We Always Called You Jason IV
Now I knew, now what? I looked her up in the phone book, but no Nancy Harris. I knew this would happen. She is married, she has moved, she is dead. I was actually no better off than I was 10 minutes ago. And Harris doesn?t sound Jewish, though I have always been told that I don?t look Jewish either. It turns out that my Birth Family came to the brilliant conclusion that all Jews are rich, so if I was adopted through Jewish Family Services I would end up with my Silver Spoon.
Avon High School probably archives their yearbooks right? What if Nancy still lives in town? What if she is a teacher at the school, what if I open up a past she wanted secret? Am I about to ruin a life? She is probably married with children, and I am a secret that she never told. I made the selfish decision that it was my right to find out, regardless of the consequences, something that I later criticized in others who were still very active in the Adoption triad and reunion cause, and my criticism got me my first, and only death threat. I would advise others to avoid death threats at all costs. They are very unpleasant.
The librarian at Avon High was very nice, and the fact is, as evidenced by Springers, and Oprahs, and Dr. Phils, people eat shit like this up. She couldn?t WAIT to look up Nancy Harris , class of ?65, maybe ?66, maybe ?67, oh I don?t know, can you look them all up for me please?
You bet!. Hold on.
The fax machine outside my office at Little, Brown was surrounded by my co-workers as paper fed through it, etching my first ever relative on a page. And it did it so fucking slowly, and of course, it came through upside-down, so I saw my Mother?s hands, breasts, neck, before I saw her face. It took forever.
She was beautiful. Innocent, shy smile, hands folded, styled hair.
And the same eyes as me
And the same nose as me
I looked like someone for the first time in my life. I was looking at my Birth Mother.
We Always Called You Jason V
The excitement of the picture kept me happy for a while, and my original plan, prior to finding out her name, to ONLY get a picture. I just wanted to find out why I looked the way I did. But, the search is like a drug, the high wears away, and I needed more to achieve the same level of ecstasy. I thought her name and picture would be enough, but I was soon on my way towards to the next step.
In the notes under Nancy?s high school picture was a dedication to Helen, her Mom, my Grandmother. This was my only new lead to finding them.
There are a lot of Helen Harris?s in Connecticut. I know because I talked to almost every one of them. Based on my experience, people named Helen Harris are extremely nice. If you ever meet one, chances are it will be pleasant. Every one of them that wasn?t my Grandmother was sympathetic, helpful, and wished me all the best. After I found MY Helen Harris, I ended up calling many of them back, as they made me promise to do so if and when I found her..
?Is this Helen Harris??
?Yes, who is this??
? I am not sure I have the right Helen Harris. Do you have a daughter named Nancy??
?Yes, who is this??
? If you have a daughter named Nancy, then I think I am your Grandson.?
Silence
?Hello??
?Is this Jason??
?No, Matthew.?
? We always called you Jason.?
This is the first conversation I had with a blood relative.
MORE TO COME
