Adoption: Baby Scoop Era and My Younger Years

Disclaimer 1: This blog is about adoption through the eyes of an adoptee. The adoption narrative usually portrays adoption as all rainbows and unicorns with the adoptive parents hailed as saviors. I do not discount that there are good things that come from adoption stories but rarely is the adoptee voice heard in the narrative. I hope to show you the good, the bad, and the ugly. Please keep an open mind while reading.

Disclaimer 2: I truly appreciate my adoptive family. I love them. I mean no harm to either my adoptive or biological family with my story portrayed in this blog. I want to be as honest as I can with my feelings about my own experiences. Therefore, you can get an accurate picture of an adoptee’s life and how we see the world. Some names have been changed.

“I am not a writer, but I have a lot to say.”

“Adoption is a lifelong journey. It means different things to me at different times. Sometimes it is just a part of who I am. Other times it is something I am actively going through.” -Kelly DiBenedetto, Adoption is a Lifelong Journey

There are many angles to adoption. There is the domestic newborn adoption, international newborn adoption, foster to adopt, international adoption of older children, kinship adoption, open adoption, and closed adoption. Moreover, we have different eras of time with adoption history. I was adopted during the Baby Scoop Era. In this post, I will focus on the Baby Scoop Era and closed adoption since I want to focus on my own experience.

The Baby Scoop Era was a period that began at the end of World War II and went to the early 1970’s. According to the Babyscoopera.com, approximately 4 million mothers in the United States surrendered babies to adoption with 2 million alone in the 1960’s. These numbers do not include infants adopted and raised by relatives. During this time, the psychological and social work view of illegitimacy was a deficit of the mother. It was believed that unmarried pregnant women were better off being separated from their newborns. I just cannot even imagine being one of these women. After having three of my own, I would feel like I was missing a limb.

These unwed mothers were rarely given a choice. They were made to feel shame from their families and society. Most of these women were hidden away at maternity homes across the country. These maternity homes weren't just built but had always been there. Before the Baby Scoop Era, they were used to help unwed mothers. They gave them shelter and trained them on life skills, so they could successfully raise their babies. These maternity homes shifted from a supportive model to a psychoanalytic model. When this shift took place, the homes began changing roles. Unwed mothers that were sent away to these maternity homes were usually kept secret from the world. They were sent there to hide and then give up their babies to adoption. These unwed mothers’ families would tell other family members or society that these women were sent away because they were taking care of sick family members, they were visiting family members, or they were away at school, etc. There are many excuses that were used to ensure the secrecy of these unwed mothers. If you want to read more on the topic, please read “The Girls Who Went Away: The Hidden History of Women Who Surrendered Children for Adoption in the Decades Before Roe vs. Wade” by Ann Fessler. I caution you that this book is not for the faint at heart. I cried through the entire book, but it really did help me understand what my biological mother may have gone through. Another great book is “The Baby Scoop Era: Unwed Mothers, Infant Adoptions , Forced Surrender” by Karen Wilson-Buterbaugh.

Here are a few articles about the topic:

Crimes Against the Unmarried Mother Post WWII | Origins Canada

American Baby and the Punishing Secrecy of Adoption | Adoptee Rights Law Center

I was placed for adoption at birth. As long as I can remember, I always knew I was adopted. Honestly, if I were not told about the adoption, I would have figured it out because I look nothing like my adoptive family. I have a younger brother (18 months younger) that was adopted too. He has a different biological family than me.

As a small child, I remember celebrating my adoption day or as some call it "gotcha day". It was celebrated like a second birthday but with my immediate family. Usually, it consisted of a favorite dinner. As a kid, it was fun…I mean who did not like to celebrate and have all the attention on them. As I got older this celebration died off, I began to think about what it meant. For most, you would think this would be a happy day, but many adoptees do not see it that way. Adoption days and birthdays are supposed to be a joyful days, but you can ask many adoptees, we feel there is also sadness associated with these days. Most of us associate birthdays with great loss. Every birthday, I would wonder where my biological mother was and if she was thinking of me.

The story I was told my whole life about my adoption was that my mother was young and loved me so much that she gave me up so I could have a better life. Things like “adoption celebration days” and being told “my biological mother loved me” are things adoption agencies recommend for adoptive parents to do. As I reflect, I realize they really were trying to do what they thought was best. However, these recommendations left an impression, both good and bad, for some.

As I said before, I always knew I was adopted. I cannot remember ever having a long conversation about it, but just little bits of information here and there. I remember it being pointed out when other families we met had adoptive children. I do recall asking questions about my nationality and ethnicity. After my adoptive parents’ divorce, my adoptive mother, brother, and I had just moved into a new neighborhood. I think this is when I truly felt different. I was in a single parent home and both my brother and I were adopted amongst neighbors who had large families and strong Irish Catholic ties to the community. I would be asked by the kids “what I was” and my response would be “American”. These kids loved their heritage, so it was brought up a lot. I felt left out. I asked my mother “what I was” and I would always get the same answer “I think you have some French in you”. So that was the story I used.

In elementary school, I remember talking to my friends about our births. Children would talk about where and when they were born. I realized I had no idea. I mean I knew the date and that I was born in Maine, but I didn’t know the time of delivery or any specifics about my birth. I asked my mother, and she would say, “I don’t know. I will have to look it up.” That was when I realized that I would never know my birth story or who were my biological parents. A little while later, she did tell me the time I was born. It was on my amended birth certificate.

As an adoptee, you get an amended birth certificate. My birth certificate is dated a year after I was born. I was told that the adoption became final when that year mark hit. Growing up, I had not realized that there was another birth certificate out there. I will talk more about this birth certificate later. The amended birth certificate has my adoptive parents’ names as my legal parents.

I will admit that adoption was not always on my mind. I could go periods of time without thinking of it. When I did think about it, it was heavy thoughts with much sadness. So, I felt that I had to suppress those feelings away. Like I mentioned before, adoption was always a part of my life. I did not feel I could really talk about it. Unless I had a specific question, I usually would wait until it was brought up. However, I felt if I asked questions and they were answered quickly, that meant it really was not open for discussion. I did not want to upset my mother. Although when I did ask questions, it did not seem like she knew much, so I figured there was not much information to get from her.

I always wondered who I looked like. My friends would always compare their looks and mannerisms to other family members. I could never participate in these conversations. I would catch myself scanning restaurants and stores for a familiar face. I daydreamed about finding my birth mother. I still have a particular image of my birth mom and I when I am a small child. It is an image I conjured up in my mind. I do not see her face, but I am looking up at her in a field with a house behind us surrounded by a picket fence. She has a large brim hat on that is lowered enough that I cannot see her face. I have often wished to get someone to draw or paint this image for me.

My brother and I had been the only grandchildren until we were around the age of ten. We never had to hear that others looked like our grandparents. So, when my cousins were born, I was shocked about how often I would hear how my cousins looked like my grandfather and more shocked on how it made me feel. The wound was cut deeper. I never felt any bad feelings towards them just feelings of envy that they fit in where I did not. I do not believe any of my family would have even known it affected me. Things like that were never discussed. To be honest, at that time, I do not think I truly knew the context of everything I felt and why I felt that way.

Then…came the dreaded family tree. First, I was scared to death of my 6th grade social studies teacher. Second, everybody knew this was a huge project. Obviously, this was before computers and it had to be drawn and then typed up. I had to go through the motions with my mother trying to get her to tell me about our family tree. Although, I found it interesting to hear stories about my grandparents and their upbringing, I knew that the ethnicity portion was not my story. I felt different from everyone all the time. It was just a feeling that was ingrained in me. Even to this day, I feel a sense of being different and alone (but I will get into that later when I discuss my reunion).

As a child, I could not articulate that I felt abandoned. Even though, my mother would tell me that my birth mother loved me so much that she gave me to her for a better life, it still did not placate my mind. I think what drove the abandoned feeling even deeper was the divorce of my adoptive parents when I was in 2nd grade. I do not remember much about my adoptive father when I was a young child. But I do know that he was not the best husband. At the time, this was just another person who supposedly loved me and left. I kept a lot of my feelings hidden and buried deep for years. Of course, now, I know that it was not good for me to bottle up these feelings. As a teenager, I know I acted out. I did not think it was anything more than what some of my friends did but I still felt different. The research I have done now as an adult into adoption has uncovered that adoption is trauma. There is a book that talks about this trauma and I advise anyone that is in the triad of adoption (adoptee, birth mother, adoptive parents) to read this book. It is called the “Primal Wound: Understanding the Adopted Child” by Nancy Newton Verrier. It is the considered the adoptee’s bible because it explains the pain we go through and why we may behave the way we do.

I know what I wrote paints a sad picture. Adoption is a part of me, and that will never change. Although it seems like a sad life, the purpose of this post was to describe my feelings as an adoptee. I do want to point out that I had a great childhood. I have a lot of good memories. My family that raised me loves me, as I love them. As with any family, we had our ups and downs. I would not be the person I am today if it were not for them. However, I acknowledge that I am a combination of two families: my adoptive and biological families.

This post gives you a small glimpse into my younger years and how my young mind felt towards adoption. My next post will dive deeper into my teenage years to adulthood, my urge to seek out my biological family, and the obstacles that I faced. I am trying to write this without hurting anyone. It is not my intentions to do harm to anyone, but I think the truth needs to be told. Adoption is about loss and I feel my story should be heard. I have locked away my feelings towards the traumas in my life and I know my health has taken a beating for it.

Live Healthy! Be Happy!