Yo Mamma

There’s more than one way to become a mom, and though I’ve told this story many times; I think it’s cool enough I’m going to tell it again.

The year was nineteen hundred and seventy-one. There was a woman who had lots of love to give who was married to man who wanted her to have what she wanted. She wanted a baby. But it seemed not to be.

Meanwhile, there was another woman whose circumstance was different. She was got pregnant, but single in 1970, was not in a spot to parent. And that’s okay.

As fate would have it, both of these women saw the same doctor. He was aware of each of their plights, and did whatever magical things have to happen to arrange for both of their needs to be met.

My mom tells the story about my birth much better than I could. The name “Crystal” allegedly came to her in a dream. She anticipated a dainty delicate being to nurture. She says that when they got to the hospital to see me, I was different than that. I was covered in poo and had a nice look of male pattern baldness going on similar to a Friar Tuck look.

Undeterred, my parents loved me unconditionally. As they have all of us.

I was spoiled rotten (as I may be still am), and was brought up to believe that I’m special. If you’ve had to deal with my sense of entitlement, there you go. Now you know from which it stems.

My parents were clear with me from before I understood the concept that I was adopted. We cruised through our pre-social media lives with very little to go on about my lineage. But even though this predates Facebook stalking, there was still curiosity. Mom was very supportive of this curiosity. She was curious too. All we had was a name, and some vague details that turned out to be completely inaccurate.

In nineteen hundred and ninety, I was at Shasta College chilling in the library. There was a giant stack of LA County phone books. Shit you not, the first one I grabbed had the name of my bio mom in it. It seemed waaaaaay too easy to be true. I scribbled it down and headed home to plot course.

Of course we planned to call her. But we used someone other than us to be the first point of contact. That way he could get cussed out, or whatnot, instead of us. Don’t judge, we had no idea what bio mom’s reaction would be. And we didn’t want to come on too strong.

He dialed, and she answered. Just. Like. That. 19 years of curiosity so seamlessly mitigated. Our collective hearts pounded with anticipation.

“You don’t know me, but I’m wondering if you had a baby girl given up for adoption in 1971.”

After a pause, she said she had.

My mom and I got on different extensions in the house. The importance of the moment was obvious. More pause, a couple “wow”s and then Grammie broke the ice as is her strength.

My mom said to my bio mom, “Dr. Gibson says you look just like me. You must be gorgeous!”

She moved quickly into expressing her gratitude for me. And fact checking some of the things we’d been told.

My mom was far more gregarious than my bio mom was in this conversation, but that’s to be expected. My mom is far more gregarious than anyone I know. But the quiet woman on the other end of the line did have some things to say. She wasn’t expecting to be pregnant. She was the oldest of 6 children, and her siblings didn’t know she’d had a baby. She never married or had other children. She told some other details about her life.

But the most poignant memory I have of what she’d said was that she knew at some point she’d be called about this.

“I knew that any daughter of mine would come looking for me.”

There’s a lot arguments to be made for the whole nature versus nurture debate. Are we who we are because how we are raised? Or are there traits that we carry regardless of who raises us?

I think the answer is both. My mom encouraged me to be curious about my situation, but clearly my bio-mom felt she passed down a spirit of inquiry.

The conversation went well. A few years later bio mom and I had emailed once. When she passed too young at 66 in 2015, her siblings found a print copy of that email when settling her affairs.

One of the siblings was aware of my existence. Another in the line of strong mothers in my background wanted to make sure the family history didn’t get lost. So in the midst of her coping with onset of Alzheimer’s, she made sure to let her other daughter know and asked that my bio mom’s desire to keep the secret last as long as she did.

When my bio mom passed, that aunt called my mom and they shared some pretty beautiful and deeply human moments. My bio mom had wanted to know I’d turned out okay, but beyond that, my role is her story was best served not intruding. She was nothing but polite, but a relationship was not what she was seeking. This was not so much the case with her siblings. Two uncles have been to visit, cousins have made phone calls. I’ve stayed with one uncle. They’ve all been incredibly warm and welcoming.

The story has continued, and I’m not sure how it all will end. But I do know that my amazing mom will be there for every step of the way.

While I know that your mom isn’t quite as cool as Sandi, she made you. So roll into this mother’s day appreciating her. Buy her flowers or dragons, give her a giant hug, call her, or maybe doing something really big like CLEAN YOUR ROOM, or whatever.  

Happy Mother’s Day, and thanks for reading!