I remember being told as a young child when I was just learning how to swear, that the word bastard was a bad word. The person pushing this lie was my adoptive father Ken. Sometime within the next couple of decades, I figured out that Ken was an ass. Bastardy has been around for as long as people have been having sex. And I would assume that's a long time. It seems to have been a little more accepted in early settings than today. Back in medieval times, wives seemed to know that their husbands were raping and sleeping around while they were pillaging, and their wives accepted that fact. Men were, after all, men. Men haven't changed much in the past 1000 years, but soceity's attitudes toward bastards seems to.

Back in the good old days, Shakespeare himself allowed a bastard to speak in our defense. In King Lear, Edmund, son of the Earl of Gloucester, says

. . . . Why bastard? Wherefore base,
When my dimensions are as well compact,
My mind as generous, and my shape as true,
As honest madam's issue? Why brand they us
With base? with baseneess? Bastardy base? Base?
Who, in the lusty stealth of nature, take
More composition and fierce quality
Than doth, within a dull,stale, tired bed,
Go to the creating a whole tribe of fops
Got 'tween asleep and awake? Well, then,
Legitimate Edgar, I must have your land.
Our father's love is to the bastard Edmund
As to th'legitimate. Fine word, 'legitimate.'
....Now gods, stand up for bastards.

And indeed, Edmund was a nobler character than his legitimate brother.

But somewhere between 1610 and 1969, illegitimacy lost its positive glow. I would guess it had something to do with America's puritain streak. Across the ocean, and a mere few decades later, Pennsylvania law stated that "Children reputed to be Bastards" "should be proceeded against as for Adultery, or fornication." Even suspicion of bastardy made you an outcast, and even a criminal--all for the crime of having been born.

If being a bastard was bad, giving birth to one was worse. As recent as the 1970s, mothers were sent away to homes to give birth in what were essentially baby-induced labor camps. While fathers continued to just be men, women who got pregnant without the so-called benefit of marriage were pariahs. I know of certain family members of my adopted family that refer to themselves as christians--and ministers no less. They sent their daughter away to such a baby concentration camp to punish her for her sin. I am really ashamed of what those hypocritcal people--her own parents--did to my aunt.

So what's all this got to do with me? I'm a bastard too. And because of some people like Marley, Damsel Plum, and Shea (whose pages are a must read for any new searcher) I can now say that with pride. Bastard Nation was invented by Marley and Damsel to get people good and pissed, and yet the only people who seem to be offended by it are non-bastards! Most adoptees should be able to see the very dark humor at least. (Check out the adoptees favorite bumper stickers, at this link and you'll see what I mean .)

Like Shakespeare's Edmund, our bastardy is a part of our history. It is something that is stupid to deny or sweep under the rug. We are adopted, and we have good homes. Still, any adoptee will tell you that's not the whole story. We want our missing pieces.

Some people would say that because I think that adoption records should be opened, I'm bitter about having been adopted. They are missing the point altogether. I was adopted into a very happy home. I love my mother and sister infinitely. I even loved Ken until I was about 20. I received a good education and was even an Eagle Scout. I was so middle class, it was scary..... Still, I always wanted to know more. With every insulin shot that I took, I was reminded of my mother--who I knew was also a diabetic.

I was lied to by a social worker when I started my search for my mother at the age of 21. She told me not to bother searching, and that no one in Onondaga County had ever been reunited. The law was simply too complicated, she said, and I should just give up. I did. I thought for several years after that I would never get to meet my own mother, and that made me very sad.

One night after some of Joan's patented "Power Shakes" (gin and tonic, don't measure the gin) I just tried a Yahoo search for adoption and ended up back at the Bastard Nation. The stories woke me up and got me going again. A week later, I had non-identifying information. Three weeks later, I got a phone call from (in her words) "my other mother, Margaret."

Adoptees and fellow bastards, remember that:
-You have more to lose by not searching than by searching
-The statement that "If you search, then you don't love your adoptive parents" is FALSE.
-You can tell everyone you just want to know your medical history. That is the most socially accepted reason to search if you're not brave enough to say "I'm searching because I have the right to."
-Not every reunion may be happy. But knowing is always better than not knowing.
-Social workers are not necessarily your friends. They benefit from a closed system.
-You may be able to find a kind word of support from the alt.adoption newsgroup.
-I hit the jackpot. Your search may take longer than mine. Keep going anyway.

Whether or not you're a bastard, you can help too by writing a state legislator. Current adoption laws are written to protect bastards from our own parents. Isn't that a little crazy? After all, soceity says we are adults. I can drive, fight in wars, vote, and buy beer. I can teach students European and American History, and yet, if I were not reunited, I would not be able to know my own.

My bastard brothers and sisters, I truly recommend that you check Bastard Nation out, and I wish you the absolute best in your search.

Copyright Dave Sipley
My Homepage
One of the Founding Foundlings of Bastard Nation
Son of Joan, Margaret, and Mark
Brother of Kristin and Erika, Laura, Diana, Alison