Searching for Roots​—An Adoptee Longed to Know

Legal Wall of Secrecy

LAST year my wife and I watched portions of the week-long television special entitled “Roots.” Perhaps more than most viewers, I could fully understand why many desire to know their origins. It’s only natural to wonder where you came from, and what your parents and other relatives are like. Interestingly, recently more and more persons have been searching for their roots.

“The quest for personal origins has turned phenomenal,” noted a feature Newsweek article. A spokesman for a genealogical library observed regarding this growing quest: “The reason people give is almost invariably, ‘I just want to know who I am.’”

There is a segment of the population, however, that has a special interest in their origins. It is we who are adopted by foster parents. But most of us who have tried have been frustrated at practically every turn in our attempt to discover the identity of the parents who caused our birth.

Do you know what’s responsible for this secrecy? Is there good reason for it?

Legal Wall of Secrecy

Laws in the United States mandate secrecy. When a child is adopted, a new birth certificate is issued; the idea, in effect, is that the child receives a ‘new birth.’ The original birth records of adoptees are sealed, and they remain sealed against almost every appeal of an adoptee to see them. Fines and imprisonment are sometimes imposed on persons who break the seal contrary to the law’s provision.

In virtually all states in the U.S., even when adoptees reach adulthood, they are prohibited from seeing their birth records. Laws in other countries are different. In such places as Israel, Finland and Scotland, for instance, adult adoptees may obtain their original birth certificates.

Adoption laws in the U.S. affect literally millions of persons, including the some three to five million of us adoptees, as well as our natural and adoptive parents. It is said that the number of adoptions here are greater than the total for the rest of the world! In 1970, a high of 175,000 adoptions was reached in the U.S., but then the number started declining.

Development of Adoption Laws

A few years ago I became interested in learning more about the subject of adoption. From reading the Bible, it became apparent that the procedure evidently was an old one. For example, the Israelite baby Moses was taken from the Nile River and adopted by Pharaoh’s daughter, “so that he became a son to her.” (Ex. 2:5-10) I later read that provisions for adoption were incorporated in the ancient Babylonian Code of Hammurabi, the Hindu Law of Manu, as well as in Assyrian, Egyptian, Greek and Roman laws.

A particular purpose of these adoption laws was to prevent the extinction of family lines and to create legitimate heirs. Thus it is interesting to recall that Abraham, the father of the Israelite nation, evidently considered his slave Eliezer to be in line for a position similar to that of an adopted son. For Abraham said: “I am going childless and the one who will possess my house is a man of Damascus, Eliezer.”​—Gen. 15:2-4.

In more recent times, adoption was unknown in English common law, on which United States law is based. So legal adoption did not exist in the U.S. until the individual states began passing laws permitting it sometime around the mid-1800’s. It was not until 1926 that the Adoption of Children Act made adoption legally possible in England. When the child is adopted, he is legally no longer related to his biological parents, but only to the parents who adopted him.

Humane Provision

I can personally testify to the benefits of these modern provisions for adoption. In the past, babies that parents either did not want or could not provide for were commonly reared in institutions. Generally, these children fared badly, and mortality rates were high. How much finer when couples who really want children can adopt little ones and give them the loving attention that they need!

My adoptive parents gave me such loving care, and I will always be grateful. They reared me as though I was their very own. At the same time, however, they let me know at a very early age that I was adopted. Adoptive parents are wise to tell their children this. When children learn it from others​—and they are likely to do so—​they usually are not only shocked but feel deceived by their adoptive parents who tried to keep the adoption a secret. However, the best time to explain to them about their having been adopted is when they can understand it a little better, perhaps when they are six to eight years of age.

In recent years, I have learned the great importance of environment on early child development, which makes me even more appreciative of my adoptive parents. For example, in the United States black children typically have not had the same educational and cultural advantages as have whites. Thus black children reared in white homes, where they have more educational advantages, usually achieve higher IQ scores than do other black children.

Source of Adoptable Babies

During the late 1960’s and early 1970’s, many white parents were adopting black children. In fact, over one third of all black adoptees were, for a time, being placed with white parents. But then black leaders began protesting vigorously. They said that, in the long run, these children would have greater problems when they grew up to face the real world. They would be rejected by whites, the critics said, because of their skin color, and by blacks because of their vastly different values and behavior.

But why, you may wonder, are many whites eager to adopt black and biracial babies? It is because of a severe shortage of adoptable white babies. Waiting lists at agencies are years long, and some agencies won’t even accept new applicants. But why is there a shortage? Since the major source of adoptees has always been illegitimate babies, why, with the skyrocketing illegitimacy rates, are there fewer adoptable infants?

Particularly, it is because an unwed mother is no longer frowned on by today’s changing society. Famous rock music stars and movie stars rear their illegitimate children, and hit songs such as “Having My Baby” have glamorized the trend. Thus, a few years ago, about 80 percent of unmarried mothers in the U.S. were giving up their babies for adoption. More recently, however, only about 20 percent have been relinquishing them​—hence, fewer adoptable infants.

Do mothers who give up their babies ever wonder about them? Why do adoptees want to find these biological parents?

The Desire to Know

Ever since I was a child, I wondered what my mother and father were like, and this despite my fine relationship with my adoptive parents. I’ve since learned that most other adoptees feel similarly, as if “a piece of themselves was missing.” It is as Dr. Arthur D. Sorosky, who has studied the subject extensively, says:

“We’ve found that the adopted child’s curiosity does not depend on whether or not he has a good relationship with his parents. It is a simple, universal need to know one’s roots. The adoptee’s desire for genealogical information​—or even to meet his natural parents—​is a need which can’t really be comprehended by a non-adopted person. Nor can it be discounted as occurring only in emotionally disturbed individuals.”

Also, I’ve since learned that biological mothers often long to know about the child that they gave up. I can remember my adoptive mother, a very sensitive and sensible woman, mentioning on my birthday, ‘Your mother, wherever she may be, is probably thinking about you today.’ I’m thankful that both Mom and Dad have been so understanding. When I finally determined to make the search, they helped me in it.

A study has revealed that most adoptees who have found their biological parents are happy that they made the search. Even when what they found was not pleasant, not knowing was considered even more unpleasant. I can vouch for this.

But I realized that the finding of my physical roots was not of primary importance to the finding of real happiness. For, after all, when traced back far enough the roots of the entire human family lead to the patriarch Noah, who survived the global flood. So what is truly vital is finding, not our physical roots, but a favorable relationship with God, our spiritual Father. Although treasuring this relationship with Jehovah God as most important, still I desired to find my natural parents. Let me now tell you the results of my search for my roots.

My Patient Search Rewarded

ALL the information about myself and my family, as far as I knew, was contained in a set of court papers. My adoptive parents first showed these to me when I was about seven or eight years of age. They had received them when they legally adopted me as an infant. Later, when I was an adult, they gave me these papers. My family legacy was two names on a piece of paper, my mother’s and mine.

Although from an early age I desired to know more about my origins, it was not until I was in my 30’s that I was moved to do something about that desire. In the meantime, my life took on a whole new direction as a result of a study of the Bible.

By 1967, I had adjusted my affairs so that I could share more fully with others what I had been learning. Eventually I served for nearly four years as a missionary in the Pacific Islands of Truk, Kosrae and Ponape. Then, in 1973, I was invited to join the headquarters staff of Jehovah’s Witnesses in Brooklyn, New York.

This was a time of retrospect for me​—questions about my background began nagging me. Who are my mother and father? Do I have brothers and sisters? Am I of Spanish, French or of some other background? I also had a more important reason for finding my biological family​—to share with them the “good news of the kingdom.”​—Matt. 24:14.

But where could I start looking?

Beginning the Search

From the papers that I was given, I knew this much: My mother’s full name, the name given me at birth, the name of the adoption agency, the date of my birth, and the hospital where I was born. I began my search by writing a letter to the adoption agency in the state of my birth, California.

That proved to be my first frustrating encounter with the wall of intense secrecy. Being bound by the law, the agency could neither confirm nor deny by name who my mother was. However, they did tell me the state from which the woman about whom I was inquiring had come​—Oregon. They also provided a few other facts about her, including that she was of German-French extraction, had average grades in school, and had played an instrument in the high-school band.

Next, I wrote to the Department of Vital Statistics in Portland, Oregon. Enclosed I sent a fee, plus what little information I had about my mother. In a few days I had an answer. A person with the same name had indeed been born in that state 24 years prior to my birth. However, I was told that it would be impossible for me to obtain a copy of her birth certificate​—it was against the law for them to provide this.

After a few days of head scratching and research, I decided to write again and request a copy of the law that prohibited my obtaining her birth certificate. In due time a copy was sent. The law said that the birth certificate would be issued only to a blood relative, the individual himself, or a court attorney. Happily, I was sent a copy of the entire page on which that particular law was printed. Looking the page over, I found another law that said a person could petition the county court for any vital record that was denied him.

Seizing on this provision, I made a copy of my adoption papers, had them notarized, and forwarded them to the court with a request for the birth certificate. The result? In a few weeks I received the birth certificate that I wanted. The person named​—Grace Faulman—​was the same person listed on my adoption papers as my mother! Also, the names of her parents were given.

I had every reason to believe that Grace Faulman was my mother, for it was unlikely that another person with that name gave birth to a baby with the same name as mine on that same day, May 23, 1939. Yet, how could I be positive? And how could I locate Grace Faulman or her parents, assuming that they were still alive? After all, about 60 years had passed since that birth certificate was issued. I determined to continue my search.

I wrote the school superintendent in Astoria, Oregon, the place where Grace was born. Also, I inquired of the postmaster there regarding information on the Faulman family. But all efforts to trace my mother in this way were fruitless. Apparently the family had left the area soon after Grace’s birth. So I needed to find another way to trace her.

A Breakthrough Comes

Significantly, the settlement of the United States came through westward expansion. From the year 1790, when the first Federal Census was taken, families, singly and in groups, migrated westward. Thus, although Grace Faulman was born in the far western state of Oregon, her birth certificate revealed that her father and mother had been born in Michigan.

I tried without success to obtain the birth certificate of Grace Faulman’s father​—apparently it doesn’t exist. However, I did succeed in obtaining her mother’s birth certificate. This provided me with the name of Grace’s grandparents, since their names, of course, appear on their daughter’s birth certificate.

Next, I sent another fee and requested the marriage certificate of Grace’s grandparents. I provided their names, taking them from the birth certificate of Grace’s mother. In time the marriage certificate, dated February 3, 1894, was sent to me. Now I was able to take advantage of a peculiarity of the 1880 Federal Census. An index was made of that 1880 Federal Census. Thus all family heads who had children 10 years of age and under in 1880 have their names, along with other information about them, indexed.

I submitted a request to the National Archives in Washington, D.C., where such census copies are preserved. I provided the name of Grace’s grandfather, Henry Monroe (he was born in 1871 and so was under 10 in 1880), asking for a search of the index. Shortly, I was rewarded with a copy of the census page on which the names of him and his family were enumerated. Importantly, that page also had the name of the town in which Henry was then living, East Jordan, Michigan.

Later, this single document and a single act of kindness proved to be the keys that unlocked my past. However, at the time, I didn’t see how this information would be of help to me. So I began to trace other branches of what I believed to be my family, writing scores of letters in the process.

Living in Brooklyn, quite close to the Long Island Historical Society, I began to spend some time each Saturday afternoon checking old census records and other historical documents. Eventually, by tracing relatives of Henry Monroe, I discovered a woman, whom I believed to be one of my great-grandmothers. She had lived in Cobleskill, a small town in upstate New York. Curious to know whether any of her family might still live there, I wrote a letter to the small weekly newspaper. To my surprise, a week later I received a letter. The woman who wrote was the niece of this supposed great-grandmother of mine!

I was welcomed by this woman to come up on a visit to Cobleskill. There I spent a most enjoyable weekend learning about the family and the history of their previous 200 years in the area. Further evidence that I was indeed on the right track was forthcoming​—the ladies of the family all remarked that I had inherited the family nose! Another warming fact was that three of the lady’s grandchildren and I shared the same faith.

Unfortunately, the family in upstate New York had not been in contact with Grace Faulman’s side of the family for more than 50 years, and had no idea where they were. So, while I had made some progress, the prospects of finding my mother were still not very bright. But then an idea came to me.

The Lead That Opened My Past

I recalled the information filed away in my drawer from the 1880 Federal Census about Henry Monroe, Grace Faulman’s grandfather. I thought: ‘If I could get results by writing to the newspaper about the family in Cobleskill, New York, why not write the postmaster in that small Michigan town of East Jordan where Henry and his family lived?’

This is what I did. I told the postmaster that I was trying to locate distant relatives. I asked if he knew of anyone by the name of Monroe in the town, and if he did would he please pass my letter on to that person. Having mailed the letter, I promptly forgot all about it.

Checking the mail at noontime one day a couple of weeks later, I found a self-addressed envelope waiting for me. (I always sent queries with an enclosed self-addressed stamped envelope.) Opening it, to my amazement I found that the writer was none other than the first cousin of Grace’s mother. That postmaster had kindly forwarded it to her. I could hardly keep my mind on my work the rest of the day, so elated was I.

Striking up a friendship by mail with this woman whom I was almost certain was my relative, I gradually made cautious inquiries as to Grace’s mother. Yes, I was told, she was still alive. And she had a grandson living in Alaska. Here was real news! I had a brother! But, through this correspondence, I learned that Grace had died. Now what?

I felt the need to be discreet, since I didn’t know the circumstances surrounding my birth. I finally decided to tell my grandmother’s cousin everything. I enclosed a copy of my adoption papers and asked her to serve as a go-between for me. ‘Would she reveal my identity to my grandmother?’ I asked.

Reunion

The days passed slowly. Finally, a letter came from my grandmother. She was overjoyed. Yes, there was a “missing grandson”​—but she thought he was dead, having been told by her daughter that he died in infancy. Yes, her daughter was the person listed on the court records. I must call my brother in Alaska immediately, she urged. The phone number was listed. ‘And when, oh, when, could I come to California so that she could see me?’ she wanted to know.

The phone call to my brother was made. My first word to him was: “Brother!” His first words: “I can’t believe it!”

He, too, had been told by our mother that I died in infancy, but then, about 15 years ago, our father had told him that I had been adopted. He tried to find me, but all his efforts were thwarted by the legal wall of secrecy.

The trip to California and the meeting with my family was no doubt one of the most satisfying times of my life! True, I was disappointed to learn that my mother and father (who I learned was named John Rapoza-Vierra) had both been dead for some years. But my grandmother, brother and I spent hours together, along with my adoptive parents, who, from the beginning, had supported all my efforts. In fact, they had gone to great lengths themselves to learn what they could. Interestingly, I was also able to meet my natural father’s family and learn of their Azores Islands-to-Hawaii-to-California migrations. He was Portuguese.

I had done it! My patient search was rewarded. ‘And what was the cost in effort?’ you may ask. Over 400 replies alone to letters that I sent, plus the cost of postage, fees, and Saturday afternoons at the library.

Hope for the Future

I was particularly happy that I was able to share with these family members the comforting hope that the Bible provides for the future. I told them that there is good reason to believe that Grace and John will be favored by Jehovah God with a resurrection to life again on earth. (John 5:28, 29; Acts 24:15) How fine, then, it will be to become acquainted with them! I realize that they made bad mistakes, even living immoral lives. But for those who are resurrected, there will be opportunity to learn of God’s requirements and to conform to the righteous Kingdom administration that will then be in control.

To me, learning about my physical roots has been well worth the effort. Interestingly, the Bible contains extensive information about the genealogies of various people. Evidently it is natural for humans to be concerned about their physical origins. But I realize that this is not of principal importance, and that there is danger of placing an overemphasis on such matters.​—1 Tim. 1:3, 4; Titus 3:9.

Jesus Christ forcefully showed the relationships that are even more important than physical ones. Once, when spoken to about his relatives, he said: “‘Who is my mother, and who are my brothers?’ And extending his hand toward his disciples, he said: ‘Look! My mother and my brothers! For whoever does the will of my Father who is in heaven, the same is my brother, and sister, and mother.’”​—Matt. 12:48-50.

I’ve found this to be so true. Sharing the same faith in God and having the same hope in his promises bring persons closer together in bonds of love than do even blood ties. My wife and I have just attended the 65th class of the Watchtower Bible School of Gilead. We now have the grand privilege of going to another land to share with people there the Christian faith that can enable them to enjoy such a fine relationship with fellow humans, and especially a good relationship with Jehovah God.​—Contributed.