Adoption is like a bicycle that rusts…

Adoption is like a bicycle that rusts, or a brightly colored photograph that fades, or silverware worn down to the tin base: it rots and corrupts over time. When everyone else is done with it, and it has been passed around one too many times; when we have grown older and perhaps estranged, or when our parents pass away, or when the possibility of finding origins becomes impossible, or when we gain our independence, or when we realize that no validity is granted to our lives mismatched from theirs, or when…. At this point we are left holding the truth of it in our hands, still reflecting the original myth carried forward, except the reason to hold on has gone. But it is all we have. We can’t look at it in another light; we can’t see it in any other way: It is a broken bicycle, a wan photo, a piece of tin; and yet—it is all we have. It is charged with the memory and the promise and a skewed truth and there’s no transforming it into something else, there’s no alchemy to conjure up, no material transmutation. And no one else cares about our leaden treasure. They may easily forget it because they gave it to us and it is no longer of use to them. Or else they may feel compelled to endlessly remind us of what it was, in present-tense terms. Or they may actually acknowledge the toll taken of it by time. Or they may ask us to stow it away, in an attic or a garage, or the shed out back. Or they might demand that we be grateful for it, since this is more than many have. Such remarks come easy for those whose lives were a continuum, with or without us; for those whose lives have continuity backward and forward, with or without us. In stark contrast are our lives halted. Interrupted. Ruptured. We are the discontinuous and the uprooted; with no “with or without”. We are trifles with our trinkets; pretenders bequeathed our fool’s scepters; bearers of our also-ran consolation prizes in a game we never asked to play. And that’s all we have. And with that we make do. And we ask you to not ask us for anything more than that.

Originally posted at Transracial Eyes: Un-adoption; anti-adoption; counter-adoption.

About Daniel Drennan ElAwar

Adoptee, rematriated.
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