Adoption 4: The child that ruined the family
Please read these entries first (or just scroll down 
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Adoption Part 1
Adoption Part 2
Adoption Part 3
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My parents adopted me when I was 9 days old. They had tried for four years to have children of their own, but couldn’t conceive. They adopted me, then within four years had two sons of their own.
Did you know adoption was a cure for infertility? It is sometimes.
Problem was, I was an ugly baby. Holy god! I’m talking strangers-smile-politely-then-turn-away ugly. As I mentioned before, my parents had to take whatever baby came up on the list. Even if it wasn’t a pretty baby. Even if it had medical problems (I needed eye surgery by the age of four). Even if it wasn’t a boy.
Here you can see the bloom is quickly coming off of the rose of this “adopted brat” thing. And these are the best of the best - my mother gave them to me to include in a slideshow to be shown at their 40th anniversary party. I can’t imagine what facial expressions of disgust are in the pics she decided to keep for herself. You can see in the pictures below that she is clearly contemplating roasting me, and my dad is thinking of tying me to the hood of his car. Just kidding!
My mother is Ms. Sorority. Everything is about her, and her getting attention and looking good to others. She got plenty of attention for adopting a “poor, unwanted” baby. (An unwanted baby that there was a 2 year waiting list for! ) After the adoption and the attention she got for it, she was in her element for a while, I would imagine.
But then she found out she could have her own. She had two beautiful baby boys born 13 months apart from each other, cute and perfect in every way.
But yet she still had me, and she had no way to change that.
Growing up, my brothers didn’t like me. At all. I’m not talking normal sibling rivalry, I’m talking hate and resentment that little children just don’t normally have. It was like I was living in a clubhouse, but I was never invited to join. My two brothers were their own club. My parents were a second club. All four of them together were a third club. By God, I was going to join their club!
My childhood was spent trying to win approval, and withdrawing in despair when I couldn’t get it. I shared my toys. Some days I’d spend all afternoon cleaning my brothers’ rooms (to try and get in good with them AND my mom). I remember sitting and thinking, “How will I get them to like me?” I’d follow them around, even spy on them, to try and figure it out.
Spying became my favorite game. Usually my brothers were the focus, but one day I overheard a conversation between my parents that I will never forget.
When I was in fifth or sixth grade, my younger brother Mark got sick with stomach pains. He even went to the hospital for it. The doctors couldn’t understand what was causing it. He ended up being fine, but for about a week we didn’t know.
One afternoon, I was in the living room while my parents were in the kitchen, talking about my brother’s condition. They must have not known I was home, and me being a super-awesome ninja spy, I was not going to alert them to this fact.
The spying game took an unfortunate “bummer!” turn when I overheard my mother saying to my father that it was my fault my brother was sick in the hospital. That I “kept the house in turmoil” and “made” my brother sick. (Yes, now you know my secret. I was the most powerful and evil sixth grader ever to exist. Bow down before me!) She spoke of me with such contempt, it made my blood run cold.
I don’t remember how she rationalized blaming me, nor do I remember the rest of the conversation. I do know it involved me, and regret that I was in their household. It was pretty ugly. I stayed in the living room and hid behind the piano until I could sneak away, feeling like the world had come to an end. I had made my brother sick, and I didn’t even understand how I did it. Also, it was the first time I had heard my mother confirm what I felt all along: that I was an unwelcome burden, an intruder.
I must emphasize that overall I was a good kid. Annoying yes, but I almost never got in trouble, I made good grades, I had plenty of friends. To this day I can’t see how my parents could blame me for making their house one of “turmoil”.
When I was about 21 or 22, I had it out with my mother about a lot of things. One of those things we discussed was why my brothers had hated me all my life. I told mom it was because they picked up on my parents feelings towards me, and imitated them. She acknowledged that my guess was probably true. It was a victory for me.
It’s awful that you had to grow up in such an uncaring environment.
You were NOT an ugly little kid. All those curls? Very cute!
Comment by Lisa — Sunday, July 24, 2005 @ 5:20 pm
what an agony. I’m glad you’re writing this out. It’s got to help. Not just you, but others.
Comment by elsa — Sunday, July 24, 2005 @ 5:43 pm
PS - I don’t think you’re ugly.
At all.
Comment by elsa — Sunday, July 24, 2005 @ 5:44 pm
I am reminded that most people have a fucked up childhood. Some more than others.
It’s important to speak it out loud, to exorcise it.
I was a pretty pathetic kid…when I say that, I mean that my mother was working all of the time and I was basically raising myself (no subsidized daycare for single moms back then) so now, as an adult…I know that some of the things I did, and habits I had were inappropriate.
I hated myself and could totally understand why others would hate me too.
It took me years to believe that I was lovable, and sometimes it really takes effort to keep believing it.
(you were NOT ugly)
Comment by radmila — Sunday, July 24, 2005 @ 5:59 pm
1. you’re not ugly, in any way, shape or form.
2. i can’t help but hate your mother, and i’m sorry for that. i’m sorrier that you had to grow up in that environment.
Comment by marie b. — Sunday, July 24, 2005 @ 6:17 pm
My God. I can’t believe we both wrote about the sibling rivalry thing today.
I don’t know if I could have written as unabashedly as you did?!
Can I send you a virtual hug?
A~
Comment by momof2 — Sunday, July 24, 2005 @ 7:42 pm
For the love of God… I shall not read any more of this until your mother takes a punch in the kisser!! I need an address and a time of day most likely to find her alone…
Comment by Cranky — Sunday, July 24, 2005 @ 8:43 pm
I always felt bad that my mother treated my sister worse than anyone else. Even though I was just a kid (9 years older than her), my sis had me to protect her. We were always very close and I was her surrogate mother. We are best friends to this very day.
I’m sad for you that you didn’t have anyone to take care of you in that household. I can’t imagine how lonely that must have felt.
Comment by RisibleGirl — Sunday, July 24, 2005 @ 9:47 pm
Reading that seriously makes me want to punch your mom in the eye. Hard. Radmilla said something above which I second — I, too, was reminded that there are so many people out there who had bad childhoods, some worse than others, and that it’s important to talk about it. Talking about the wounds we bear helps them heal.
It’s funny; when I think of my own childhood — the emotional abuse combined with emotional neglect, plus the various kinds of physical abuse — I sort of shrug and shake my head. Yes, it happened to me, but there was nothing I could do about it at the time, it was not my fault, and I have largely healed the wounds that it gave me. It doesn’t make me angry anymore, nor do I wish to be pitied or treated any different than anyone else. I could get into this more, but I’ve already made this comment too big. Suffice to say, it’s a part of me, but it isn’t me. What -does- get me angry, what -does- make my bile rise and my jaw clench, what -does- make me want to lash out at all the bad people in the world and take their throats in my teeth and tear them to bits, is when I hear about -other- people having had bad childhoods. It’s almost like there’s this person in my mind who’s saying, “It’s bad enough that it happened to me, but I’m okay now. But the fact that somebody -else- had to have a part of themselves scarred and broken? Somebody -else- was neglected/beaten/abused/ignored? OH HELL NO.” I’m still trying to get my head around why that is.
And, Mary, for the record, I second what others have said: You were -so- not an ugly kid. And you’re certainly not an ugly woman now. *hugs*
Comment by Kim — Sunday, July 24, 2005 @ 10:45 pm
Come on people, someone has to come clean and tell her the truth… those were some ugly pair of glasses!! …there I said it (I feel better now). Trust me, I know these things… I have years of ugly glasses pictures… that haunt me to this day… fortunately I discovered contact at an early age and recovered. Judging by the responses here, I take it you’ve recovered well too.
Life isn’t about what happens to us, but rather what we do with it when it happens.
Comment by Gurustu — Sunday, July 24, 2005 @ 11:21 pm
OMG, you are so NOT ugly!! Such a sweet face! If I were asked to pick out the most attractive child in the photo (not knowing who it is of), I would definitely pick you! No BS, Mary!
I am so sorry for the hurtful, horrible things you had to endure. I can relate to a certain extent, as my parents divorced when I was 1 year old, and I never felt my Dad loved me; my feelings were validated when I read a transcript of my parents’ divorce hearing, in which my mother testified that after I was born, my father never touched me - ever. Know why? Cuz I wasn’t a boy! I had 2 older sisters and I guess I was supposed to be his son. I felt like that was MY failure for a very long time. It didn’t take too big of a stretch of my imagination, considering 10 months after I was born he divorced my mother, remarried, and had a baby boy 10 months later!!
Just remember, Mary, it was THEIR loss!! (((hugs)))
Comment by Leigh — Monday, July 25, 2005 @ 2:14 am
You know, with all the hell I went through re: my undiagnosed BP, at least I knew my parents wanted me around and loved me no matter how hard I fought it. I can’t believe what you went through regarding that. In a way, it’s similar to what my mother went through with her father. He never wanted girls, didn’t have anything good to say about my mother or my aunt, and when he finally got his precious boy he didn’t know what to do with him because the boy was as ill-tempered as he was. I’m so sorry you had that pain to bear for so long, but I hope you know that your online friends care, and I’m sure you have non-computerized friends that would never trade you for anything.
And BTW, you WEREN’T ugly. Sorority babes are a bit messed up in the head, and that’s probably a major contributing factor in why your mom was such a creep.
Sudiegirl
Comment by Sudiegirl — Monday, July 25, 2005 @ 7:46 am
I have known you all your life. You are never ugly and yes your parents ALWAYS treated you different than your brothers and it sucked!! You were not an ugly baby - and you are a beautiful person. Aww shucks!!
If anyone gets to dot your mom’s eye it is ME FIRST! I have had to put up with her shit and her disapproving looks for a very long time. She is glad to see any of Mary’s friends fail in life.
Comment by Monica — Monday, July 25, 2005 @ 8:19 am
Ugly?!? You’re cuter than either of the kids in that picture. That smile! And you still have that winning smile is the amazing thing. I understand why you think you’re ugly. You’ve obviously been told that your entire life, by people who project their own inner ugliness onto you in order to feel less like monsters. And it sounds like you’ve internalized that to the point where you can’t see yourself as anything but ugly. Which is so fucking tragic, because you’re one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever known. You were wasted on those parents, and they certainly didn’t deserve to have you.
Comment by B² — Tuesday, July 26, 2005 @ 1:03 am
Been a long time Mary. Glad to see you’re blogging again
Comment by glenn — Friday, July 29, 2005 @ 8:09 pm