Some of you know that already, but for those who didn’t, I was adopted at nine months after being in nine foster homes. Evidently I wasn’t cute enough while at those first nine homes, and evidently I turned on the charm for my adoptive parents on Try Number Ten.
It was pretty obvious that I was adopted as I grew up. I didn’t look like anyone else in the family. I didn’t act like anyone else in the family. I was a painfully shy kid who, even at family functions, would be over in the corner reading a book or just sitting quietly listening to everyone else talk. It’s just always been that way for me. It still is. I’m fine with it. I used to feel weird about it, when I was younger, but now I just figure that’s the way it is, I’m happy with who I am, and that’s just the real of it.
Anyway, growing up, I observed. I listened to conversations. I heard stories. I made note of different speech patterns. I paid close attention to nature. I saw the nuances in life. I turned philosophical often, delving for answers to questions. Why was I turned over to an adoption agency? Why does one person act like an ass while another acts like a saint? Why are girls so friggin’ weird and mysterious?
We didn’t have much money. We were never poor but we sure weren’t swimming in extra cash, either. Many a day was spent inventing games using only my imagination. Many a day was spent roaming the neighborhood or exploring on my bike. Everything was fascinating and mysterious. I wanted to learn, just not from the nuns at school.
Of course I couldn’t see the big picture. I had no way of knowing that it was all to prepare me for today and my life as a writer. None of us have that kind of vision into the future and perhaps it is well that we don’t.
I wouldn’t change any of it. I love my life. I love that people pay me money for doing something I am passionate about. I’m thrilled that the shy little kid in the corner found happiness in being himself. I find that beyond cool!
Bill
“Helping writers to spread their wings and fly.”