This is an email I received from a kind fan of my website, spotfire.org.

I became a rebound boyfriend to a hot-n-wild young thang, divorced with a baby. Didn't last long. I wanted the best for her, but didn't endorse her desire to tattoo a half-moon her skin, under her breast. Still, I escorted her to the parlor to see that things went safely for her. She masked her anger of my non-approval under her anger with society and life, albeit poorly. I told her I could not disapprove if the tattoo was her own artwork or at least had the signature of the artist included. I recalled the fate of Jews and dissidents who were tracked with their markings to certain destiny by the Nazis, but she had little sense of history or did not want her reality to be breached. I noted the lamp-shade production enabled by recycled byproducts. She was not amused. Many years later I ran into her sister's husband and asked him how my former lady-friend was doing. He said they had not heard from her for many years.

This was my reply.

My family had already moved two times. I had not yet, nor never would, meet my genetic father. I had made one friend and would make 2, maybe 3 more in the next few years, but I would never fit in. I was learning to read from Sesame Street and had already chagrined dresses and skirts. I'd seen my half brother hit my half sister with the phone, and another half-sister leave the house with her boyfriend on a motorcycle. I would get up with my brother Buddy as he left for school, watching the yellow bus take him far away. I would hammer nails into spare bits of wood outside of the building my father was working on at the time. We moved to Ocean City, because my parents thought I'd be around more kids, which I wasn't.

By the time I was five, I'd seen Halloween on TV from under my parents bed. I was scared of night and the dark it brought so much that I would make little lunches for myself and hide them in the bathroom, so I could turn on a light and look at picture books. I was fascinated by an oil painting of my father's mother, a woman I never met because she died before I was born. Once, while walking our German Shepherd/Golden Retriever mix Rusty, his long chain wrapped around my ankle and he took off, dragging me behind. My parents owned a scanner to listen in on police CB's (my father was an ex-firefighter). They had a small restaurant that made steamed crabs and french fries. It never turned a profit. It was called Laura's Kitchen West. And I had not yet seen or known there was such a thing as a tattoo.

when i was five i was first given information that affected severely the rest of my life.

it was then i was told i was adopted.

i found this out, younger than i was meant to. my parents had every intention of telling me, but were going to wait, most likely, until i was seven or eight.

i found out sooner because i asked the wrong question. you see, my brother (also adopted, genetically unrelated) was born a week before the family next door had their second son.

being the observant, and deadly curious little girl i was, i came across this thing that puzzled me.

"mommy? how come mrs. (neighbor's name) got fat when SHE had a baby, but you didn't?"

they told me then, because they had no intention of lying to me about something that fundamental.

i didn't really understand what the implications were, for years.
i was literally in denial for years. texas places the *adoptive* parents names on birth certificates. i caught a snuck glance at mine. and saw my parents names. and convinced myself *i* was their biological daughter, but my brother really was adopted. but because they didn't want to make him feel bad they told us *both* we were. but they were going to tell me the truth that *i* was really theirs, when we were older and he didn't ever need to know.

i had no idea for years the impact this would have on my life and my personality. and i'm only now even beginning to start to see.

i know it's left me with insecurity beyond expression.
i know it's left me with the highly damaged ability to trust.
i know it gave me my fear of abandonment.
i know it's left a *lot* of residual anger in my system.
i know it's left me disillusioned with people.
i know it's left me damaged in many, many ways.
but i know also it's left me as i am. as me.

i recently found out the whole truth, or the bits of truth the state's red tape will actually allow me to have. i have all that is known, all they can give me. and i'm slowly adapting to that information i now know, that i did not a month previous. and what happens now, remains to be seen. i don't *know* what comes of all this, yet. i'm still thinking, still deciding. time alone will tell. only the years themselves hold the answer now.


to my EVER so kind malicious softlinkers: fuck y'all. i've been writing this node in various forms for months. literally months. i'd have written almost the identical piece in any other location, and in fact planned to. but when i stumbled upon this node title, it *fit* so bloody well it made as much sense ot put it here as anywhere else. so please do us all a favor and if you've got a *problem* with what i say, tell me to my face, and give up your 'oooh look i can get away with being an ass because its anonymous' crap. thank you. that is all.

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