I was born at a time when families had Secrets. I grew up with the knowledge that I was adopted, that I was the shameful Secret that was hidden in someone else’s family. Because my adoptive parents were so loving, I never felt the need to ask about my heritage. I was sure that even if I looked I would find that my story was nothing special – an unwed mother, a child given away, a fresh start. Nor did I want to hurt the adoptive parents who had given me my own fresh start by making inquiries.

 

By the time I was in my late twenties, I had children of my own and my adoptive parents were aging. It occurred to me that should I ever need to know about my birth family for medical reasons, I should ask my adoptive parents what they knew before it was too late. Much to my relief, they took it calmly. But the tale they told what not at all what I expected.

 

My adoptive mother had been a nurse, and had access to information she should not really have had. Far from being the first child of an unwed mother, I was told that my parents were married, with other children. I was told their surname, and my birth father’s occupation. He was a lighthouse keeper! 

 

The lure of siblings proved to be irresistible. Armed with my mother’s information I set about tracking them down. It wasn’t difficult in a small country like New Zealand. I placed an advertisement in the Personal column of the country’s largest newspaper and before too long the phone rang. A woman’s voice introduced herself. She was my sister! We made arrangements to meet the following weekend.

 

When she walked through the door, it was like looking at myself in the mirror and finishing an interrupted sentence. She looked at me, laughed, and said, “You got it too!” I didn’t have to ask what she meant. The Family Nose has long been a bugbear! We were wearing similar clothing. We had the same pets. We were more alike than many siblings brought up together. After being raised as an only child it was quite an adjustment to learn that I was the fifth of five children. Instantly, my children acquired 11 first cousins. But there was still a problem with being a Secret.

 

Our mother had re married after the death of our father, a violent alcoholic with a shady past. She had never told her new husband about the child she had given away. When my sister told her she had made contact with me, there was a dreadful scene. She was forbidden to talk to me again. Naturally, she didn’t listen, so for a further 20 years we acted out scenes from a sitcom, with one of us coming in my sister’s front door while the other left by the back, neither aware of the other’s presence. More Secrets.

 

Eventually it all became too much to handle, as 21st’s, weddings and christenings were starting to happen, and it wasn’t fair that family members had to chose who to invite. Pressure was put on our mother to sort things out. Eventually we met face to face. It was a bit of an anti climax really, and all because of Secrets that these days no one would think twice about. I wonder if families keep Secrets in quite the same ways nowadays. I suspect that they do, it’s just that they are different Secrets.