A Window from within Part 1

It was asked of me by a regular and welcome visitor to my blog I esteem as a friend, to expand the understanding about me a little more concerning my occasional references to adoption. As I read the questions that were posed of me I felt that it would be good to answer them from the perspective that I, as an adopted one, might be able to shed some light on this whole experience as I saw and see it.

From my earliest recollections, I do remember being told I was adopted. I don't recall it affected me adversely much at all, but I must have asked questions as I do recall being a very inquisitive child, and that certainly still holds true to the present. I asked some additional questions about what it must have been to be adopted. My adopted mother Grace, whose answer I remember as though she told me only yesterday, though it is now 38 years ago, said, "that {being adopted} means that we chose you, we wanted you to be our son". I felt special, though did not know the impact of what that meant then. Grace, was a younger sister to my birth mother, whose name was Vera. As I was told, I was adopted out to Grace because I posed some significant health risks to Vera whilst I was in-utero, and then I was classed as a blue baby when I was born. I recall that there was some speculation that either Vera or me could have died at the time due to some health related abnormalities. However, we both survived the diagnosis. Though owing to Vera's weakened condition and inability to adequately care for me at that time, I was offered to Grace & Allen to raise. This is a fairly common practice among polynesians called whangai. (pronounced Farng eye). Fearing a later change in heart and mind from Vera, Grace requested that the exchange be formalised legally, and so I became a legally adopted person. My birth name was Craig Stephens and then I became a Peihopa.

As I grew I remember having Mum and Dad telling me that we were getting a new sister. We were about to adopt a girl from, now follow me here, my birth sister Shona. So I went to New Zealand and I vividly remember being asked by a judge in the Auckland courthouse if I would be happy about getting a sister. Kayleena was my sister legally, and then she was also my niece by birth. Strange ha! So this was my life growing up. There were occasional highlights. My adopted dad Allen, and I had a bit of a strange relationship. Nothing weird, just I only have three very fun happy memories of being with him. He was a sickly man often, and it is my older suspicion that he had a subtle feeling of inadequacy concerning my parentage. I think it is harder for a man or a guy to accept someone else's children. I knew he loved me, BUT, there was a but, I won't expand further because I respect that It perhaps rests only in my mind and may have little bearing in the truth. It is almost as though as I type this, I can feel Allen over my shoulder saying, "NO, it was never like that." So I will accept that and leave it there. Having said that though, it is never an issue for me with other people's children. Not even in the slightest.

After Allen died in 1979, incidentally he died the latter end of that year, the same year my birth father Maurice died as well. I answered the phone to have a woman ask me a number of questions and then I gave the phone to Mum Grace and she was on the phone for almost two hours as I recall. She laughed, she cried and seemed breathless. At the conclusion of the call Mum Grace sat me down and explained how she had become a young mother prior to her marriage with Allen. It caused her much sadness to be forced to adopt the child out. The woman on the call was her daughter that she had to give up when the child was born. Annette had "found" her after some 30 years of searching and was coming to meet us. Annette and her husband Dave now live near Mum Grace and have become assimilated into our lives as though they were never ever apart. We don't always agree on things, and we find fault with each other sometimes, but we are a family.

Vera and I had the chance to meet a couple of times without anyone else around and it was a lovely experience. It is hard sometimes being with someone who is your actual mother and you have never really talked to her. Things like What do I say? What do I talk about? feature prominently in one's inner mind monologue. The first question I remember asking once she relaxed on one of these occasions was "what time of the day was I born?" She laughed and said, "How do I know! I have no idea Craig." Strangely, I was glad she said that. I thought later that if she answered a time I would have been sceptical and doubtful.

Fast forward to the Reunion in 2002. It was over the Easter weekend and was originally for the family of my Mother's plural. I was invited but it was never expressed to me that if I don't go, I would be the only Stephen's living child who didn't go. I think they were conscious of not wanting to "force" me to go. Something deep within me wouldn't let me leave this alone. I couldn't get it out of my head. So I rang Qantas and found out how many frequent flyer miles I had and then cashed some in and flew to New Zealand. It was a very emotional time. I cried at the drop of hat at certain moments throughout that weekend. Suffice it to say that I have never felt or experienced that raft of human emotion before or since and it was a very poignant and transcendent moment in my life. Vera was very ill and died within 12 months after the event. She spoke to me in front of Grace one night in just a small moment saturated with significance and emotion for me, when she leaned over to me and said in a soft but strong voice "no matter what, you are still my son, I am still your mother and I love you." It was a humbling moment I shall not forget. There were so many moments over this weekend that I am sure you would love to hear about but there isn't time or opportunity to share it all, but let me simply add, that being with almost 400 direct family members was amazing. It was a special moment to experience that of all my brothers and sisters, of which I am the youngest, we could have filled in each others sentences. It was uncanny to me. We thought and felt similar, and yet were uniquely different. It ranks amongst the greatest events of my life.

For those who are not Maori and have no understanding of a Marae - or gathering place, or it's significance to a tribe or family, you may miss the significance and protocols that exist in this sacred and traditional atmosphere, but they added strength and dignity to a wonderful event. To the Maori people we believe that the dead are not really dead, simply gone from amongst us to another place, and the Marae is a place that their photos, their strength, bonds, hopes and dreams still live on in, and in a metaphysical sense they do, in us. In such a setting, it is customary that people get up in the environment and speak their mind. No sheets of prepared speeches, just speak from the heart. There are tears, laughter, and an outpouring of love. In this Marae setting one of my brothers arose and rebuked politely the two mothers and said in essence; "We blame you two for this, He (meaning me) is our brother and it was never said how we should treat him or even acknowledge him and as such we have ignored our connection for far too long and it ends today", then turning to me he said with tear stained cheeks, "Brother, Welcome home." then he sat down. I was a mess, and found as I looked around the room many others were also. There were about 70 people in the room. The other family members were milling on the outside. It was a very special event that stretched on for hours. As the rain gently started to fall I felt they were my tears also, and perhaps even the tears of my ancestors welcoming me back as well. I have included a You Tube video on a Powhiri - welcome onto the Marae from someone else in Queenstown to give you an idea of what it is like. Please ignore the laughing of the tourists, it is highly disrespectful but can understand when the significance and symbolism of this event was not explained to those watching beforehand. I wanted to at least give you a sense of the welcome we received going on to our ancestral lands of the marae.


My life changed that day. It never occurred to me that being adopted ever affected me so much but I had chips on both shoulders, I always thought it meant I was well balanced. Go figure!

Since that time my brothers and sisters have embraced me and I have them. I love them and feel their love for me. I am truly a fortunate son, who has the love of two families and feels that I became free on the Easter weekend 2002. Free to air the closet. There are no more skeletons left now. Many people do not understand this feeling, and unless you have walked in my shoes through this path it would be difficult to grasp fully, but just know that I am a better person for having been there.

On adoption generally, I feel for Grace and am sensitive to ensure she never feels that I have walked away from her, I respect and love her. My thoughts and prayers are with her for this weeks hasty operation. As V2T observed, it is a rich journey in human emotion. I am proud and grateful for my Maori and family heritage. I don't wear it on my sleeve per se, but it is in my heart and soul and is an ever guiding influence in my life.

Our entire family, brothers and sisters have only been together fully twice in the history of our family, spanning many years. The picture below is the first time it occured at the reunion. I didn't take the picture but I enhanced it and created what you see, the one above is the second time we were together in 2005. Again, I didn't take the picture but the background, the shadows and many other elements in the image I created. Whilst I will be there in March for the weekend, not all of us will be there together, but I look forward to it nonetheless.

In hindsight may I add, that the well meaning decisions and choices we make on behalf of another living being, like choosing and deciding to adopt, or in the case of the "Stolen Generation" which were taken forcibly, a gesture which this nation formally apologised for the other day, has far reaching ramifications on the lives of those affected.

One of my brothers has said to me I wish you could just get over it, and I have, but his comment reflects his inability to comprehend the irrevocable impact it has made on mine and John's lives. (John is another brother who was adopted). I raise this example not to criticise, but to highlight the fact that the ripples in the pond from a decision made on behalf of another person, irrespective of age and circumstance, continue to ripple through the persons very life fabric. It can affect your sense of self worth, and your scope of, and understanding of life. I think in my case and also in some cases of the "stolen generation", that I was given to a better life, my opportunities and life experience has not hindered me at all, in fact it has been a great and tremendous blessing. I accept that what I have had in my life would not have happened had I stayed at home with my birth family, but for many years, in the back of my mind I was always thinking why did my Mother not want me, even if she was sick, why didn't she fight for me? Am I not worth it? Who the Hell am I?

I do not condemn her even remotely, but my heart goes out to the people who are adopted and who have struggled with questions their whole lives. We all throw them to the back of our minds, but they are there. It causes me to think often about how a choice or decision I make today will affect those around me and going forward how it will affect all of our lives. I think overall that adoption can be a great blessing to the lives of people who want children and may be unable to have them of their own accord, and I think in the case of a great many children, myself included, that their lives will be greatly enriched and blessed by the whole process.

I know and have seen the pain that exists in the eyes and hearts of mothers who were "forced" to give up and adopt their children, never knowing where they are or how their lives turned out, I also know the pain and heartache it can be for those who were adopted and never know who their parents are and the inevitable question which can eat at everyone is WHY? I remember being in a car at 11pm parked on the roadside next to my birth fathers grave and through the pouring rain spoke to
him and wondered if he cared about me, or if he was proud of me. I never got to know while he was alive.
So, in my case I have bade farewell to the question of WHY and I now live more peacefully, no chips on the shoulders and I plan to light up the sky in my own little way.
I am a fortunate son and a proud dad.