YELLOW BLANKET, SWEET SIXTEEN, A DEFINING MOMENT
"Beneath the oppressive haze, the amber color of the morning sky begins to awaken as does my tiny NN-743962. The smells of the city are pungent and foreign compared to the crisp dew laden Puget Sound mornings. But with this daybreak, the exhilaration of the new journey begins, and Allison Milagros wrapped snuggly in her yellow blanket, opened her small eyes, looking at me with wonderment, I knew at that moment she was meant to be my daughter."
Journal Entry
Lima Peru
July 13, 1992
Sweet sixteen, often we celebrate with beautiful dresses and special gifts that mark the coming of age. Parties surrounded by our friends and families often in awe of the transition we've have made from childhood to a young woman. It is an occasion to reflect on our childhood memories and to ponder the events to come as our journey into adulthood begins. It is a defining moment for many. It was even more than that for me, a life-changing moment.
On my special day, I received a life-altering gift from my mom. She presented me with a beautiful leather bound journal, in which she had carefully, and in immense detail, chronicled her arduous journey as a single woman to adopting a baby from Peru. That baby was me. Mom explained that she had waited until this moment, my "sweet sixteen" to be confident that with her candid entries, I had the maturity to both value and comprehend the circumstances surrounding my birth, adoption, all within the context of the culture and political climate of Peru.
It was April in South America and autumn was in the air when I was born in 1992. I was "found" in the corner of a building in Comas, a district of Lima, wrapped in a yellow blanket. Nothing was known regarding my birthparents. An "aha!" moment, as I read her entry. My special yellow blanket: the one tangible item that I still have from my birthmother. I was immediately flooded with the rich memories as a child when that blanket had provided me with comfort and a sense of security. I dragged that blanket everywhere. It was clear now why of all my childhood items, mom had taken such care to preserve this now tattered piece of fabric.
No Name 743962 was my official designation on all the court and legal documents. There were so many children in need of homes; they only provided numbers to keep track of each of us at Casa Los Nińo's, a state run orphanage. How peculiar I thought to be identified only as a number. Your name gives you identity, defines where you belong within a family and a community. My mind wondered, thinking of other people in other times that were reduced to a number, without identity, to be categorized and kept track of forever. Yet strangely, I had always felt a sense of security, a sense of belonging, but always a twinge that there was and continues to be a connection to another place and to some other people. I kept turning the pages, committed to reading the journal in its entirety, on this day, my birthday.
The beauty of the city of Lima was punctuated with the Shinning Path, Guzman's terrorist group, tanks in the streets, transformers being exploded. Between these implausible entries, more mundane events were documented. There was waiting for paperwork to weave its way through the bureaucracy of two governments, trying to effectively communicate, shopping at the Mercado for the day's food, waiting always waiting. Patience and tenacity were words that echoed throughout the 50 page manuscript.
The passage through the journal's pages was surreal. With each page, I felt transported to the moment the entry reflected. Between the entries, though never written, I could feel my mom's commitment and determination. It was palpable. She was determined that the life of possibilities that were ahead were mine to be had, no matter the current obstacles she needed to navigate.
My sweet sixteen birthday was truly a "birth" day that provided transparency to the genesis of my life and the direction I am determined to pursue. It was a defining moment to understand the events of my birth, and the sacrifices that were made, both by my birthmother and my mom. My birthday epitomized my journey from a developing country steeped in ancient history and lore to the beautiful Pacific Northwest. There was a sudden spark of renewed appreciation of the history of a tangible item, a yellow blanket, and the memories and comfort it can provide a small child.
The significance of these events was defining and now an intricate part of who I am. I have a more complete understanding of myself, my inquisitive nature, my love of exploring and always learning. I have been given the gift of life literally twice. The gifts and talents I cultivate, my education and how I reach forward to honor the past will be the gifts I give in return.
"Beneath the oppressive haze, the amber color of the morning sky begins to awaken as does my tiny NN-743962. The smells of the city are pungent and foreign compared to the crisp dew laden Puget Sound mornings. But with this daybreak, the exhilaration of the new journey begins, and Allison Milagros wrapped snuggly in her yellow blanket, opened her small eyes, looking at me with wonderment, I knew at that moment she was meant to be my daughter."
Journal Entry
Lima Peru
July 13, 1992
Sweet sixteen, often we celebrate with beautiful dresses and special gifts that mark the coming of age. Parties surrounded by our friends and families often in awe of the transition we've have made from childhood to a young woman. It is an occasion to reflect on our childhood memories and to ponder the events to come as our journey into adulthood begins. It is a defining moment for many. It was even more than that for me, a life-changing moment.
On my special day, I received a life-altering gift from my mom. She presented me with a beautiful leather bound journal, in which she had carefully, and in immense detail, chronicled her arduous journey as a single woman to adopting a baby from Peru. That baby was me. Mom explained that she had waited until this moment, my "sweet sixteen" to be confident that with her candid entries, I had the maturity to both value and comprehend the circumstances surrounding my birth, adoption, all within the context of the culture and political climate of Peru.
It was April in South America and autumn was in the air when I was born in 1992. I was "found" in the corner of a building in Comas, a district of Lima, wrapped in a yellow blanket. Nothing was known regarding my birthparents. An "aha!" moment, as I read her entry. My special yellow blanket: the one tangible item that I still have from my birthmother. I was immediately flooded with the rich memories as a child when that blanket had provided me with comfort and a sense of security. I dragged that blanket everywhere. It was clear now why of all my childhood items, mom had taken such care to preserve this now tattered piece of fabric.
No Name 743962 was my official designation on all the court and legal documents. There were so many children in need of homes; they only provided numbers to keep track of each of us at Casa Los Nińo's, a state run orphanage. How peculiar I thought to be identified only as a number. Your name gives you identity, defines where you belong within a family and a community. My mind wondered, thinking of other people in other times that were reduced to a number, without identity, to be categorized and kept track of forever. Yet strangely, I had always felt a sense of security, a sense of belonging, but always a twinge that there was and continues to be a connection to another place and to some other people. I kept turning the pages, committed to reading the journal in its entirety, on this day, my birthday.
The beauty of the city of Lima was punctuated with the Shinning Path, Guzman's terrorist group, tanks in the streets, transformers being exploded. Between these implausible entries, more mundane events were documented. There was waiting for paperwork to weave its way through the bureaucracy of two governments, trying to effectively communicate, shopping at the Mercado for the day's food, waiting always waiting. Patience and tenacity were words that echoed throughout the 50 page manuscript.
The passage through the journal's pages was surreal. With each page, I felt transported to the moment the entry reflected. Between the entries, though never written, I could feel my mom's commitment and determination. It was palpable. She was determined that the life of possibilities that were ahead were mine to be had, no matter the current obstacles she needed to navigate.
My sweet sixteen birthday was truly a "birth" day that provided transparency to the genesis of my life and the direction I am determined to pursue. It was a defining moment to understand the events of my birth, and the sacrifices that were made, both by my birthmother and my mom. My birthday epitomized my journey from a developing country steeped in ancient history and lore to the beautiful Pacific Northwest. There was a sudden spark of renewed appreciation of the history of a tangible item, a yellow blanket, and the memories and comfort it can provide a small child.
The significance of these events was defining and now an intricate part of who I am. I have a more complete understanding of myself, my inquisitive nature, my love of exploring and always learning. I have been given the gift of life literally twice. The gifts and talents I cultivate, my education and how I reach forward to honor the past will be the gifts I give in return.