Hello my friends,
Are you adopted? How did you feel when you found out? Did you have the chance to meet your relatives?
My "Dad" died last year. He was a former prisoner of war in Japan. I grew up feeling like I was fortunate to know a man who had gone through the worst part of living a man could go through and to still remain strong. That to me is real power, the type of intestinal fortitude which is rare in men today.
He was beaten and thrown into a grave by the Japanese, alive. It was in the winter so that it was cold, and he had nothing to wear. Another prisoner was in the grave with him. They huddled together trying desparately to keep from freezing to death. Every so often one of the japanese guards would come by the grave and throw a shovel full of dirt on the corregated tin covering the grave. He thought that he and the other prisoner were being buried alive.
A couple of days later, he was pulled out of the grave, beaten again and put back in the barracks where he had come from. He was in bad shape, and would not have survived the war were it not for others prisoner sharing their meager rations with him to build his strength.
Eventually the japanese took him to Japan where he was assigned to work in the mines. He was placed on one of the "Hell Ships" to travel to Japan. Those ships were not designed to carry such a load of men, so they were literally placed in the "holds". Wall to wall bodies. Every day a bucket of slop was lowered down to the prisoners and they literally fought over the food. If a man was too weak to fight to get some food, he would eventually die of starvation. Many did.
Another peril on the sea was that the Japanese did not tell the Americans that these prisoners of war were on board the ships traveling to Japan. Thus several ships were sunk by our own Navy, sending hundreds of our men to the bottom of the sea.
He was a hero in my book. I patterned my life after him. When I went into the Marines, and the going got tough, I would say in my mind, "If he could do it, so can I." I would push harder and get through the tough times and because of him I made it.
All through life, he showed exceptional skill in whatever he did. He tried his hand at selling and as a result, we lived very well. He was one of those "Million dollar sellers" working long hours and providing for his family.
He drank a little at times, and that is when he would remember the bad times. He would recount some of the more ugly stories of his life in the war camp. He told of eating rats while they were still alive, canniballism, and a host of other depravities which he endured with his fellow prisoners until they were liberated. At 6 ft 4 inches tall, he would easily have weighed 198 to 240 lbs if he were in the United States, but when he was liberated he only weighed 98 lbs.
He showed me what it was like to live through "Hell on earth" and still keep going, holding your head up high, and never giving up. That is what got me through many tough times.
One day last year, my family revealed to me that I was adopted. At first I felt as though my legs had been knocked out from under me. I was the son of a war hero wasn't I? Well, the short answer is no.
Once I got over the shock of that news, I realized that this man who had lived through all that Hell, had gladly adopted me to make me a part of his family. He worried over my childhood traumas. He encouraged me to be the best I could and to not worry about what others thought. He showed me a side of him that made me want to be strong like him.
Although I have never had the privilege of meeting my real dad, or his family, I must admit that I was given a very wonderful gift. I had a step-dad who gave his entire being to protect America's freedom, and he gave me the gift of living with a man of integrity, with a never give in attitude. I thank him for that.
Unfortunately, my feelings have gone back to wondering about my real dad. What was he like? What work did he do? I am supposed to have 5 aunts who are possibly still alive, but my mother has alzheimers and doesn't remember what their names are anymore. This has left me somewhat depressed as I really would have liked to have met my real father and his family.
My real dad is no longer alive I am told. He was a worker on the docks in South Carolina. He was married to my mother for 7 years. Unfortunately he, (like a lot of men) was a womanizer and thus my mother divorced him, when she met my step-dad.
Things have not gone well since I found out I was adopted. My brother and sister have stopped talking to me. They feel that I am not really part of the family. My own mother recently told me that she did not want to tell me anything about my real dad because it was a "bad part of her life" and thus she refuses to tell me anything. In fact, I offered to bring her home to my house to help take care of her, but she told me that she would prefer to stay with my brother or sister because I "remind her of her first husband."
Are things out of control for me? No, because I have had the privilege to have been raised by a war hero. My mother cannot help her feelings, and even though my brother and sister feel the way they do, I still love them and am thankful that I got to know them too.
One thing that I learned along the way is that no matter how tough the going gets, whether it is financial, sexual, romance, or other troubles, pick yourself up by the bootstraps and keep on keeping on. Although I feel a hole in my heart because of never knowing my other "family", I am still blessed for having been loved and cared for by such a remarkable man as my stepfather. Hopefully someday I can trace down who my other family is and perhaps get to meet some of them. (If they would like to do so.)
However, my question is, If you are adopted, how did you feel when you found out? Did you go looking for your real family? Did you find them? What was it like?
Prewdaug
