Yesterday, I was minding my own business on the flight from Chicago to Sacramento. I’m engrossed in my book, Voices of Protest: Huey Long, Father Coughlin & the Great Depression. (Trust me. I escape from AdoptionLand’s dysfunctional family circus as often as I can. Besides, I’m using the book as a lesson plan in how to become a demogoue).
So, I m reading and ever so gently the conversation from the row in front of me wafts back. I’m not evesdropping. But…
No, that can’t be!
I hope they are talking about adoption of the new school curriculum, or doggie adoption. Anything but the dreaded A word.
Again: ” adoption”
Then the baleful “birthmother.”
When we get off the plane I take a closer at the three women in front of me They seem vaguely familiar. I think they’re from CUB, and they are obviously in Sacramento or the AAC.
No matter where I am, what I’m doing it, I am stalked. By adoption. Make it stop!