Dear Mom

By Rob Wright

My adopted parents told me that a policeman found me on a street corner in Tokyo, Japan, and that I told him I was waiting for my mama to come back to get me. I don’t know how long he waited with me on that corner, but I ended up in a Catholic-run orphanage and never saw Mama again.

Wonderment (as expected) has been present throughout my life: when I joined the navy and couldn’t provide a birth certificate and every time I see a new doctor and they ask about my family medical history. Every year when I legally turn one year older, I wonder when my real birthday is. And exactly where was I born? I think that as with most adopted children, the question that haunts me most is why? Was I such a terrible little boy that neither my mother nor father wanted to put up with me? And knowing how much the Asian culture desires sons, why didn’t my parents want me anymore? Was it because I was so small they figured I wouldn’t be of much help on the farm, and I would only be another mouth to feed? My adopted mother told me that my dialect was that of someone who lived in the country, probably on a farm. I’ve probably seen too many movies, but to this day, I can picture Mama putting up a good front while taking me into the city, finding a busy street where no one would notice what she was doing, then telling me to be a good boy and that she would be back to get me. And as she turned away, walking slowly at first so as not to create a scene or possibly having a change of heart but then running and weeping harder and harder, the farther she got from me.

As I journey through the last half of my life, I would like to know if I have any siblings or relatives that I can someday arrange to meet. I hope that my mom is still alive, and I hope that she’s wondered about the son she left on that street corner. If not, in a way, this is probably just as much for me as it is for her.

I wonder if Mom ever went back to that corner and replayed those memories in her head or if she avoids it at all cost. I think I turned out a pretty good person, so I want to let my mom know the person I turned out to be and my journey getting here.

This is the story of my life to my mom.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 14, 2021
• ISBN: 9781664194243

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Copyright © 2021 by Rob Wright.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 09/09/2021

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CONTENTS

Preface

New Parents

Adoption

A New Country

Back In The USA

Oklahoma

Florida

United States Navy

Love

My Favorite Memories

A Little Bit About Me

About The Author

PREFACE

M y adopted parents told me that a policeman found me on a street corner in Tokyo, Japan, and that I told him I was waiting for my mama to come back to get me. I don’t know how long he waited with me on that corner, but I ended up in a Catholic-run orphanage and never saw Mama again.

Wonderment (as expected) has been present throughout my life: when I joined the navy and couldn’t provide a birth certificate and every time I see a new doctor and they ask about my family medical history. Every year when I legally turn one year older, I wonder when my real birthday is. And exactly where was I born? I think that as with most adopted children, the question that haunts me most is why? Was I such a terrible little boy that neither my mother nor father wanted to put up with me? And knowing how much the Asian culture desires sons, why didn’t my parents want me anymore? Was it because I was so small they figured I wouldn’t be of much help on the farm, and I would only be another mouth to feed? My adopted mother told me that my dialect was that of someone who lived in the country, probably on a farm. I’ve probably seen too many movies, but to this day, I can picture Mama putting up a good front while taking me into the city, finding a busy street where no one would notice what she was doing, then telling me to be a good boy and that she would be back to get me. And as she turned away, walking slowly at first so as not to create a scene or possibly having a change of heart but then running and weeping harder and harder, the farther she got from me.

As I journey through the last half of my life, I would like to know if I have any siblings or relatives that I can someday arrange to meet. I hope that my mom is still alive, and I hope that she’s wondered about the son she left on that street corner. If not, in a way, this is probably just as much for me as it is for her.

I wonder if Mom ever went back to that corner and replayed those memories in her head or if she avoids it at all cost. I think I turned out a pretty good person, so I want to let my mom know the person I turned out to be and my journey getting here.

This is the story of my life to my mom.

NEW PARENTS

T he man who adopted me was born and raised in a very small town in Oklahoma. He had five sisters and one brother. His brother was much older than him and was in the navy. Dad wanted to join the navy when he was old enough, but his teeth were too bad and was not accepted. Since the air force was relatively new (a new branch of service stemmed off the army), Dad was able to join. He learned the necessary skills and became an aerial photographer.

He was tall, even by American standards. Dad was 6’3". He had a very passive nature, but he could talk the ears off any stranger. Oddly, he and I didn’t speak much. He was neither a teacher nor a disciplinarian. He was not interested in playing sports or even watching sports. And even with all his physical attributes, he didn’t excel at any sport, but he was a good swimmer. I remember watching him swim when we would go to an indoor pool when we lived in Germany. He made it look so effortless. Maybe it was because of his height (or length in the pool). I used to think that God gave us the wrong bodies. I loved playing any sport, but football was my favorite. I was so small I wasn’t suited for any position other than kicker/punter, and I was awful at both of those. Dad and I were complete opposites in almost every aspect. He was tall, and I was short. He was extremely messy, and I am extremely anal. He didn’t care what he wore; I have three closets of clothes. He didn’t care if his shoes were polished; mine are almost always polished. He could strike up a conversation with a complete stranger, and I can have a difficult time making small talk with people I know.

As I mentioned, Dad was not a teacher/mentor. I remember when I was in sixth grade, I wanted to know what sex was. After asking Dad, he told me to look up intercourse in the dictionary. I did. I still didn’t know what it was after reading the definition. Eventually, I learned about sex from friends at school. He wasn’t a disciplinarian either. I remember how he would grit his teeth when he would get really mad. But hardly any action ever followed. Not Mom. She was quick to discipline.

There isn’t much more that I can tell you about him. We didn’t share very much, and we didn’t have any earth-shattering conversations about anything. We never even ever played catch. I wonder if he even knew how to throw a football. However, I did learn some valuable lessons from him through his examples. I learned to be honest, and growing up on a farm, I learned the necessity of being a hard worker. He was fair and just, so I learned to never judge someone before getting to know them. He showed me that we are