Days of My Life

I just wrote the most beautiful tribute to Bebe Moore Campbell that I did not save and just lost. But I figured out how to post her picture. Maybe I will find the words again soon.

Rest in Peace

The title says all it needs to say in one word alone.

My thoughts are rather random today as it looks like I will become a weekly poster. And of course, when I logged on I had a lot to say, but now much of it escapes me.

Ahh, here’s one. I was listening to this radio show that I typically like to turn off. But before I flipped it, I caught a snippet of its usual ghetto madness. Instead of discussing some type of aberrant behavior or sex, this particular show was on adoption. I was thoroughly aggravated with the way the host kept addressing the adult adoptees as though they were incest survivors or victims of some horrible event.

“How did you deal with knowing you were adopted?”
I hope the callers were greatful to have had loving homes and families. What exactlly did he think they had to “deal” with? And any caller who did not seem particularly traumatized was not kept on the line long. Dumb.Show. Trying to dramatize an event that isn’t necessarily traumatic is reaching a bit too far. I have a family of adoptees, and there is no distinguishing treatment. We are all just family. No big deal.

Actually, I take that back a bit. For family members who choose to share with their children that a particular cousin or two is adopted, they are sometimes irresponsible in doing so. My mothers has always subscribed to a need to know philosophy of sharing other people’s business. I will admit that some parents have told children who were not mature enough to handle it, resulting in the discomfort of at least one adoptee. The cousin asked the adoptee what she was mixed with because of her long hair. The adoptee was not that pleased that the parent had chosen to share what she felt was a personal detail with her underage child. Asked with a guest around, the adoptee was not that thrilled, but the incident was isolated and one of the only ones of which I know. This particular adoptee had never had anyone in the family ever bring up the subject of her adoption because most of the cousins in her age range either did not know or did not care. This younger cousin probably never should have been privy to the information since it did not directly affect her.

Adoption has been a part of African American culture since slavery even if not under the same name. My great-grandmother took in some of my great-aunts and uncles at birth, and to this day no one know their biological roots. Great-Grandma took that to her grave, and guess what?!! No one really cares. The offspring of those great-aunts and uncles never question their place in the family at all, and to be honest, they all look like everybody else anyway. I can’t speak for all of the adoptees, but I can speak for the family members who love each one regardless of origin.

That dumb show host almost made it sound like adoptees have the cooties. I knew that if
I heard him say, “That’s terrible, can you imagine that?” one more time I was going to jump through the radio and….do SOMETHING!! So, I’m really done ranting for now, except to say that although some adoptees are traumatized by certain elements of their experience, they are not victims just because they are adopted. They are still normal people, and in many cases, you have no way of knowing who in your circle may have been born to parents who do may never know them in their adult lives. I do think, though, that the greatest gift of adoption that any child can experience is knowing that he or she is profoundly loved.

I have plenty of family adoption stories I could share, but I guess I’ll park this car right here for now. Maybe I’ll do a series….

I guess you can tell I plan to adopt.

Hi ya’ll. This is Candy S. Puppydog hijacking Native’s page again. She’s tired as a greyhound after a doggy race, so I’m sure she won’t notice that I’m using her space. And, too, she seems to have lost her Will to write these days. She’s busy trippin off some people are never what you think they are stuff. Whatever. I could’ve told her that. I’ve been sniffin people for quite some time, and it’s always the ones who smell the best and scratch your ears just the right way that you have to be wary of. Humans will never learn how to sniff one another. Such a limited species.

In My world, a lot has been going on. That Native has had me living in three different places since the middle of October. You noticed, too? That’s not even a month?! Truth is…she’s busy trying to find us a place with more space for me where I can have my own room again. I’d much rather have a nice soft patch of grass with visions of t-bones in hidden corners dancing through my head. “Twas the night before steak dinner, and all through the house, my doggy stomach was growling, fear in every cat and every mouse….” I digress.

Oh yes, MY world. I’ve just gotten out of the hospital a few days ago. All that moving around had my arthritis actin up, so Native tried to give me some medicine once she figured out why I had no interest in that dirt like stuff she tries to pass off as my food. Boy, that Uncle Arthur in my spine was killin’ me!! Between the meds that Native concocted and the shot of narcs that the good Dr. Let Me Bite His Hand gave me, I was high as a shelf of leftover steak. I believe I saw the doggy afterlife. Then that crap tore up my stomach, and that’s exactly what I did-CRAP!! Everywhere. And I crapped everything until there was nothing left but…well, I guess you don’t really want to know the details. But that’s how I ended up in the ER and then my regular doctor’s hospital.

And let me tell you about the ER. Quite plush. Bet you didn’t know that my hospital is fancier than yours? Humans aren’t allowed back with the patient in the hospital I go to. It’s in the richie rich section of upper NW DC and I have interns, attendings, and cute little male nurses all at my beck and call. My room, equipped with state of the art computer monitoring stuff so Native can watch my exam and progress from the lobby. They even have a play section set up for me in the waiting room. Even though the wait is only a little shorter than in a human ER, it sure is more enjoyable. My hospital doesn’t smell like dog ish and cat piss either. The designer ceramic tile.is.spotless. Yes, I live the good life when I check in. The only sucky part is that darn needle that *(&&^&^( (*&)(*&&&* nurse keeps trying to stick up my tail!!! Who told humans that was a comfy thing for them to do?!! How would you like it if I stuck a pole up your hole?!! I mean, we must be proportionately fair.

Anyway, since I’m starting to ramble, I’ll release you from having to listen to my thoughts. But your aren’t really listening are you? And I don’t speak your language do I? So this is all just a dream. When you wake up, you won’t remember anything…Shhhhhhhhhh

Candy