A simple question

When someone I've just met asks me if I have children, it seems like such a simple question. It's usually asked as an ice-breaker -- not a heart-breaker. The new acquaintance has no idea what's in store for him or her when they ask me that simple question.

It would be so much easier to just say, "No -- never had the pleasure. You?" But to me, that feels so dishonest and unfair to the son I bore 27 years ago. It would be like pretending he doesn't exist. I realize that would probably make my life so much more bearable -- to just pretend the pregnancy and subsequent adoption never happened. But I can't do that.

So I usually say something like "Well, yes and no." And I can see in their face they wish they'd never asked me because they can sense becoming entangled in an all-too-personal conversation they're not quite prepared for. "I had a baby when I was in college and gave him up for adoption. I never had any other children." Sometimes, the conversation ends there or is quickly re-directed. Or the more curious take it once step further and risk endulging me by saying something like, "That must have been so hard. Have you ever tried to find him?" or "Did you ever have any contact with him?"

Yes, it was the most painful thing I've ever done in my life. It's still very hard, I tell them. No, I never had any contact with him while he was growing up because it was a closed adoption -- very unlike today's arrangements where the birth parents either gets letters and photos from the adoptive parents through the years or they actually have visitation rights as the child grows. Some even go as far as to have a co-parenting situation. But I had nothing.

Until I finally figured out where he was being raised and placed an ad in that town's newspaper when he was 13 in the hopes someone would help me contact his parents. But I'll save that for another blog post.