USA: Johna Ferguson's Shock of a Lifetime

. PORTLAND, Maine / Time Goes By / The Elder Storytelling Place / September 2, 2009 The Shock of a Lifetime By Johna Ferguson It’s been so long I can’t remember the exact words from that afternoon, but at the time I thought my life had been shattered into hundreds of unbearably sharp shards that would never again fall into place. My sister, three-and-a-half years older, and I were spending a few weeks with our parents at a friend’s beach house. They had one daughter, a little older than my sister, so she included my sister in her group of friends. There was no on my age, then 12, to play with so my mother had told my sister to let me tag along to watch the boys playing tennis at courts down the beach. Those girls were just becoming interested in boys, but I liked tennis so thought it might be fun. I guess I was dawdling too slowly and my sister turned and yelled at me, “Hurry-up slowpoke or we’ll leave you behind.” I retorted, “I’ll tell mother if you do.” Her reply then sent my head into a tailspin. “You stupid child, don’t you know she isn’t really our mother and I am not really your sister.” I was shocked and didn’t understand. Dumbly I followed the group and somehow lived through the tennis matches, all the time wondering if this could this be true and if so what to do. Should I confront my loving parents for the true facts, but I thought if they never told me, I’d better not bother them. I wondered if my close friend knew, or if this was a secret kept from the neighbors, but then how did my sister find out about it? All these thoughts went through my mind, oh so confusing, but I decided to keep them hidden deep and somehow live through it. Middle-school was starting soon and I could maybe become a new person. I decided to ask my parents to change my given name, Joanna. I never liked it and now I liked it less. They agreed providing they liked the name I fancied. I chose the name Johna, for my father’s name was John. When I enrolled in middle school, I just registered with my new name and no one ever questioned me about it. Anyway, all my friends and family called me Jo. Still I wondered where I came from, but decided to forget it; I just buried it deeper and deeper until I almost forgot about it. But then in 8th grade we took health and again those endless questions resurfaced. We touched on genetics; how two blue-eyed parents couldn’t have a brown-eyed child, but could have a blue-eyed one. My parents had blue eyes, as did my sister. I had brown ones. My mother had blond curly hair and so did my sister. But again, I just buried those facts and never questioned my parents. As my mother lay near dying, she told me where the key to her safe deposit box was and that I would find my birth certificate there. She thought it was time I saw it. I went the next day to check into the contents of the box, and there in an envelope addressed to me by my deceased father, was all the telling evidence; not only my adoption papers but also those of my sister plus just my birth certificate. My name was listed as Joanna Watson. No I never tried to trace that elusive mother, but I am glad that years before I had changed my given name for I felt I truly belonged to my adoptive parents. [rc] © 2009 Ronni Bennett.