get more details – but once again, I can’t thank you enough!

I sent this message through the 23andMe website, hoping that he will share my enthusiasm. As you can probably tell, I am totally consumed in this investigation, and have felt the need to express myself through this blog. It’s definitely personal therapy for me, as I face this touchy situation alone. I promise to share what I know, and to try not to dwell on this subject.

Diary of an Adoptee: The Conversation #409

January 27, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

I’m trying to imagine the conversation that may have gone on a few days ago, after the postman arrived at the door. Hopefully, they view the mail with the same sense of adventure that I do, because it had to have been quite a shock.

Mother: What’s in the mail today?

Son : Just some utility bills, the usual junk mail, and a note from your son.

Mother: You are my son.

Son: Why didn’t you tell me about my older brother?

Mother: You are my oldest son.

Son: Not according to this certified letter.

Mother: OMG! – I’m so embarrassed! (tears)

Son: What do you want to do? Is it true then?

Maybe the conversation took place that suddenly? I not really sure if mother and son live together, or if she is in assisted living or even living? He may decide not to share this information with her, and that could be the end of my chances to meet my birth mother. I’m positive that it’s her, based on all the documents that I’ve gathered. I need to let my genetic connection through 23andMe know how helpful he was in solving this first mystery. There are many other mysteries that only my birth mother would ever know. I hope I didn’t upset her family in the process, but at 84 years old time is running out for us – if there is to be an us? I feel very selfish, exposing this 66 year old secret, and placing the burden on her remaining living son to take the next step.

He now knows that he’s not the only Jerry Lee that she gave birth to, and that after losing two younger step-brothers, he is not the only brother yet. I’m sure that he didn’t know about this missing piece of his mother’s life, and that she probably never expected for this day to come. The truth was buried by her guardians, as she was secretly sent away from home to give birth. Who know how much shame she brought upon her family. Most of them are surely dead by now, but there’s a new generation of relatives that may be judgmental about the difficult decisions that she made as a young girl of just over 18. After giving birth, she may have returned to her family and tried to pick up the pieces of her life? She may have had second thoughts, or had never wanted to give up her baby? Then again, the circumstances may have been embarrassing. Was the father, “The Marine,” that she loved or “The Marine” that forced himself upon her?

I can remember as a child fantasizing about the circumstances about my birth. I’m not sure that I really understand how I came to exist. I’m embarrassed to admit, that I was confused about sex and didn’t understand the “birds and bees.” At the same time, I was in a Vacation Bible Program that talked about Jesus and his birth through the “virgin” Mary, that was even more confusing. I had the attitude that there were good children and bad children. The “good” children were selected, whereas the “bad” children were conceived. I was given the impression that I was “special,” and that my parents chose me over hundreds of other options for that very twisted reason. When I finally somewhat understood the adoption process, I then began to imagine myself as the son of royalty, or that someday I would be reclaimed like a fairy tale. If I didn’t get my way, I was tempted to say “you aren’t my real parents.” Fortunately, I never did, nor did I ultimately ever regret being raised the way I was. I owe my life to a birth mother, but I owe my love and success to my adopted parents. They are my real mother and father.

What role could my birth mother now play in my life? She could first identify the father and show me pictures, so I can search for any resemblance that most people on earth take for granted. In sharing photos seen on Facebook of my birth mother in recent years, close friends see similarities. The smile, the chin, and the nose are most noted. This reassures me that I have found the right woman. Even my step-brother of the same given name shares some of these characteristics. I included a photo of me in the documents I mailed to him. He’s about 5 years younger, and was born out of her first marriage, so he’s a Poole rather than a Banister (or Bannister). I felt a bit like a stalker, searching his Facebook photos, but was only allowed limited access. I tried to friend him, as Jerry Lee Bannister, through my alternate Facebook identity that I set up years ago as part of my search for her existence. I have about a 100 Bannister Facebook friends that I feel a guilty sense of deception in our virtual relationship. I thought that one of them would surely know an Edna Faye Bannister, but no one ever responded. He has never responded to my generous offer of “Social Media Friendship.”

Life goes on for me, regardless of the outcome of this adventure. I feel a sense of satisfaction that I have conquered some of my initial reservations about seeking this information. I remain very loyal to my parents. They have been gone for three years, but I know that they would want me to thank her for giving them what they couldn’t have themselves. I also know that this could be a bittersweet compliment, if she had pleaded to keep me as her own. Perhaps, she could have given me a better life, although that would have been difficult to achieve. I remain content with the way that things turned out, and I certainly bear no regrets with the decision to put me up for adoption. I couldn’t have had more wonderful parents, and they gave me more than I ever wanted, with the exception of that toy model Edsel that I never got for Christmas. I bought it myself and it sits on my office shelf next to a similar die-cut model of the 1964 1/2 Mustang Convertible that I used to earn my driver’s licence. I’m glad my dad decided not to follow my advice on the car to buy, otherwise he would have been stuck with a lemon rather than a classic.

In drifting away from the emotional to the humorous, I tend to follow this obvious pattern of avoidance in both conversation in in writing. The sudden shift from birth mother to Edsel happened when I felt some tears forming in my eyes, and I needed to a little humor to dry them up. I have a lot of love in my heart for the people who made my life possible, and I would just like the chance to tell them all, if it’s not too late. I just hope that I’m going about doing it the right way, and in the process that I’m not sacrificing my curiosity for someone else’s discomfort. I’m close to some answers, but I have to understand that I may never get them.

Diary of an Adoptee: Fridays #407

January 26, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

After years and years of celebrating Fridays, the feeling doesn’t change in retirement. As much as I like to think that every day is the same once you leave the obligation of work behind, it’s still a special occasion and worthy of celebration. We have our weekly “Leadership Meeting” of retirees and “retirees to someday be.” I remember when I was working, the thought of all that freedom was enticing; I was envious of the retirees that I knew, but they all looked so old, so was it really worth it? I honestly don’t feel old, but I guess that I am, and others may mistakenly associate retirement with “over the hill.” I’m still climbing. In fact, there’s also a happy hour today of former work colleagues, so I’ll be transitioning between beers and martinis as the afternoon progresses.

A few more items that I ordered arrived in the mailbox yesterday, but nothing will be as important as a response to my recent letter. (See Post #393) I will have to be patient in these times that demand immediate response. I wish I had an e-mail address or a phone number to do some follow-up. All those years of selling have taught me that only persistence will get me the answers I need, and that I should be using all the available communication tools. After pushing this obvious curiosity into the back of my mind all these years, it’s unreasonable to expect instant gratification. After all, it’s taken me 66 years to make my first move, and I have to realize that the answers may never come. Questions and doubts have consumed my thoughts these past few days.

I’m a bit of a hoarder when it comes to things from my childhood, marriage, family, education, and career. I have saved photos, momentos, articles, notes, certificates, resumes, achievements and even clothing from my past. For example, I just recently gave my ten year old grandson (about to be eleven)) a pair of basketball trunks from the Taylor University Junior Basketball Camp that I attended when I was his age. I also have a book, Copyright 1951, that my parents received from the adoption agency that placed me with them. It’s actually a sleeve of two books, The Adopted Family, a guide for adoptive parents and The Family that Grew, a children’s pictorial and story about the adoption process. Here’s a typical paragraph: “By the time a child reaches adolescence, he should be well entrenched in his adoptive family and his confidence and security with his parents should be solidly grounded. The well-loved child who understands his adoption still raises questions about it from time to time, but his questions now are part of an attempt all adolescents make to re-evaluate their place within their families and in the world at large.”

It must have been really tough on my parents to have taken a stranger into their home and try to raise me as their own. When I look at the contracts, expectations, and evaluations associated with the process, it’s rather disturbing. For example, read this segment from the The Adoptive Home Placement Agreement: “It is understood and agreed that said Foster Parents may, at any time within one year from date hereof, and before said child is legally adopted, return said child to the Agency if the child is found unsatisfactory, or if for any reason said Foster Parents decide they should not keep him. It is further agreed that the Agency reserves the right to remove the child from said Foster Parents at any time previous to legal adoption if at any time in the judgement of the Agency such removal is for the best interests of the child…” At the end of the contract, a non-refundable fee of three hundred and fifty dollars was required. Was I really worth it?

I guess we must have passed this stressful test because a year later on October 24, 1952 the Marion County Courts approved the adoption, as outlined on the paperwork: “It is therefore ordered, adjudged and decreed that said Jerry Lee Bannister, and he hereby is, adopted as the child and heir at law of Burton Lee Johnston and Catherine Jane Johnston, husband and wife, and that his name be changed to that of Michael Lee Johnston.” I’m sure there was tedious paperwork to be signed on the Bannister (or Banister) side of the family, and it probably exists in a file somewhere at the adoption agency or in the secret sealed state file. I also think that this evidence, in combination with the other documents prove that I have found the right woman. They now have the paperwork, and any further steps depend on their reaction. By next Friday, I should know something, or the next, or the next.