Jetxa
01-24-2007, 12:52 PM
Hi All. Newbie here. I find writing therapeutic in that it helps me work through some issues. This is a bit that I am working on called, Jake, Finding Joy. Jake is an alter ego with Joy being flesh and blood. There's a lot more but it is in bits and pieces and needs put together. Let me know what you think. Thanks, Jetxa
Jake speaks.
They tell me I was found sleeping and wrapped tightly in a blanket on a church pew when, the best they can tell, I was five to six months old. Supposedly an elderly lady gave a surprised squeal, or some such thing, when she realized she had almost sat on me. Not sure what significance that makes. Shrug.
Sometimes when the subject comes up, I want to say I was abandoned; but I know that’s not how I feel. It just seems like the correct word. I would have been found in a garage can, bag or dumpster, well I was once but that comes later, if I had been abandoned. Well, perhaps not. That would have been more like being thrown away.
People sometimes ask my feelings towards my mother. Some of the adopted kids I know seem to harbor a hate for someone who would “give me away”. I don’t understand that attitude especially since most of the adopted kids I know don’t know their birth circumstance let alone their “given away” info. No one knows who left me so I don’t bother trying to make up fantasies pro or con. I mean why torture myself with self loathing (what it all amounts to in my opinion) or dream up a lost-rich-man’s-son fairy tale. I try to live in the real world and not a hypothetical one as it serves no purpose to my mind and the circumstance of my birth or the reason I ended up in an orphanage do not define who or what I am. Well, at times I wonder what nationality I am, but fail to see how that changes the “me” inside. I harbor no ill will towards anyone, even those who have deliberately hurt me over the years. Well, not even them as I have made choices in my life that have put me in harms way, and I am surprised as to the outcome?
I was not adopted but lived in an orphanage for the first ten years of my life, then a spent a year in a foster care home with a family who’s father was a local policeman and who's mother was an elementary school teacher with a female child a year younger than I. They obviously were in it for the money as I was provided meals and a place to sleep but not much more. I was never included, except as a tag-a-long, in family outings. In other words, I didn’t share in the fun and laughter and activities. I was always an observer of their family traditions or goings-on. But I was not unhappy. Having my own bed to sleep in and not having to listen to the many sounds other bodies make at night was a luxury beyond compare. Plus I was always warm and had enough to eat. The biggest plus was being able to go to public school and observe children other than my fellow orphans. Kids who wore different and widely varied clothing styles and spoke a lingo I was unfamiliar with at the time. It was quite an interesting experience and one I treasure. When you are on the outside looking in, you are afforded an insight not attuned to when actively involved. I did a lot of observing.
Jake speaks.
They tell me I was found sleeping and wrapped tightly in a blanket on a church pew when, the best they can tell, I was five to six months old. Supposedly an elderly lady gave a surprised squeal, or some such thing, when she realized she had almost sat on me. Not sure what significance that makes. Shrug.
Sometimes when the subject comes up, I want to say I was abandoned; but I know that’s not how I feel. It just seems like the correct word. I would have been found in a garage can, bag or dumpster, well I was once but that comes later, if I had been abandoned. Well, perhaps not. That would have been more like being thrown away.
People sometimes ask my feelings towards my mother. Some of the adopted kids I know seem to harbor a hate for someone who would “give me away”. I don’t understand that attitude especially since most of the adopted kids I know don’t know their birth circumstance let alone their “given away” info. No one knows who left me so I don’t bother trying to make up fantasies pro or con. I mean why torture myself with self loathing (what it all amounts to in my opinion) or dream up a lost-rich-man’s-son fairy tale. I try to live in the real world and not a hypothetical one as it serves no purpose to my mind and the circumstance of my birth or the reason I ended up in an orphanage do not define who or what I am. Well, at times I wonder what nationality I am, but fail to see how that changes the “me” inside. I harbor no ill will towards anyone, even those who have deliberately hurt me over the years. Well, not even them as I have made choices in my life that have put me in harms way, and I am surprised as to the outcome?
I was not adopted but lived in an orphanage for the first ten years of my life, then a spent a year in a foster care home with a family who’s father was a local policeman and who's mother was an elementary school teacher with a female child a year younger than I. They obviously were in it for the money as I was provided meals and a place to sleep but not much more. I was never included, except as a tag-a-long, in family outings. In other words, I didn’t share in the fun and laughter and activities. I was always an observer of their family traditions or goings-on. But I was not unhappy. Having my own bed to sleep in and not having to listen to the many sounds other bodies make at night was a luxury beyond compare. Plus I was always warm and had enough to eat. The biggest plus was being able to go to public school and observe children other than my fellow orphans. Kids who wore different and widely varied clothing styles and spoke a lingo I was unfamiliar with at the time. It was quite an interesting experience and one I treasure. When you are on the outside looking in, you are afforded an insight not attuned to when actively involved. I did a lot of observing.