When I first started out on this adventure, I wasn’t prepared for what I’d find.  At the same time, I couldn’t wait to find out what was lurking in the shadows of my past. Adoption was done so differently back then. Babies were often adopted with a handshake, not the mounds of red tape that it takes nowadays.  I guess I should be thankful that loving parents found me – although that description is a bit of a stretch.

My dad showed me love and kindness. Mom, on the other hand, was not very warm or kind, and occasionally could be physically abusive. She always seemed to be irritated with me.

When I was old enough to read, I had been given a newspaper clipping about my earliest beginnings with the family. The clipping said I was found lying on a bed and was estimated to be about nine months old. I tried to visualize the look on their faces when they saw this bundle of unexpected joy. I’ve also wondered how on earth a nine-month-old stayed still on a strange bed, in a strange house no less! It would be years later that I found my first clue that maybe Mother wasn’t telling the whole truth.

I had a half-sister, Teresa, from my dads’ first marriage – at least that’s what they said. She didn’t like me all that much either. She was about sixteen years older than me, and for the longest time, I wondered if she could be my real mom, and the half-sister story was just a cover. The animosity she felt for me intensified over the years.