Yesterday being the end of the work week for me, I luxuriated in the joys of browsing endlessly before going to bed. I caught up on the news flitting from webzine to webzine and the snippets and excerpts from Walter Issacson’s biography of Steve Jobs caught my eye. Intrigued, I hopped over to Amazon and looked up the price of the biography. “Hmm! Must get a copy” I thought even as I spied the link to a preview of the first chapter on the web kindle edition.
What started as an innocuous web browsing experience led to some serious thinking. After reading the story of his adoption and subsequent impact on his personality I googled Steve Job’s father. Link after link turned up spewing the life story of his biological father. Now I was definitely disturbed. What about the parents who raised him or the sister who grew up with him I wondered. Or even his biological mother or sister? It took some digging to find whatever sparse information there was.
I shut the laptop down and lay back wondering what it meant for my children. The words Real, Original, First swam in and out of my mind’s eye. As an adoptive parent I often forget the adoptive part. I focus on the verb. The act of parenting. Kay and Cee are my children. Period. I am well aware that they have parents who gave birth to them. They are no less important or relevant. Often the only person I feel who shares my joy at our girls growth and milestones are their other mother. We are equals. No more. No less. Each having a role in our children’s lives.
So, why was this media obsession with Steve Job’s birth father bothering me? Was it because he was of Arab descent? Was the ethnicity that was driving the frenzy? Or was it the ingrained societal conditioning that blood trumped all else?
What do you think?