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.