The Beginning Had Just Begun (3)

I was almost 3 years old when I was legally adopted, around 2 when I was placed with my soon to be parents in their foster home. As I got older, the story of why I was placed up for adoption changed, at times I wondered what to believe, but thought that it changed with time and my maturity and ability to understand the true facts. I was told my birth mother couldn't afford to take care of me, that she left my brother and I at a neighbor's house and didn't come back for us. The neighbor not knowing what to do with us, called social services in Houston and then we became family of the state of Texas. The state didn't know what my name was, so, Jessica was my name given to me by Texas, even though it was Darlene at birth.

My memory goes way back, probably as far too when I was possibly 4 years old? There are short videos and images stuck way back in my head and as I've looked at pictures of me at those ages, I see a lot of resemblances. Talk about a memory, right?

My parents adopted my brother and I, he and I shared the same birth mother but had different fathers who were never in the story at all. We were told that they adopted us because my adopted mother couldn't have children of her own, well; she was pregnant when they took us to court to finalize our adoption.

When their biological son came, things and life would change, slowly but surely.

 Up until Matthew came, our little family did so much, we went to the zoo and I was in beauty pageants and I did so much with my mom and i was definitely Daddy's little girl.

I was told that I was independent, very much so and it showed in how I acted and interacted with people. I was to myself a lot, even with my brother being around and him being only a year younger than I, I was usually found playing by myself, entertaining myself which I was good at.

My adopted mother told me throughout my whole childhood that that I was so independent that I would never let her hold me; I wasn't the type to sit in her lap and cuddle. I wanted to be 'down' and on my own and left alone. She used to throw this memory at me, like I was supposed to personally remembering doing that as a toddler, even though I didn't and she make it sound like I did it on purpose to hurt her or something which I didn't.
 I would soon learn as an adult that there was theory for this, but until then, it would always remain a mystery, a painful one that was constantly thrown in my face as an excuse for so much. That part of the story would come later.

Things were definitely different when Matthew came along. As young as I can remember myself, I would start feeling the effects of 'jealousy' and being angry that Matthew would be and always would be treated differently. Matthew wasn't expected to do chores, to work, or to learn what 'no' meant. He was rarely disciplined during times when my brother and I would get whippings with a wooden rod across our bare back sides or on the backs of our legs.

My parents went to church and read the Bible, especially the adopted mother. She learned when I was 7 years old that when the Bible said 'spare the rod and spoil the child', it really meant to use a 'rod'. After using everything they could think of to discipline my brother and I with, from the wooden spoon, to dad's belt, they finally resorted to a thin wooden rod.
I will never forget the first time it was used on me. I had Matthew mad because he wouldn't leave my dolls alone, he threw a big fit and I being the oldest got into trouble for it and I was about to learn how awful that wooden rod was. I was already scared of it, I hated looking at it when it sat in its place on the back of the dryer in the laundry room. The adopted mother took me aside into the play room, told me to drop my shorts and I flat out refused to. I wasn't going to do it, I wasn't going to have that rod used on me. 10 minutes later, I found that no matter how much I threw myself on the floor, or if I put my hands behind me to protect me, she was going to swing anyways until I finally gave in and stood there and took my so called 'spanking'. I cried later, I cried then as it was happening but just enough to make her stop, I was sent to my bed, with welts on my backside, up and down the back of my thighs and worse, my hands would be swollen  because I would try to keep her from hitting me. I will never forget that, sitting on my bed, wondering how this was called ‘love’. I sat there and realized that from that moment on that I would dread that 'rod' and getting punished and my life was going to be miserable because of it.

As mentioned, my adopted parents went to church, they were my Sunday School teachers in kindergarten, we were always in and at church. My adopted parents were kind of famous there, always involved with something and because of it, so were us kids. I was in Children's Choir, Awanas, VBS, music camps, anything and everything the adopted mother had a hand in, I was in it. I really didn't have an option to do any of it, but I was glad to, I loved music, singing and being in drama. It was proving to be an outlet for me, a place where I could feel comfortable doing what I was good at.

Our family was always busy with church, and because of it, my parents socialized a lot. We were always going to other people's houses for cookouts and other friends would babysit us as their children and my brothers and I were usually close in age. We had good times hanging out with these people and life seemed normal and I started to get used to it. But, things would change and the beginning had just began. 

Until next time, be blessed and Inspire to Make A Difference!

~The Adopted Child