My childhood was mostly spent wondering who I was. I’m pretty sure most people grow up pondering the same thing but for me there was always this one nagging, recurring thought which always went round-and-round in mind: the question of whether I was adopted.
Here’s me! Paraded around in front of family, reading front page newspapers at the age of five, whilst I’m wondering what was so special about that act? I never asked for this, I don’t want to be different!
Oh, there’s me with a screwdriver in hand (again) taking things apart and discovering how they work, asking “what makes these things tick?” I can’t help it if I have some natural curiosity to uncover how the things other humans in the world have made work inside, wrapped-up and encased in their colourful plastic shells. Uncovering things like why lightbulbs running in series get progressively dimmer the further from the battery they are? Or discovering that it’s different to running them in parallel?? Why did these three chemicals in my chemistry set really hot and expand rapidly (pretty sure Sodium was involved in that one – I can still smell the egg-like odour coming off of it even now)!
Why are the people around me not as curious as me? Why do I seem to have nothing in common with you – my family, my parents, my siblings? I hate it here. I want to live with my real family!
Jim’ll Fix It is on the TV, maybe if I write him a letter, he can fix it for me to be adopted by the Queen!? They seem more like me! It’s worth pointing this bit out here (because, you know, it’s Jim) that I’m relieved to report that I thankfully never actually sent that letter – pretty sure I’d be writing about something else had I met him (does this thing do emojis? Imagine a grimacing face here!)
It’s parents evening with my favourite teacher, Mrs D’Or! She recommends to my mum that I do my 11+ and that I should go to grammar school. My mum immediately dismisses that idea “oh, no! people like us don’t go to posh school”. And as she delivers that line, as blasé as that, my dreams of being surrounded by like-minded people – people like me – are dashed, destroyed and the remnants discarded. Just what is the point in trying, I might as well give up now and accept my life for what it is – surrounded by stupid people, people not like me, people with no drive, people with no natural curiosity of the world around them – at least, not in the same way as I do!
People not like me.
It’s a recurring theme in my life as a child (and older). The people not like me included those (supposedly) closest to me, all the way out to my friends.
I know (and fully appreciate) that all this makes me sound like an absolute arse – I really do recognise that! But you have to understand that I was someone in and around others who I fundamentally felt were completely different to me. It’s a feeling carried with me since my earliest thoughts through to my life now. I even entered teenage life feeling ever more trapped and cursed (doomed?) as it followed into early adult life.
When I reached out to my donor early this year he was kind enough to write back with some small snippets of information for me about his life. He also came from a working-class family and was the first to pass the 11 plus. I can only imagine that he had spent his childhood with that same level of curiosity as I did. But whereas his family actively encouraged his educational development, onto grammar and finally university, mine stiffled me, held me back, and made me jump through hurdles to get where I should have been.
It would be fair to say that my donor…is someone like me.
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