Categories: uncategorized
Date: 21 July 2004 00:08:55
Having just watched a programme on paternity I mulled over again the strange thing that has always struck me.
People I have met who are unsure of who their parents are - or in this case who their father is, often have a real desire, almost a desperation to know where they come from. Who their 'real' parents are.
I ponder this because I am adopted. As far as I am concerned I know who my parents are, they are the people who cared for me, loved me, put up with me, supported me, on a daily basis. The ones who, when they go out can't help but look for a bath panel because I need one, who give up their time, give me unconditional love. This is something I have always been confident of, when I was a teenager and people said things like "but don't you want to find your real parents?" I would point out that I know my real parents.
It's true I had some mild curiousity related to things genetic, such as who I look like, or if I shared any personality traits with them. I never felt this mild wondering was enough to start searching. I just didn't need to know enough, to put myself through the emotional strain of finding out. Perhaps one day I will want to know, in the mean time I am grateful that the woman who gave birth to me, actually did so. It often strikes me, when I teach about abortion, that it was actually legal then and had been for a few years. That could have been me.