In the mid 90’s a popular quote from Africa that was used as a title for a book by Hillary Clinton entitled “It Takes a Village to Raise a Child” I often feel as if someone in Africa has me in mind when they coined that phrase.
You see I find myself in an inimitable position here, for most of the year life kind of takes me where it wants to go with business as usual. But then comes May, the month that we set aside the second Sunday to honor mothers. Early in my youth this was an easy process. In kindergarten I recall making my mom a candle that we made in class by pouring wax into sand at the communal sand box. I hid this precious gift in our pickup truck under the seat so no one would find it. Yeah this was the 1964 Ford Pickup that hauled all six of us around where ever we went. No seat belts back then, but with 4 kids and two adults; I doubt there was really a need for belts to be worn. Many a time I recall being the one sitting on the passenger floorboard between someone’s legs as we drove down the road hitting every bump and pothole along the way. At least it was warm down there all balled up next to the heater.
In any case I recall bringing my mother that candle and how I had made her the happiest person alive. In retrospect I think it was more of an act because she reacted the same way whenever I made pancakes for my parents in the morning. These, in my opinion, were the worst tasting pancakes ever, but my parents always complemented me on such wonderful pancakes they were. I later found out that they would throw them out the window for the dogs to eat.
As a little child, the praise and affection received from my mother was by far and away the best gift I could ever have. In 1st grade my mother would walk about a mile to pick me up from the bus stop because the bus wouldn’t go all the way to our house. Often times she would bring a small treat for me and I would stop half way, sit in this large red rock and eat my treat before continuing on home.
Later when I got involved in band, sports and theatre, she would make it a point to attend these events and support me. Not a small feat considering our closest school competitors were 3 hours away.
While in college, my father, who had gotten divorced while I was in Junior High got remarried to who was to become my second mom. I suppose I lucked out in the karma department because Zora Bell turned out to be a wonderful second mother. She was nothing like the proverbial ‘Wicked redheaded stepmother” that many a horror story is coined. Although she did drive a diesel powered Peugeot that, if you were stuck behind it for 2 hours on your way to the ocean, gave you one iniquitous headache.
I think what impressed me the most was that she understood that I already had a mother and she never tried to replace her. She was just there and she did what she did, I did what I did and from there we learned more about each other and the relationship grew without it being forced upon either one of us. Of course it helped that she too knew how to cook a decent meal and had cable television.
Life when on for another ten years and I was content with my two mother. I guess I could add another mother in here, but my first marriage only lasted a couple of year and during this time I did consider Starr my third mother. Starr lived an interesting life and her perspective about it will always stay with me. Sadly her best advice usually came while we were hanging out in one of the local bars.
But what happened next would change my life forever. In late 1999 Oregon passed a law that allowed adoptee’s access to their original birth certificates. Having grown up I always knew I was adopted, kind of a no brainer since both my parents were white and, as my mom recall’s me telling her, “our eyes don’t match”. I was always encouraged to seek out my parents if I ever felt the need or desire. So, when the law was passed, I applied and received my original birth certificate with the name of my birth mother listed there. The day I got that letter was one of those days that you never forget. After opening the letter and staring at it for about an hour, I recall getting on the internet and going through every conceivable database and search engine in hopes that I could locate her. I had returned back to college, was about to graduate and it was my desire to find her so she could see me graduate.
Sadly graduation day came and I was not able to locate. Shortly afterwards, thanks in part to Ancerstory.com I was able to locate my birthmother’s sister who was able to reconnect me with my birthmother Lynn who was living in Texas. Lynn was able to fly up to Oregon to meet my other two mothers, share stories and get closure for all those years when Mother’s Day came and her not knowing if she made the correct decision to give me up for adoption.
Those of you who are keeping count, the mother index is now at 3. I have Libby who is #1 Mother, I have Zora Belle, who is #2 Mother and now I have Lynn who is the self proclaimed Mother #1.
And life is good for me…. until I moved down to San Diego and got married. In addition to being an adoptee, I discovered that my now wife is also an adoptee. Unlike me, Tess knew who her mother was since her birthmother had given Tess up to her sister. In her younger days my wife didn’t know that her aunt was her biological mother and her mother was actually her aunt. It wasn’t until later that she was told the truth, although many within the family already knew.
On September 20, 2003 my Mother count went from three to five. Which now means that whenever May rolls around it’s off the See’s Candy to get 5 boxes of the same chocolate, to Wal-Mart to get 5 Mother’s Day Cards (6 actually, if you count the card I get for my boys to give to their mother). Then on Sunday, it’s time to find my phone and spend the day calling all my mothers to wish then Happy Mother’s Day. Luckily, I only have to call four of them since one of them lives with us.
As I contemplate the quandary of having five mothers, I am blessed in knowing that I had a village raise me so as not to become the “Village Idiot” that is often talked about.
So, on this special day, I want to thank each every mother of mine and for all the countless others woman who have played a supporting role in raising me (and believe me, the number is a lot higher that most people know).
Thank you Libby, Zora Belle, Lynn, Victoria and Rosario.
Loving you always, your son,
Joseph “Mr. Nanay” Roley-Arzaga
