Reflections About Family

Because I am an adopted child, I don't know a lot about my biological ancestors. I do know they were of Scotch-Irish descent and came to America in the mid 1800's. They first settled on the east coast and later moved to Arkansas near the Ozark Mountains. My adopted parents were from Omaha, Nebraska, but I know nothing about their ancestors. The oldest relative I knew of my adopted parents was my father's elder sister who was a nun in a teaching order in Omaha, Nebraska. Her name was Sister Placide. She was very kind to me and my twin brother. The image I remember most about her were her flowing black and white habit, her bright blue eyes, and her porcelain skin. My adopted mother was born in Iowa. My adopted father was born in Omaha, Nebraska. His name was William Joseph Gerhard. Her name was Violet Ruth Shirz. My adopted mother was a very unhappy person. She abused prescription drugs and alcohol. She was in and out of mental hospitals during my childhood. She died from complications of liver disease when I was fifteen. My adopted father was more like a grandfather. He was kind but aloof. He died when I was sixteen. Although I have a sketchy background about my biological parents, I do know I inherited a duck-walk and a general love for humanity. From what I learned in later years, my biological mother was religious and a very caring person. My father had a strong work ethic. These are things my oldest sister told me once we were reunited in the early 1970's.

Although childhood was difficult with my adopted parents, it is with great joy that I learned about my biological parents and six brothers and sisters. My biological mother died a year after my twin brother and I were born. My father tried to raise eight children including the infant twins (my twin brother, Gary, and I) but family members convinced him to put the four youngest up for adoption (Gary and I to one family and Marlene and Terry to another family). I am told this broke my father's heart.

My adopted mother talked a lot about her life. Her father was tall with dark hair and a man of few words. She recalled her mother as beautiful and loving. One story she told me was how her mother weaned her from breast feeding when she was three by putting a bitter tasting mixture on her nipples to make breast feeding unpleasant. I imagine that was very traumatic for my mother. She also talked about her days as an actress in the 1920's. She was very proud of that part of her life.

I have very few positive memories about my adoptive mother. One vivid memory is of a terrible storm with lightening and thunder. I was probably around four years old. I remember being very fearful. My mother put me on her lap and held me close. For some reason I cannot see her face, but I do remember she had on a dress with black polka dots and big, black, shiny buttons. I also remember her giving my twin and I a bath together and toweling us off with big, fluffy towels. We were very little, maybe two or three years old. My adoptive mother was often cruel, telling me I wasn't worth"...the powder to blow me into hell..." She preferred to live in an alcohol/drug induced haze most of the time. All of this is the antithesis of who I am as a person.

The most painful memory I have of my adoptive mother would be her death. It was a summer night. She was asleep on the couch. I was sitting on the floor near her, watching a late night TV show. Suddenly, I realized I did not hear her breathing. I touched her and knew she was dead because her body was very cold. I was fifteen years old.

Honestly, the things I learned from my mother would be what not to do. I try very hard to be positive, kind, supportive, and loving. I think that is why I became a teacher.