Let me get this straight: You lost your mind over requiring people to wear masks a couple of years ago to stop the spread of COVID, but now you are forcing women to wear sleeves?
You claim it was to clarify language to be “equal” to men. (By the way, you really should hire a PR person or copy editor or SOMEONE to help you with your writing skills.)
Sure it was.
I can’t believe it was adopted 105-51. (Note that the House is made up of 116 men and 43 women. Party affiliation for reference: 111 R, 52 D.)
I can’t believe you wasted any time on this at all. Have you seen the state rankings? Just look!
I swear to God — you are affecting my healthcare: my mental health!
I really don’t know why I’m surprised at either of the things above. It’s so much easier to control women and what they do and wear rather than tackle big issues in all people’s lives. Right, Ann?
What an embarrassment this is for the state. You want to be in the international consciousness with this foolishness?
I’m so glad my representative didn’t vote for this nonsense. (Granted, I think he was absent that day.)
Pull yourself together, please. Focus on important issues.
Sincerely, Beth, a Missouri resident with sense
Bare arms vs. bear arms (God forbid she wears a mask.) Photo credit here.
But in the words of the late, great Rodney King, “Can’t we all get along?”
Despite the inauspicious start, I get along with both my next-door neighbors, and I’m close with about a dozen of you in our neighborhood. And some of you must like me a little as you voted me into a leadership role. I also took on the task of editing the neighborhood newspaper. Because of course I did.
As I have free rein with the paper, I want to start an advice column to help resolve minor conflicts. Like alley clippings. Neighbor friends Kathy and Marlane have agreed to help.
I think it could be fun. Also, it may raise everyone’s self awareness and tolerance.
But probably not. 😬😉
Anyway, I’m just trying to help. No need to get knickers in a twist over Christmas lights and weeds, when there is the VERY REAL problem of holiday creep.
My friend Jude sent me evidence of Valentine’s Day merch in a store on Dec. 27.
It’s been quite a journey (Here are parts 1, 2, 3, 4 and 5.)
Here are the takeaways:
Genetics are cool. Over the course of about two years, I have met more than 30 new people to whom I am blood related. Seeing myself in people other than the two I made is incredible. I see my eyes in my sister, my dimples in my brother, my laugh in my father, my inability to sit still in my mother, etc.
Love isn’t like pie. More for some doesn’t mean less for others. I can love my adopted parents and extended family with my whole heart (and do) and also love my found family.
Love is love is love. No boundaries. Some of the most wonderful messages I’ve received are from adopted cousins. Add to those messages all the heartfelt ones from friends and relations by marriage and new people tangential to the story, and you see that this has been a moving experience for more people than just myself.
The human capacity for love, understanding and acceptance is astounding. Everyone in this story (except one**) has seemed to be so happy about this late-in-life connection. I have been amazed at how excited people seem to be to add me to the family. I’m still on my best behavior of course. I don’t want anyone to regret the welcome. 😉
I am fortunate. Not every adoptee has a positive experience. And I have had it on both sides. One of my friends found her birth mother, and mom turned out to be … not a good person. Another friend found his, who said she didn’t want a relationship: “I gave you up for a reason.” Kathy is fond of saying that this could have been a Lifetime movie, but it turned out to be a Hallmark one.
Me: That’s why I was careful to explain in my letter that I’m a normal, stable person.
Alaina (my niece): That’s exactly what a crazy person would say.
During my conversation with my father, he told me that he didn’t actually live at the address where I sent the letter. His ex-wife, Jan, still lives there with her son, my half-brother Brad. (They also have a daughter, Erin, my half sister.) Jan opened the letter, shared it with Brad, and he shared with David.
(After I asked Jan* about this part of the story, she said that when Brad called David, David talked about his crazy day. Brad said, “Dad, it’s about to get a whole lot crazier.”)
David now lives in Long Island in an apartment off my uncle’s house. (The apartment used to be my uncle’s dental office.)
Y’all. I mean. Can you IMAGINE Jan’s reaction? Brad’s? David’s?
I might have had to take some time to process, but David called me within 24 hours.
The call consisted of high-level catch-up, as you might expect. He seemed happy to know about me.
And Jan reached out to me on Facebook to welcome me to the family.
And Brad texted me to start a conversation.
How lovely is that?
David and I started talking regularly, and we decided we would meet when I visited New York for my annual birthday trip in December.
I flew into La Guardia and rented a car as the LIRR train schedule did not cooperate.
Brad: Have a good time! Me: Thanks. I'm on my way. Nervous. Brad: So is he!
David was waiting on his porch when I pulled up. He said he felt like a kid at Christmas. I did too. (Add some flop sweat that Santa doesn’t usually get.)
He had a present for me:
I suddenly became very aware of my nasolacrimal ducts. Why? When I met Kathy, she gave me a present.
It was a gift David had given to her for her birthday when they were dating. She kept it all these years because it was the one thing that connected the three of us. And I had told him about it.
Oh Lord: There’s something in my eye. Hang on.
OK. Proceeding.
He took me to the main house to meet my Uncle Terry and Aunt Rosemary.
As it turns out, they and their family and David spent plenty of time in Savannah because they have a place in Hilton Head. Again, I could have run into them AT ANY POINT and not known about our connection.
Also, I would be staying the night in Uncle Terry and Aunt Rosemary’s house.
Y’ALL. These people JUST met me. I am a stranger. So this tells you a little something about how my existence was received.
The four of us went out to dinner and had a wonderful time. When we got back, David brought out a cake for my birthday.
I lost it (but tried not to).
He got me an ice cream cake (Carvel FTW!) without even KNOWING I am not a fan of regular cake.
It was … a lot. (I know I keep saying it, but cut me some slack. It IS a lot!)
The next day, we went on a drive to key places of interest for him and the family.
We laughed. We argued good naturedly. We got to know each other.
As we were watching the sea lion show, I thought about how completely bizarre it was to be there with him. This is the kind of things dads do with their daughters when daughters are children. But here we were, making up for lost time.
Oh look: My lacrimal sac is acting up again. One moment.
I’m back.
It was bone-chillingly cold. My father doesn’t have any body fat (one area where I did NOT get his genes), so we didn’t linger at the lions.
We went back to his place to continue chatting. Before long, it was time for me to head into the city for the rest of the birthday trip.
I had plenty of thoughts to keep me occupied on the drive, along with a debrief phone call from a blogger friend.
The next logical step was to contact my birth father.
Folks, this was easier said than done.
Not that he was hard to find. As soon as I had his name, I put my reporter experience to work and tracked down his address.
It was more that I wasn’t sure how to make this connection. The problem? He didn’t know about me. At all.
For a variety of reasons (including the fact that they had broken up), Kathy didn’t tell him she was pregnant.
So.
Do I call him? Show up at his house? Contact another relative I found (à la Cousin Laura for Kathy)? Eeesh.
I decided to go with the snail-mail route. It had worked before, so maybe it would work again.
But how do I start THAT letter?
Y’all, I’m a writer, but that was THE HARDEST LETTER to write. How do you announce your existence to someone who helped make you? That’s a big deal.
Kathy was worried about me and my plan. She told me she wasn’t sure how he would react.
Yeah.
For TWO FULL YEARS, I agonized over what to say, how to write that damn letter.
My friend Tyler (who cuts my hair) told me, “Don’t come back unless you have an update.” She was kidding. I think.
That was in March 2022. I pulled myself together.
The good stationery and penmanship came out again.
I chose the “rip off the Band-Aid” method:
I've wanted to write this letter for a while, but I didn't know exactly what to say or how to begin. I'm still not sure this is the right way, but I have to start somewhere.
You don't know me or know about me, but I'm your daughter.
I planned for it to arrive by Father’s Day. 😬😉 The tracking indicated it took FOUR DAYS to leave the St. Louis post office. I was dying.
Then on June 23, 2022, I got a call from a number I didn’t recognize. It showed up as Columbia, MD, but I didn’t have my glasses on. I thought it said, “Columbia, MO,” so I assumed it was a work call. I answered.
“This is Beth.” “Hi Beth, this is David.”
My people, I cannot express just how many emotions were vying for the top spot: happiness, surprise, nervousness, etc.
Gideon and Eddie saw my face. They were curious and concerned.
I mouthed, “My father.” Their eyes nearly sprung out of their sockets.
I went into another room so I could focus.
It was, in a word, unreal.
And clearly too much to explain in this one post. Get ready for Part 5 and 6. Thanks for joining me on this journey.
The story continues, as promised. (If you are new here and need a recap, read Part 1 and Part 2.)
My birth mother Kathy and I started chatting weekly on the phone. And as you know, that’s a big deal for me. (Why do I hate talking on the phone so much?)
Topics? Large: I learned my birth father’s full name. Small: I learned we like our eggs the same way. (So that’s where I got it!)
She told me about all the family I had in the St. Louis area. You’ll remember I mentioned my mom Jeanne was from Missouri. Well, I spent my childhood visiting relatives all over the state: Kansas City, Jefferson City and also St. Louis. My favorite aunt and uncle lived in Hazelwood, Missouri — 25 minutes from my current home and 15 minutes from where Kathy lives.
It’s bizarre to think that I could have passed a member of my birth family in the grocery store.
Weird and wonderful, to say the least.
On one of our calls, I mentioned I had a dream that I had driven to St. Louis to see her. She said she did want to meet me. We started planning for Memorial Day weekend.
Y’all, this was … something. Talking on the phone was one thing. Actually meeting her was another.
She picked me up at the St. Louis airport. Her first words to me were these:
Observe and report 