Back in the old days when Dr. Pierce was still with us, I’d often have dreams about the National Council for Adoption. The real NCFA, not what passes for it today. One of my favorite dreams was about the NCFA porch sale where original birth certificates were neatly packaged in plastic envelopes like the kind old sheet music is sold in, stacked upright in cardboard boxes, and sold for 50 cents or a dollar each. In my dream the weather was overcast and drizzling. Several people were on the porch, including Bastard National Diana Inch, rifling damp-fingered through the cartons for their obcs. If the documents weren’t on the porch, they were probably in the foyer of the old Dupont Circle rowhouse. In my dream I wasn’t surprised that the obcs were there; only that it had never occurred to me to look there.
I have long urged adopted children not to try to find their birth mother, saying, “The woman who raised you is your mother. Accept that fact, and don’t go around disrupting lives.
No surprise there. But she closes with the most astonishing revelation:
“A search, however, is OK if both parties are agreeable. The National Council for in Washington, D.C., has a national registry for such searches, for cases where a medical history needs to be checked out. But to those who are simply inquisitive, I say leave things alone.
The National Council for Adoption Family Reunion and Medical Registry!