She produced a photograph of my “real family”.
Staring back at me was a thinly-framed blonde, short woman surrounded by four young boys.
“Are they really my brothers?
I asked in pure amazement.
How come they were all white and yet I was brown? Even my “real mother” was white. They did not look anything like me and I did not look anything like them. I stared eagerly at the small photograph, willing the picture to come alive. I wanted these people to leap from the photograph, to embrace me and welcome me into their world, unable to understand the complexities of my situation and indeed, theirs. I was only ten years of age and incapable of understanding the full implications of the new path of life discovered for me. I didn’t understand that I would have to leave the only home I knew to live with a family of strangers associated by blood alone. It wasn’t something I had ever thought about before that night and the enormity of it was to stay with me forever.
Gradually, the confusion began to subside and I felt a wave of excitement rush through my body.
“ Am I meant to be happy? “
“Yes, I am happy!”
It was beyond my wildest dreams and comprehension to suddenly find I had a mother. For ten years I was content to accept not having one. I didn’t really know what a mother was, and never felt the need to ask. A mother was a faceless spirit, someone I heard my classmates talk about. A mother was someone who was clearly important to them but was alien to me. After all, I rarely saw them with their mothers whilst we were at school and at the end of the day we all climbed aboard the white Bedford van for our return to the home unaware of what the other children at school were doing. The whole concept of motherhood was incomprehensible to me.
The rest of that week went by in a blur. I celebrated my good fortune by telling anyone that would listen, but deep down I was in emotional turmoil. I had been told by Mother that if the family reunion went well, I would then be in a position to go and live with my new family forever. The impending adoption that had been lined up for me would therefore not take place - but the decision was mine as to who I wanted to live with - somehow, it all seemed like a foregone conclusion.
Was there actually a choice for me?
It didn’t seem like an option to me. I was not used to making decisions. Decision making was done by the Aunties in the home. I just lived my life according to their rules and structures.
Staring back at me was a thinly-framed blonde, short woman surrounded by four young boys.
“Are they really my brothers?
I asked in pure amazement.
How come they were all white and yet I was brown? Even my “real mother” was white. They did not look anything like me and I did not look anything like them. I stared eagerly at the small photograph, willing the picture to come alive. I wanted these people to leap from the photograph, to embrace me and welcome me into their world, unable to understand the complexities of my situation and indeed, theirs. I was only ten years of age and incapable of understanding the full implications of the new path of life discovered for me. I didn’t understand that I would have to leave the only home I knew to live with a family of strangers associated by blood alone. It wasn’t something I had ever thought about before that night and the enormity of it was to stay with me forever.
Gradually, the confusion began to subside and I felt a wave of excitement rush through my body.
“ Am I meant to be happy? “
“Yes, I am happy!”
It was beyond my wildest dreams and comprehension to suddenly find I had a mother. For ten years I was content to accept not having one. I didn’t really know what a mother was, and never felt the need to ask. A mother was a faceless spirit, someone I heard my classmates talk about. A mother was someone who was clearly important to them but was alien to me. After all, I rarely saw them with their mothers whilst we were at school and at the end of the day we all climbed aboard the white Bedford van for our return to the home unaware of what the other children at school were doing. The whole concept of motherhood was incomprehensible to me.
The rest of that week went by in a blur. I celebrated my good fortune by telling anyone that would listen, but deep down I was in emotional turmoil. I had been told by Mother that if the family reunion went well, I would then be in a position to go and live with my new family forever. The impending adoption that had been lined up for me would therefore not take place - but the decision was mine as to who I wanted to live with - somehow, it all seemed like a foregone conclusion.
Was there actually a choice for me?
It didn’t seem like an option to me. I was not used to making decisions. Decision making was done by the Aunties in the home. I just lived my life according to their rules and structures.
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