When I met my best friend Heather, on occasion I would be permitted to spend the night. This family was amazing, with a beautiful home and
everyone had their very own privacy. I always felt privileged to be accepted and allowed in their home. I was expected to help with chores,
the dishes and cooking....I would open the pantry and spy the blueberry
muffin mix. The mother frequently yelled at me when I added the blueberry juice to the mix. What I would give to hear her yell at me
for not following the directions once more. I admired, dreamed of her
throughout my life. Her dignified manner, her elegance charm and beauty...As she was my dream mom. Teaching her daughters the skills
needed to be adult women. Trusting her children as important parts of
her life. There were no fights, breaking glass or threats of suicide in this house at least while I the guest was present. The order of things, the to do list, the chores the fun and the freedoms awarded were respected.
They loved me back and tolerated my visits as they knew it was respite
for my troubled home-life. I never lied or stole from the family that welcomed my troubled soul, and still in my heart love and miss them.
It was an ordinary summer school college day when I showed up to carpool in the driveway. I jumped in my friend's car and we drove away.
The next day I was called into question. It seemed a bank card and envelope with a code had been stolen out of her mother's desk a few days prior. Several hundreds of dollars had been removed from her parent's bank account. They were giving me the chance to confess before the police would intervene. I was shaken with the enormity of the guilt of this atrocity. This offence will mean the end of my only long-term
relationship with this normal loving family. I felt so sick inside knowing
as usual that I would no longer be welcomed. A week passed and the
police published the photos of the thief. The night before I went to the home, my friend got a distress call from a friend in a drug rehab. She
went immediately to the hospital and rescued the girl. As we drove off that morning to school the rehab resident left behind to sleep in the empty home. Once alone she began to scour the house for money. Finding the key to the bank, her boyfriend picked her up and their two week drug binge began. Even though I had nothing to do with the crime, I was guilty in the eyes of society and in the long term trusting relationship with the family I wanted so desperately to be part of.
Adoptees are not trustworthy individuals and easily manipulated. Based on the need of approval, adoptees can never remedy what is ingrained
at their core. Being conditioned to live a phony identity to protect the secrecy of strangers and adoptive parents. Having no ability to normally grow in to real and truth based identity of a unique individual. The adoptee is the bearer and scapegoat of the indiscretions of society.