Moses & Muhammad walk into a bar…

a blog about identity

Can’t help but wonder…

why do people need a happy ending?

Why is it that people, especially women it seems, so desperately want to believe that good exists? Not only do they seem to need to believe it, they are pretty persistent that I believe it too.

Now, mind you, this doesn’t upset me. I just find it, well, interesting. But more on that later.

Here’s what happened after I landed in NYC to begin my new life with my new family…

Not a whole lot, really. I slept, drank bottles, liked the swing, and soiled my nappies – probably prettier similar to what I was doing with my original family. My adoptive parents converted me to Judaism via an orthodox conversion process (for all you knowledgeable Jews out there) and life continued.

Until the doorbell rang.
Which it did.
Just a few months later.

To this day, I have been told only two things about that visit. The first is a story my adoptive mother told me since I was a young girl:

There I (adoptive mom) was, giving you a bottle with your sister playing at my feet. I was on the phone with your Aunt M. And she was complaining — ‘you never tell me anything! I don’t know what’s going on with you!’ But what was going on? Nothing. I had a baby and a toddler and then the doorbell rang. I called M. back and said “well, you wanted me to tell you what’s going on? They want Loren back.”

That day my adoptive parents were served with legal papers to reclaim their rightful daughter.

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