Hi, Sarah:
There’s so much information in this book that, on a substantive level, it’s hard to know where to start. Strangers and Kin is full of important, under-reported, and little-understood history—from the first page, on which Melosh notes the startling fact that adoptive parents routinely receive “amended” birth certificates—which officially state that they gave birth to their adopted childrento the epilogue, in which she raises important questions about identity, loss, and other issues central to adoption.
I love that she started with the birth certificates. They have been a pet peeve of mine since I started my own research into the history of adoption years ago. As Melosh points out, the fictionalized certificates affirm our country’s acceptance of adoption as “the full social and legal equivalent” of biological family formation. At the same time, she understands the paradox inherent in a culture that simultaneously puts its imprimatur on this alternative while, in many other ways, it deprecates both the institution and its participants.
Melosh’s book is valuable for its data and academic insights, since the history of adoption remains a startlingly unexamined field. But, like you, Sarah, the book leaves me with many unanswered questions. The birth-certificate issue is a good illustration. Personally, I think that these fraudulent documents are an outrage. They do indeed seek to equate adoptive families with ones formed biologically, but they do so by perpetrating a fraud—my wife and I did not create the two children we are raising, no matter what paperwork the government gives us. In essence, the certificate is obscuring the legitimacy of adoption, rather than ratifying it; I would be delighted to have a document showing that we adopted our kids and another stating to whom they were born. How can we teach our kids that the truth is important when we, as a culture and as individuals, sanction the falsification of information about them? Besides, these phony documents are just plain silly: I’ve seen ones that show two gay, white men to have given birth to a girl born in Cambodia.
But we never learn what Melosh really thinks about all this. For that matter, what does she think about the unambiguous trend toward open adoption and the empowerment of original parents (also known as birth parents or biological parents)? She has drawn on too many documents and too few people’s personal experiences for my liking, although she has done her research thoroughly and does a good job of showing both sides on most issues. Still, these issues are often too complicated, too nuanced, or have been too long misunderstood for most readers to know what to make of them—I think that means we need a bit of educated guidance. Like you, Sarah, I was anxious to hear more from Melosh about what she made of all the case studies she has pored through, the books she has digested (mostly by women who relinquished their babies and by adopted people who searched for and found birth relatives). And, more broadly, I wanted her to tell me about the impact this rapidly changing institution is having on our country and its people.
I want to go on and on, because this book examines so many aspects of adoption that I wish Americans would learn about and better understand. But I’ll sign off with gratitude that this dialogue will continue. Here are a few items on my agenda for the next couple of days: Is there a difference between secrecy and privacy when it comes to adoption? Does society have an unequivocally negative view of women who voluntarily make adoption plans for their children? What are adopted people’s motives in wanting more information about their backgrounds, or contact with their biological kin? And a question near and dear to my heart: What do the radical changes in adoption portend for adoptive parents?
Can’t wait to hear your thoughts. Be well and stay warm.
Adam
