Nature vs. nurture

As my adoption and reunion story continues, I’ve changed some names, places, and dates.

Seeing my birth father’s sister, June, in the fall of 2015 was another lightning moment for me. Adoptees typically don’t look like anyone else in their family. That certainly had been the case for me.

My mother used to have a picture hanging on her wall from my nephew’s wedding in 1996. It’s one of the rare photos of Mom and all three of her children. Mom, Mark, and Vicky all look tan as usual. I’ve always joked over the years that I look like the poor white child from Alaska.

Looking at June on my iPad that evening was almost like gazing into a mirror. Her hair was shorter than mine, but other than that we looked like twins. For the next couple of weeks, I kept thinking, I look like someone! I look like someone! It felt like the final piece of my life puzzle had fallen into place.

As I scrolled through her Facebook page, I was also struck by the fact that we had similar interests and passions. I could tell she was concerned about the environment. June also had a strong faith in God and seemed quite spiritual. She had even attended Indiana University, just like me!

Of course, I showed my husband and sons her picture and shared it with friends as well. Everyone was completely stunned by the resemblance.

“I felt like I was looking at your page,” my dear friend Stacey said. “She looks like you and her interests are the same as well. It’s remarkable.”

The whole nature versus nurture debate popped up in my head once again. Here was a case where genes played a strong part in who I am. The whole experience made me want to meet her.

I brought up that desire the next time I spoke to my birth father Jack right before Thanksgiving. I knew he had never told his siblings about me. I wondered if that could change in the future.

“Until my wife Dawn is more comfortable about this, I just can’t tell them right now,” Jack replied. I understood, although it was hard to hear. Every time I looked June up on Facebook it was difficult to not request to be her friend. But obviously I had to, once again, be patient.

It was also difficult for me to be patient about someday meeting my birth mother Linda, although another Thanksgiving conversation helped me in this area.