father and son

Not long ago I was told for the ten billionth time that I talk too much. That person won a free story about being adopted. She didn't appreciate it very much, however I told it anyway. Yes, I was adopted. That's where this story started. My story. Back in 1973 a woman met a man in Halifax. He was, I assume, handsome. Maybe he was funny. Maybe he could tell a good story. I don't know, I've never met him. That woman got frightened about the baby brewing in her belly. And who could blame her. It was the early seventies, he was black, she Irish Catholic. I'm not even sure that wouldn't be a controversy now. I can't even imagine what went through her head, but what I do know is that's where this story started. She packed up and left town for the west coast. Her sister was there and she felt as though it would be a better place to come to term. Soon she was getting bigger and bigger, and soaking up the Vancouver pace. She met a man who stood by her side, even though she carried another man's child. That man went on with his life in Halifax and was never informed of the son. The date arrived and she gave birth to a boy on Halloween night, 1973. The man she had met was in the room. He stood by her then as he does now. She immediately went back to PEI to be with her family. He followed, their courtship continued. They've been married ever since. A wonderful story. I figure that I had a hand in bringing them together.

On the fateful day that I was given up, I was given a name. Matthew James Murphy. Names from the bible. Names for a child that would end up in the arms of another mother.

Around the same time a family that lived outside of Vancouver had suffered two miscarries, and was not interested in the pain of another. The mother of one beautiful girl, wanted to adopt one more. She was a philanthropist, an environmentalist, and a humanist. She believed that a under privileged, or mixed race baby, would help the fabric of society. She also told me that she loved marble iced cream and that was a factor. Either way I was brought into their home. A small curly haired baby made his way to what would be his home. They gave the baby a name. Matthew James Hrushowy. Just a coincidence, or fate? I guess I never had a chance with names. Even though I would just be called Jamie. Or Hrushowy (ra-show-ee) In case you wondered.

My parents got a divorce when I was about four years old. The only thing that I remember about that moment, was my Dad backing out of the driveway and my Mom and sister crying. I cried because they cried. I didn't know why. That's about as much emotion I've had about the situation since then. From what I'm told there were weekend visits, but I don't remember. My sister and my father have kept a relationship, but ours fell apart just after he backed away. It's not something that I can be mad at, because I would have to know more about him to be mad. And I don't. About ten plus years ago we sort of came to an agreement that we wouldn't put pressure on each other be "friendly". If it was going to be fake anyway, what's the difference. I wasn't mad, but I was bitter. Bitter that he had a parent\child relationship with my sister, and my brother and sister from his next marriage. I felt left out. I always felt special as a kid, as a teenager, as an adult, but not always positively. Sometimes I felt that everything was going wrong, all the time.

My Mom remarried and he was a tyrant hidden in sheep's clothing. On the surface everything was good. He was a successful dentist, we had a large house with property. There were vacations and bikes, but there were also beatings, neglect, and psychological trauma. He was monster. It was different then my Dad, he just wasn't around. This guy was around and wanted to kick my ass. He would argue with his daughter from his first marriage, and when she stormed out he would kick me in the back. One night a friend stayed over and we were playing in the morning. By this time I was fairly used to it. (which isn't right) The door to the playroom opened and I saw a silhouette of man with a hose. It was actually his belt. He pulled me up by the arm and lashed my backside over and over. My friend trembled and hid under the table as the beating went on. When he was done, he walked away proud, I sat there without a tear. My friend never came over again. Nobody did. Ten years went by. People have sometimes wondered why at school I wasn't afraid of bullies. At least they were my size.

After my Mom divorced him, my Dad divorced his second wife. At that point I had a sister, a half brother and sister, three step sisters, and a step brother. This doesn't include my biological mothers family, But I didn't know her yet. I would soon. In conjunction with my Mom and Child Find Canada we searched for her. She had already searched for me. Her pain came with the guilt that she felt about the adoption. Scared that it was a bad home, an unhealthy upbringing. Fortunately through it all I had my Mom. By now a rare blood disease had begun taking over her organs. Slowly she was becoming weaker and weaker. She felt it was important that I met the Bio-mom, she felt it was important that I was a part of something positive. And it was. Bio-mom was a wonderful find. I was two fathers down, but had now got another parent. What was crazy was that she was still married to that man from Vancouver, and they had two beautiful daughters. It was the first time that someone had looked like me. These were people that I shared blood with. But there was a piece missing. Not for me, but for her. She sought out the man from Halifax. Her conscience was almost clear from what took place over twenty-five years earlier. And she found him. They reintroduced each other. He had a struggles of his own, through his own adoption, but had emerged the man he wanted to be. He was excited to meet me, but I declined. I had been through too much. My Dad, my step-dad, my mother had died after a painful fight. I couldn't do it. I was too weak. I still am.

Since then I have brought my own child into the world. I've never had a father figure, but have learned the lessons of "what not to do". Pretty simple. Don't drink yourself in a blur that includes, violence, and neglect. Don't hit your kids, acknowledge them. Like yourself. I was petrified when I found out I was going to be a father. I didn't want to become the people that influenced my childhood. I won't. Nature verses nurture. My Mom was always there for the nurture and the bio-mom was passive. All you need is love? The bio-dad has tried to reach me. My bio-mom takes on the brunt of his questions, leaving me anonymous. But is that right? Should I become the bigger man and face my demons? Sure the fathers have two strikes against him, but should he be punished for their mistakes?

So many important things have happened to me, to make me who I am. Could I be stalling a end to this circular mountain of events to be selfish? I honestly don't know.

I just found out that he is suffering from colon cancer. I don't think that I should deprive him of his only son.

Time is not on my side.

Normally I don't ask, but my friends, I need your help. Please comment.