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Baby Boy #3331: An Adoption Story

Baby Boy #3331: An Adoption Story
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Dear Rosalie,

It has taken me almost 40 years to finally ask about you. For years now, I’ve had all the papers my adoptive parents kept. The papers call me simply “baby boy #3331.” They came from the Elizabeth Lund Home for Unwed Mothers, as you knew it then, in Burlington, Vermont.

In the bundle of papers, hand-typed on onion skin, there is the original agreement between my parents and the adoption agency: “If, for any reason whatever during the residence period, we, the adopting parents, shall decide that we do not wish to make this child legally our own, baby boy #3331 may be returned.” I see two small burn holes near my father’s signature. Years later, he would tell me that he was so eager to sign the agreement that his hands were shaking, and ashes had fallen from his cigarette.

There are receipts for fees paid: two payments of $150 each for “adoption services,” $4.50 for probate fees, and $1 to the city clerk for a certified copy of the birth certificate. This, I would later come to understand, was an “amended birth certificate,” one that renamed the characters involved in my beginnings. The original birth certificate was “retained permanently and sealed” according to state regulations, “for 99 years after the date of the adoptee’s birth.”

I wonder what it must have been like for you, Rosalie, when you signed away your rights to ever see me again, to never know who I would become. Did anyone explain to you what we would, and would never, know about each other? Did anyone talk with you about the possibility that someday you might wonder about me, or that I might wonder about you? In Vermont, access to closed adoption records is provided only by court order. But if you had simply signed a consent form, we would be able to contact each other. I imagine such thoughts were frowned upon in 1961.

I don’t know why I waited so long to look for you, but I finally wrote to the Lund Family Center, as it’s called now. The only report I’m allowed to see is referred to as Nonidentifying Information for Adoptees and Adult Descendants of Deceased Adoptees. Today, waiting in my stack of mail was a large brown envelope from the center. When I opened it, the first thing I saw was that you had named me: Kenneth. The thought of your giving me a name is so much more tender and reassuring than thinking all this time that you had just relinquished me to some unknown numerical file.

I now know that you were married at the time of my birth. The report notes, “Her husband had deserted her.” What happened, Rosalie? On the next page there is simply one entry under Birth father: “first name, Kenneth.”

I keep reading: “Rosalie had two previous pregnancies. The first baby was encephalic and delivered prematurely weighing 3 lbs. 8 oz. and lived 10 minutes. The second baby died at 6 weeks due to spina bifida. They were your half siblings.” I don’t know what to do with that. What did you do with that? How could you lose two babies and then give up your third?

There’s an untitled form in the packet with handwritten data filled in under titles such as Relative, Nationality, Education, Occupation, Health, and Personality. I see that my uncle, your brother Forrest, was “reliable and industrious.” Aunt Alberta was “hard to get along with, selfish, shy and moody.” Your parents are both referred to as “understanding.” Antoinette “gets along well,” while Howard is “not religious.” Kenneth’s personality is listed as “sympathetic, deceiving, not reliable, ambitious and steady worker.” The handwriting is so difficult to read on this page, but under Occupation I am sure it says that Kenneth was in the “milk business.” Rosalie, I have to tell you, when I read that I laughed out loud at the thought — my father might have been the milkman.

Please Note: This article was accurate at the time of publication. When planning a trip, please confirm details by directly contacting any company or establishment you intend to visit.

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