Little Known Fact
Little known fact about me: I have an older brother.
Honestly, I forget about him most of the time. He is ten years older than me, almost to the day - his birthday is December 29 and mine is December 28. He was adopted, too. Through this search I've been reminded of him a lot.
His story is quite a bit different than mine. His mom and dad (his dad was my adoptive dad's brother) both died in a car accident when he was three. There was a big family battle over who would get custody; apparently his maternal grandparents put up a good fight for him, but my parents (who were really his aunt and uncle) won. (It's great to use war metaphors like "battle", "fight" and "won" to talk about the future of a child.)
My older brother was definitely rebellious. He smoked, drank, swore, didn't get good grades, ran around with girls my parents didn't like, and was always in trouble for his bad driving. Seemed like he got in a car wreck about three or four times a year and it was almost always his fault...He was racing his friends, his girlfriend covered his eyes, really stupid stuff. He always fought with my parents and I hated it. He made it a habit to miss curfew, lie about where he was going and cheat on his girlfriends. Every time he missed curfew I remembered dreading the moment he'd get home because I knew there was going to be a big fight. I'd stare at the clock as the seconds turned into minutes and sometimes as the minutes turned into hours and think "Why can't he just be good?"
He was always kind of mean to me. He took me to see my first concert (The Beach Boys!) when I was in elementary school - but only because my mom made him take me. The first movie I ever saw was with him, again, he spent 30 minutes complaining about how he didn't want me to come, but eventually he gave in. He always let me know how annoying he found me and complained every time my mom made him do something with me, even if it was just me wanting to ride downtown with him to pick up a pizza for dinner, or getting him to give me a ride to a friend's house. When he was seventeen and a senior in high school, my mom had my little sister. She was my older brother's favorite, and he would let me know about it.
When my older brother turned eighteen, he got a large amount of money from his real parents' insurance policy, something like $100K. He moved about 700 miles away to go to college. He came home for the summers for the first few years. Then, when he was twenty, my mom had my little brother. My older brother stopped coming home at all shortly after that. My little brother and my older brother have seen each other about three times. The last time my mom, dad, and little brother saw him was in 1989, when my little brother wasn't even a year old.
My little sister and I went to visit my older brother and his wife in 1993. I was in eighth grade and she was in kindergarten. I know he didn't want us to come visit, but my mom told us he was excited about seeing us and we went. She took us to the airport and shipped us off to go visit him, as if that was going to fix her relationship with him. He was late picking us up from the airport, that's one of the few things I remember from that trip.
He got married and didn't invite any of our family to the wedding. We found out a few months after the wedding, when my mom called him. Same thing with his first child. Had my mom not called, she never would have known. He's since been divorced and remarried, and hasn't ever called to tell us about any of it. My mom would send him a card for every holiday imaginable - but he never responded. We only knew what was going on in his life if my mom called him. The last time she called him was about 4 years ago, before my wedding to ask him if he was going to come. He said no and I think that made her stop sending him cards and Christmas presents.
In 1997, some friends and I went to visit colleges and one of them was in the town where my brother worked. I went into his office and he looked at me and said "Hi, What can I help you with today?". How do you even respond to that? I said, "Um, I'm your sister." He acted excited to see me, and said he'd call me and we'd get dinner later that night. That was the last time I saw him, because he never called.
We were both adopted, and I wasn't a bad kid, so I never understood what his problem was. At least he knew where he came from. However, as I've been reading about adoption over the past few months, I am starting to understand him more. He needed counseling, but I suppose that in a small industrial town up north in the 1970s, counseling was only for "crazies". I mean, he had to remember his parents, he was three (almost four, I think) when they died. Granted, I wasn't there when he was little, but from the time when we both lived at home, and judging by how my parents handled the topic of my adoption, I doubt anyone ever asked him how he felt or told him anything about his parents. And he was probably like me, afraid to ask about them. We didn't even have a picture of his parents in our house, in fact, the only time I've ever seen a picture of them is at my grandma's house. Why? It makes no sense to me. From what I've read, the mentality among adoptive parents used to be "the kids will forget about it, so just don't bring it up" and I guess my parents bought into that idea, however, I can't totally blame them. Someone probably told them that and who is going to argue with a social worker who does this for a living?
Now I'm finally starting to understand why he was so mad and rebellious. I have his address and I'm thinking about sending him a card. I don't really know why I would want to do that or what I would say to him, but worst case scenario, I'll never hear from him - which really wouldn't be any different than now so I suppose there's nothing to lose.
Honestly, I forget about him most of the time. He is ten years older than me, almost to the day - his birthday is December 29 and mine is December 28. He was adopted, too. Through this search I've been reminded of him a lot.
His story is quite a bit different than mine. His mom and dad (his dad was my adoptive dad's brother) both died in a car accident when he was three. There was a big family battle over who would get custody; apparently his maternal grandparents put up a good fight for him, but my parents (who were really his aunt and uncle) won. (It's great to use war metaphors like "battle", "fight" and "won" to talk about the future of a child.)
My older brother was definitely rebellious. He smoked, drank, swore, didn't get good grades, ran around with girls my parents didn't like, and was always in trouble for his bad driving. Seemed like he got in a car wreck about three or four times a year and it was almost always his fault...He was racing his friends, his girlfriend covered his eyes, really stupid stuff. He always fought with my parents and I hated it. He made it a habit to miss curfew, lie about where he was going and cheat on his girlfriends. Every time he missed curfew I remembered dreading the moment he'd get home because I knew there was going to be a big fight. I'd stare at the clock as the seconds turned into minutes and sometimes as the minutes turned into hours and think "Why can't he just be good?"
He was always kind of mean to me. He took me to see my first concert (The Beach Boys!) when I was in elementary school - but only because my mom made him take me. The first movie I ever saw was with him, again, he spent 30 minutes complaining about how he didn't want me to come, but eventually he gave in. He always let me know how annoying he found me and complained every time my mom made him do something with me, even if it was just me wanting to ride downtown with him to pick up a pizza for dinner, or getting him to give me a ride to a friend's house. When he was seventeen and a senior in high school, my mom had my little sister. She was my older brother's favorite, and he would let me know about it.
When my older brother turned eighteen, he got a large amount of money from his real parents' insurance policy, something like $100K. He moved about 700 miles away to go to college. He came home for the summers for the first few years. Then, when he was twenty, my mom had my little brother. My older brother stopped coming home at all shortly after that. My little brother and my older brother have seen each other about three times. The last time my mom, dad, and little brother saw him was in 1989, when my little brother wasn't even a year old.
My little sister and I went to visit my older brother and his wife in 1993. I was in eighth grade and she was in kindergarten. I know he didn't want us to come visit, but my mom told us he was excited about seeing us and we went. She took us to the airport and shipped us off to go visit him, as if that was going to fix her relationship with him. He was late picking us up from the airport, that's one of the few things I remember from that trip.
He got married and didn't invite any of our family to the wedding. We found out a few months after the wedding, when my mom called him. Same thing with his first child. Had my mom not called, she never would have known. He's since been divorced and remarried, and hasn't ever called to tell us about any of it. My mom would send him a card for every holiday imaginable - but he never responded. We only knew what was going on in his life if my mom called him. The last time she called him was about 4 years ago, before my wedding to ask him if he was going to come. He said no and I think that made her stop sending him cards and Christmas presents.
In 1997, some friends and I went to visit colleges and one of them was in the town where my brother worked. I went into his office and he looked at me and said "Hi, What can I help you with today?". How do you even respond to that? I said, "Um, I'm your sister." He acted excited to see me, and said he'd call me and we'd get dinner later that night. That was the last time I saw him, because he never called.
We were both adopted, and I wasn't a bad kid, so I never understood what his problem was. At least he knew where he came from. However, as I've been reading about adoption over the past few months, I am starting to understand him more. He needed counseling, but I suppose that in a small industrial town up north in the 1970s, counseling was only for "crazies". I mean, he had to remember his parents, he was three (almost four, I think) when they died. Granted, I wasn't there when he was little, but from the time when we both lived at home, and judging by how my parents handled the topic of my adoption, I doubt anyone ever asked him how he felt or told him anything about his parents. And he was probably like me, afraid to ask about them. We didn't even have a picture of his parents in our house, in fact, the only time I've ever seen a picture of them is at my grandma's house. Why? It makes no sense to me. From what I've read, the mentality among adoptive parents used to be "the kids will forget about it, so just don't bring it up" and I guess my parents bought into that idea, however, I can't totally blame them. Someone probably told them that and who is going to argue with a social worker who does this for a living?
Now I'm finally starting to understand why he was so mad and rebellious. I have his address and I'm thinking about sending him a card. I don't really know why I would want to do that or what I would say to him, but worst case scenario, I'll never hear from him - which really wouldn't be any different than now so I suppose there's nothing to lose.
posted by everyscarisabridge at 10:35 AM
3 Comments:
You know, it is hard to blame adoptive parents in decades past for not talking much about adoption to their children. Like you said, most of the social workers recommended that policy.
However, in today's climate, when some adoptive parents still do that, I am much less inclined to say that they don't know any better.
Did I read your story right, your aparents adopted your brother and you, then had two bio children?
I will be interested to know if you do contact your brother. Apparently it is not uncommon for adopted siblings as adults to go their own ways, and not stay in touch. But, like you said, what have you got to lose by contacting him?
Hi Cookie -
Yes, you read correctly, my parents adopted my older brother at age 3 in 1973, adopted me at 3 mo. in 1980 and then had my sister in 1986 and my brother in 1989. It's always a bit confusing to explain =)
I imagine he felt similar grief to all of us adoptee's, just in a different situation. My mum passed away when I was 27, and that grief was incredibly hard to cope with, so i can't imagine being only 3 years of age, when it would be harder and much more confusing to express. Maybe he has bottled it up for years and years and this is why he has changed so much.
All my best wishes for you, I truly hope you get a positive response and you can both build a bridge together and find understanding and friendship.
Good luck, let us know how you go..
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