I have reached the end of my story. I no longer stand in the field awaiting the alien starship in my dreams. I am a human being. I belong on this planet where I was conceived and born. The childhood fantasy and dream has stopped over the last several years, and I can't foresee it ever returning. The dream has no function or significance to me any longer.

I began this adventure as a man/child in search of his origins, and I'm ending it as an adult who has found as much peace with himself as I believe anyone can in the turbulent time we live. At last I have the resolution I needed and I am literally not the person I was when I started this story. I have experienced an powerful transformation. I like the results of that transformation, and I continue to cultivate my new self with each passing day.

The most pertinent question that must be asked is: What have I learned from this experience? If I can't answer that question, I have failed and the quest has no validity. Learning from any life experience, whether a positive or negative one, is the essence of life. When you stop learning you stop growing. Those who think they have all the answers and that there is nothing left to learn have taken the first step into the grave. Many of us hurry along toward that phase faster than others. If you have an experience and learn nothing from it, you did not really live it. The word "experience" is not the proper descriptive term. I have no credentials other than my own intimate involvement with the events in my story.

I disagree with anti-adoption extremists who propose that the very fact that I was adopted makes me a "victim." I refuse to place myself in the same category with those who have suffered the horrors of abuse which pervades our society. The stories of children being locked in closets, burned with cigarettes and other more sadistic tortures, or even being killed by their own mothers, are certainly worse than anything I have ever experienced. Those children are truly victims in any sense of the word. There are enough victims in our society as nearly everyone, it seems, is a victim of something or someone. Victims try to out-victimize each other in the media and individual responsibility for actions takes a back seat. Ours has become a society where it is easier to point the finger at some outside agent as the cause of many of our own self-made problems. It is fast becoming a common thing to find excuses for peoples' behavior by pointing to childhood trauma and alleged abuses as the culprits. The taking of responsibility for ones' actions and the consequences which follow is becoming a thing of the past. Psychologists and other "therapists" are doing a booming business. We now have the controversial "regression therapy," where alleged sexual abuse is resurrected from the past and rips families apart. Every family is threatened by the potential that Uncle Charlie or Aunt Sally are not really nice people, but sexual perverts who prey upon defenseless nieces and nephews. Priests are routinely charged with sexual abuse and money is being made from this victimization syndrome. We also have the "co-dependency" movement in therapeutic circles which seems to make a disease out of being a caring individual.

This is certainly not to belittle or minimize the real sorrow and pain of people who have been legitimately abused by such people. Undeniably, these manipulators and abusers of people are out there and often in the guise of supposed pillars of society. That they should be exposed and subjected to the fullest penalty of the law is likewise an undeniable responsibility of any civilized society. Children are the innocent victims when adults go awry. Children can only stand by helplessly and watch their world shatter. As adults, we are often so wrapped up in our own problems that we forget how truly fragile the hearts and minds of our children are. They do not forget pain as easily as some people believe, and the scars remain long after the event which created them has passed and we who are responsible must never forget that. Our children do not ask to be here and as the persons who have brought them here, it is our responsibility to give them the best of ourselves. There is enough evil in the world without creating it in the one place where they should be able to find sanctuary - the home.

Adoption, when hidden from the adoptee, CAN but will NOT ALWAYS cause pain and an undefined sense of longing. The crux of the entire debate rests upon whether or not being an "adoptee" is a major causal factor of the sort of emotional turmoil adopted persons often experience. In my case, I believe it was. However, I do not believe that adoption alone can cause the issues which I experienced. Conversely, the issues may have appeared in a non-adopted child or anyone who feels rejection or emotional abuse. The circumstances in which I found out and the way in which my adoptive parents handled the issue certainly affected my view of myself and the world. The type of child-rearing I was subject to was a causal factor. My genetic make-up was unquestionably a strong part of it as well. There is no single answer.

A major topic in this narrative was an often irrational and confusing search for the love I thought I never had as a child. This overwhelming need to be loved often colored me as selfish or self-centered. I was very self-centered and it was a child's selfishness, unmodified or erased by age, as it normally is in most people when they mature. I used this selfishness as a mask for what I really felt and who I really was. It was a defense and protection against being hurt. The child never learned to grow, and carried childish needs and desires into adulthood. Today it is also fashionable to attack co-dependency as the arch evil of all relationships and the destroyer of people. However, we all have needs and we need other people to help fill those needs as we are a gregarious species by nature.

My adoptive parents unquestionably provided me with the basic physical and emotional fundamentals of survival. They were my "real" parents as the word connotes those who provide the necessities of life, are there for you when you are sick, need guidance and protection. My biological mother filled none of those roles except for a very short yet important time in my infant life. Our society is pervaded by violence, which is perpetuated generation after generation in a great degree by physical and emotional abuse beginning in the home. Unless we make a conscious effort, as individuals and as a community, and examine in a new light what we want our future to be and the values we want our children to uphold, our future may be bleak. Our media and cultural worship of violent heroes, our never ending bombardment and preoccupation with sex, our unabated drive for accumulation of things, all these things must be looked at and compared to the price that is often paid in pursuing them, the abuse and neglect of our children. We must decide which values really make life worthwhile and rekindle a spiritual sense of awe and wonder in our children about the world and universe in which we live. Let them be children and make their world safer. We must evolve above our primitive instincts and re-establish rational thought and behavior so that as a species we can attain all that we are capable of attaining.

I have a new family that accepts me openly and without hesitation, and I hope to maintain a close relationship with them over the coming years. This does not mean that I forget or diminish the "old" family of which I was a part for most of my life. Rather I see it as an integration process. The more I learn about my "new" family the more I learn about myself. There is no question that genetics are involved and knowing the background makes it easier for me to deal with my own situation. I unashamedly love my Uncle Jim, as he saved my life in a very real way by his immediate acceptance of me. If he had rejected me, I may not be here now writing this. Talking to him, I find that I inherited a family trait for introspection and a mild, non-conformist attitude toward life.

My biological mother was a person with strong views and she possessed a strong work ethic which allowed her to move up in her places of employment. She didn't appreciate people who did not pull their weight in life. I realize I am not totally unlike her. My father's slower, more studied approach to life is a balance to her frenetic side. Uncle Jim says my mother would have smothered me to death with love. I wish it could have been so for both our sakes. My father's genes are the hall monitor that keeps the unruly genes from skipping school. Awareness is half the battle. Once you're aware, you can work to deal with the problems and not let them get the best of you. I have re-read the letter my aunt gave me, written by my mother, in more detail. My mother reveals many things in that letter that are very important to me. She talks about her battles with alcohol and depression: The letter is very explicit about her unhappiness and my family and Roy believe much of this underlying sadness and the bouts of depression and drinking revolved around her having had to give me up. There certainly may be other causes and the genetic link is certainly part of the story. But at least part of my mother's depression was due to our separation. The information in the letter gives me a chance to see my mother as a person, suffering in many ways as I have and struggling as we all do and this makes her human. I returned to my mother's grave several times as I promised her I would. I feel a sense of peace and "connectedness" when I am there. There is much to be said for heredity insofar as personality traits are concerned. I am definitely one of them. Uncle Jim says I have brought as much joy into their lives as they have given me and this is the greatest reward of all.

I spent more time with Roy, and a very unusual and eerie incident occurred when I was with him. Roy shared my love of history, and one day I saw an advertisement for a Civil War reenactment that was being held at a local state park. I asked Roy to go with me, and he was thrilled. As we drove along the highway, Roy started telling me a story about my mother. He had nicknamed her "Little Bit" because of her size. I thought that was an endearing nickname. As soon as he told me this, however, a car pulled out in front to of us. It was driven by an older woman, probably in her late sixties. I nearly drove off the road when I saw the registration. There, in big letters on the plate was the name "EUNICE." Roy saw it at the same time I did, and he looked at me with a strange expression. Both of us felt an odd sensation. "I know your mother is watching," he said. I began to believe it. I am sure it was just a coincidence, but Roy and I kept talking about it all day long. It was eerie. Roy is an invaluable source of information on my mother's later life, and he continues to flesh her out as a person for me. He portrays her with such warmth, and as the champion of the underdog. She had fine taste and was strong-willed when she believed in what she was saying. Although she was only five feet two, Roy says she could be a hurricane on wheels. She was certainly someone who had impacted his life very strongly and he was as good a friend to her, as he is now to me.

Forgiveness is another aspect of this story. I forgive my natural mother for giving me up for adoption now that I know the circumstances. Most importantly, I forgive myself. Life is a mixture of happiness and pain, and how you choose to deal with the pain determines the level of happiness you experience. I suffered my share of hurt and pain and inflicted it in others. I choose to confront these factors by accepting them as positive learning experiences instead of impediments holding me back from enjoying the fullness of what life has to offer. Life is a series of endless choices and struggles. Uncle Jim has this view to approaching life: "You can choose to be a happy person or an unhappy person. I chose to be a happy person." Thanks again Uncle Jim.

I possess the same spirit of adventure and the drive to go my own way that my mother had. It was the same side of me who was the party guy who raised hell like there was no tomorrow. The excitement of bucking the system and chasing rainbows comes from my mother. I have her outgoing personality and willingness to become involved and help others. Her spirit is tempered by aspects I got from my father: family orientation, intellectual curiosity and sensitivity. His deliberate way of thinking and weighing out of consequences before acting is a nice balance to the more impulsive nature of my mother. This mixture constitutes the genetic factor involved in who I am, and the upbringing which my adoptive parents gave me constitutes the remainder. This mixture allows me to be flexible and adaptable to changing conditions. I hope the balance stays with me. Knowing who I am and where I come from makes it easier to maintain that balance. Knowing has been the biggest part of understanding, and after all these years, I understand who Mike is and why he acts the way he does. It is a good picture, overall, and I will never get old if I can keep my curiosity going strong.

I control my own life choices to the extent any of us can, after all the years of letting myself be controlled. I will never let anyone manipulate me again. The values I maintain will serve me well for the rest of my life. They are mine. I will try to treat other people with respect, kindness and honesty. I know now when to back away from those people who are polluters of my value system. I survived for nearly forty years not fully knowing who I was. I hope to live another forty with the completeness I now possess. The old saying about being true to yourself is a valid statement. Don't let anyone control your free will. Your ability to think freely is the greatest gift life has to offer. Protect it as you would a most treasured family heirloom. Free will is a highly valued and fought for fundamental human right. Only by exercising it will you be able to fully realize your potential as a human being in the fullest expression and meaning of the word.

I received far more than I ever dreamed of by meeting my natural family. I never believed much in mystical happenings, but I may have to change my view, as much of this story is filled with coincidences bordering on the metaphysical. The common thread through it all is love. Love for my natural mother, love for Nancy and my family, including all the new members encompassed by that term. Love for my friends who put up with so much from me through all these years. Love is a powerful force not completely understood, even by the experts. In my case, it was the motivating and binding factor holding me together. Science may debate the concept of love into nothing more than a chemical reaction, but to me it will always be a force more sublime and powerful than could be expressed by any mere scientific formula. If I died today it would be as a complete human being. That terrifying fear I had of dying before knowing who I really am is gone. I had a beginning and I will have an end. An Alpha and an Omega. My Omega has never been in doubt. The Alpha was always a mystery until now because I finally found me.

I would like to conclude my narration by offering some personal insights about adoption and the need to search for birth families. I unequivocally support adoption records being open to those who want to search. I believe it is a fundamental right of all adopted persons to know where they came from and who they had as their biological creators. How many adopted persons who go as far as getting their medical history would be satisfied with that? Would having so little information not increase the curiosity, human nature being what it is? I could never have been satisfied with only non-identifying information. If I were asked to give advice to an adoptee who was considering searching for his birth parents, I would say this: If you feel the pressure of the abandonment and rejection issues, you must carefully consider the risk you are taking by searching. Your search may end up leading you to more of the same. Each case is different, and you must assess your own strengths and determine if you can stand the strain. My situation was unique in many respects. I was in the midst of a crisis and my son required some medical history. I could have not gotten much lower at that point, although I was still taking a big risk. The results of my search could have pushed me over the edge if they had been unfavorable. Rejection by my uncle might have sent me into a tailspin from which I would have never recovered.

Some people think what happened to me was pre-destined because of all the coincidences involved. I'm not sure of that. I knew I was taking a risk, and I had steeled myself for possible rejection. The news of my mother's death was brutal, yet I survived. I have found a great inner strength I did not know I possessed. If your situation is like mine and you believe you have such inner strength then the risk is minimized somewhat. If you are adopted and you have been raised in a warm and loving environment, you are not facing the same level of risk regarding rejection. On the other hand, rejection might only be a minor issue for you. You may not even be compelled to look at all. No one can give a generic statement that fits all scenarios. I have only related mine. There are currently many adoption groups who seem to advocate "open adoption" and open adoption records. Some of them may have a hidden agenda, that being the elimination of adoption altogether. Beware of these extremists. Adoption should not be eliminated. It has a valuable place in all societies. However, it should not be kept a secret and the child should not be stigmatized. Adoption is a legal construct, and the legal creation of one family does not eliminate another that already exists. According to many jurisdictions, adoption is defined as "the establishment by court order of the legal relationship of parent and child." A legal relationship is not the same as a biological one. Courts may decree otherwise, but the one person who has no say is the child. Adoptive parents must realize that raising an adopted child is different and requires a different type of parenting.

I know several adopted persons, including a boy who lives in my neighborhood, who has warm and loving adoptive parents. This boy, when he reached the age of twenty-one, told his broken-hearted adopted parents that he wanted to look for his natural mother. They agonized and finally gave him their blessing. He found his mother and established a relationship with her. The adopted parents were not excluded and he seems to be doing all right. The adoptive parents are wonderful people. They struggled with their own beliefs that somehow they had failed their son. The mother especially felt pain and hurt. I understand their sorrow.

There is no simple way to explain to a non-adopted or non-foster person how strong the need to be connected can become when and if it manifests itself in a person. Not knowing who you truly are is a feeling some adopted persons may experience, but certainly not all of them do. There are no omnipresent truths in these cases. This "feeling" is probably most acute when the adoption is not openly discussed. I am an expert in my situation only. Other peoples' natural families may be worse than their adopted ones, but they are still the biological connection and validation of a person's existence. That is my opinion and not based on any far-ranging empirical data. Our children did not ask to be here. Our responsibility as the people who brought them here is to see that we give them the best of ourselves so that they can do the same for their children.

The concept of home and family is no longer what it was during the time I was growing up. The nuclear family is being replaced by a multitude of alternative family arrangements. Single parent households are now more common than ever. Divorce rates continue to climb and one out of every two marriages is doomed to failure. Individual "self-fulfillment" is more important than commitment to another person. Whatever is "right" or is "working" for an individual is all that matters and the children produced from these failed unions will often be the factor not calculated into the equation after the lawyers and judges divide the economic spoils of love gone sour. Perhaps a new definition of "family" will arise out of this chaos. Perhaps we will revert back to the "extended" family concept, which although not as suitable to the consumer-oriented capitalism of today, may be the best alternative in ensuring the raising of productive and self-fulfilled children. Only time will tell.

Even if your adoptive parents are the most loving in the world, a day may come when you may ask yourself, "Who am I really?" I believe that you have a right to know. It is a fundamental human right. As I did, you may want to know where you came from before you go. These are individual choices and I am not in a position to tell anyone what to do. I had a fairy-tale ending to my story, but not everyone does. Other people may be affected and you could upset the lives of your natural parents in a way that may cause more agony and pain than can be imagined. These are all heavy factors that must be carefully weighed before you can make the move. Searching for your natural family is not the Disneyland fantasy adventure the media often portrays it to be. The best advice I can give you is to seek out competent professional counseling in helping you to make your decision. You cannot expect and the worse thing that you can do, is believe that finding a birth mother or birth father is going to give you the "parenting" you may think you need. The term "birth parents" is a misnomer in my opinion, as in many cases they never functioned in that capacity, although some may have for a short period. Perhaps another descriptor would be more appropriate. Thinking of a birth mother or a biological father as "parents" is unfair to you, your adoptive parents and to them. I was not looking for "parents". I was looking for me.

Even calling the person who carried me for nine months "mom, "b-mom" or "birth mother" as the adoption literature often does, is sometimes confusing. The term mother is one that carries with it a plethora of duties and responsibilities that neither the "b-mom" or "b-dad" ever shared. If I had met my natural mother would it have been proper to call her "mom" or would her first name be more appropriate? Because our vocabulary is limited in the descriptors for this type of situation I suppose by convention the terms can be used, as long as those reading, writing or verbalizing them, are sure of the meaning of each term. In my emotional state, at the time of my search, I reached out to my biological mother and needed to connect to her for the fulfillment of the identity and emotional peace I craved. I needed her to fill the void that was with me for so much of my life and so, the child David, cried for his "momma" to help him understand. In that situation I believe the descriptor was appropriate.

I wish all adopted kids, especially those about to undertake a search, good luck and the strength to persevere. During the writing of this story I have met many people and garnered many opinions on this issue. I have spent considerable time on the Internet and other on-line forums. I have downloaded hundreds of letters from birth mothers regarding their feelings after giving up their children. The majority of these often heart-breaking stories indicated that contrary to what many of what these birth mothers were told, the pain of giving up a child does not go away. Many are angry and feel that they were duped into giving away their child by social service agencies, family and friends. Most thought they were doing the right thing in the best interests of their child. The key element for me is that these women never forgot the child. Some even hold remembrances on the day of the child's birth. These sentiments are of great value to me, personally. They remind me that my mother never forgot about me. This is a fact of such immense importance for someone in my position.

I have also read letters from adopted persons. Many express the same thoughts and feelings that I have. Others are content with their situations and have dealt with their adoption much more easily than I was able. I find solace in hearing the stories of others who have followed paths like mine. I am not alone. There are thousands and thousands of adopted persons who have experienced what I did. It is the generation of adopted persons from the 1950s and '60s that are now looking back at their past. Perhaps this is an area that needs more research. There are also issues of a potentially higher suicide rate among adopted persons and birth mothers that needs to be explored. Much of this is uncharted territory. The conflicts that have arisen over the searching issue and the "open records versus closed records" issue demonstrate that social scientists and psychologists need to do further empirical studies in these areas. The genetic research explosion, pointing to the possibility of a far more powerful genetic influence on a person's behavior than previously surmised, is another motivating factor for further exploration into the issue of adoption and its consequences. We do not have all the answers.

To birth parents of adopted kids who may be searching for you: please consider the following. I fully understand that each case is a private matter, but there may be people like me suffering because of a decision that had to be made many years ago. Communicate with the child you had to give up. Give them a chance to know a little about their origins. I don't believe any mother who gives up a child can totally forget. My biological family did not forget me and I needed to know that. They gave that knowledge to me and it is an invaluable treasure. There are definitely others like me who need to be connected with their roots. Please don't let them feel abandoned again.

On March 14, 1996 my adopted mother died after a short but extremely painful bout with cancer. I was with her every day until the end which mercifully came with a stroke that numbed some of the pain from the cancer. In the two years that elapsed since finding my family I never revealed that fact to her. Prior to her death, in the last lucid conversation she had, I had the opportunity to talk with and make my peace with her.

She began by asking me if she had been a good mother. I told that she had and that I appreciated all that she had done for me. I also told her I meant the same for my adoptive father. I explained that I understood that things were not always perfect yet the values they both had given me have helped me survive. She said: "I tried to my best." She took my hand and whispered: "You turned out all right." These were wonderful words to hear from her. They were the closest she ever came to saying I love you. I left for an hour and when I returned to the hospital room she had had a massive stroke and was completely paralyzed on one side. She could barely talk. Five days later she was dead. I had lost two mothers in a little over two years-quite enough for anyone I would say.

When I opened her safe deposit box I found a very remarkable discovery. In the box were the complete set of my original court adoption papers as well a full set of my sister's. These were not the papers I had found as a child but they contained an astonishing fact that completely blew me away. On the first page was my full name as given to me by my birth mother, including my last name. My adopted parents had known my last name all these years.

The fact that my adopted mother left the papers there for my sister and I was a final and wonderful gift. She left both of us with the sign posts to find our way home, although she did not realize I no longer need mine. I am glad I never told her and spared her from having to deal with the issues that would have arisen. I have a new found depth of feeling for her and I realize I was lucky in many respects. I have finally come to grips with nearly all the issues of my past and I can now go on into the future as a complete human being.

Credits: Michael Avallone