A Mother's Day Message - About Adoption

About a year ago I built a facebook page and within a month I received an email asking if I was born on a particular date and if I was adopted. The fact was…yes I was born on that date and… yes I am adopted.


They were searching for a girl born to a young woman in 1967 who gave up her child so that the child would have a chance at having a good life in a home with two parents. This mother to this day thinks about her daughter daily and would do almost anything to find her. I was not that daughter.

In the process of responding to this inquiry I had an ongoing conversation with the friend who explained that the mother feels so badly about giving up her child that to this day she worries about her. I wrote her back asking her to forward this message to her:

When I was a little girl the first book I learned how to read was about adoption. The book taught that when a child was adopted they were chosen. They were chosen to be special children who could bring happiness to a family and they were chosen to be loved by more than one mommy.

In grade school I was very open about being adopted. I remember a classmate of mine, Mary, talking to me during recess one day and she asked me if it was weird being adopted. I said “no, I was chosen…I know that my parents want me because they chose me.”

In high school I wondered about my birth mother and by 18 I wondered how a mother could give up a child. At 21 I was asked at a retreat how I felt about my birth mother, I responded "she gave me life, and then she gave me 'a' life by giving me up for adoption.

At 25 I dreamed of having a child, and understood the responsibilities of having one...thus gaining a new respect for my birth mother. At 31 the desire to have a child dissolved, the realization of financial stability & relationship stability and its importance to raising a child was understood much more clearly and wanting to have both of those things before bringing a child into the picture became imperative.


At 35 I started looking into adopting a child myself. At 38 I started photographing children released from custody for adoption and realized how many beautiful children desire to be loved and to be ‘chosen’.

Now at 42, I know and understand that wherever my birth mother is, whatever she is doing, thinking, or feeling...that I appreciate her more than words can ever convey...


She gave me life…and then she gave me 'a' life.

My adoptive parents gave me a great childhood with a stable home on a dairy farm, a dog, cats, and plenty of fresh air. I had parents who loved each other and danced in the kitchen. We went to church every Sunday, I had a tree house, and as many trips to the library as I wanted for books upon books upon books.

I had nice cloths (not name brands...but nice) I had a great education, an older brother (also adopted), and a full extended family.  I went to college and my parents never stepped on my dreams...in fact they built them.


I have had my own business for over 15 years now and even though I never married and don't have kids of my own, I feel like my life is full.


Hate for my birthmother...was never...never...never an emotion I felt as an adopted child.

Desire to someday meet her...came on and off during the years.

Just because an adopted child may not be looking for the birth mother doesn't mean that they don't have love or interest in their birth mother. It may simply mean that they had a nice childhood, a wonderful family that surrounds them, and may be afraid that they could 'interrupt' the birth mothers life. Every case is unique, every situation is different...but I truly believe in my heart of hearts that a birth mother who chooses to give up her child for any reason...does it with love.

I am publishing this letter and article this mother’s day in memory of both of my mom’s. My mom Mary (and dad Francis) who adopted me despite the Catholic adoption services warnings that there might be health problems…and for the mother I’ve never met.

After I graduated from high school my mom started asking me almost every Mother’s day if I thought about the woman who gave birth to me on that day. My answer was always…yes. Then the next question almost always followed…so if she ever gets into contact would you want to meet her? The answer was also the same…yes.

Each year as I said those two yes’s I could see the small tear in her eyes. I explained that I want to say thank you to my birth mother…because without her giving me life…I would have never been loved by you.

To all the birth mothers out there who wonder if we think about you on Mother’s day…we do. Happy Mother’s Day and thank you for giving us life.

To the mother’s who chose to raise a child…Thank you and Happy Mother’s Day…without you so many children would be like the kids I photograph for Adoption Resources of Wisconsin … all they really really want is a family that they belong to and a mommy who can love them and tuck them in at night.

My mom died of cancer over 10 years ago now. I held her hand and counted the seconds between each breath. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think about both my Mom Mary, and my birthmother. God gave me a special gift by being born to one and raised by another that gift has a name in our society…adoption.

Cars, Bras, & Shoes

There are three things I truly don’t like to shop for: Cars, bras, and shoes…in that order.


I am thinking that the car manufactures of the world have had some big meeting in the last few years … and no … I’m not talking about the one that they drove to in Washington DC. The meeting and consensus was on the color and style of cars they decided to put on the market in the last 4-5 years.

I’d like to know what the difference is really between one SUV and another…have you test driven any of these…they are all so similar.

Tonight I stood in yet another car lot with a really nice sales guy and we looked down a row of…oh I don’t know 40 cars…all silver! I live in WI most of the year…guess what color our sky is here over ¼ of the year? If you said overcast and silverfish…you would be right! Why would anyone really want to blend in with the sky? Are we really that monochromatic?

I have always known that I am different and that I like different things. Heck the last house I owned…no off white paint anywhere in the entire house!

We live in a virtual colorless society. Off white walls, black or silver cars/SUV’s/Trucks (oh I should mention that there is still a smattering of Yo Police officer clock my speed Red) and food with so much preservative that you have to add spice to everything just to give it flavor.

I know…I’m being melodramatic. I’m just so annoyed. The guy who ran the stop sign and trashed my car…he got a ticket for blowing the stop sign…but no ticket for speeding…there is no way that he was only driving 25mph when he hit me. There were no skid marks or digs from his tires in the road…which means he never even attempted to slow down before he hit me. His truck? He can buff out the baby blue paint that was left on his bumper.

Okay one more major complaint dealing with this accident…I am so annoyed with people suggesting that I buy a ‘safe’ vehicle this time.
Look…I’m bruised and beat up because the seat belts pinned me into my seat. (Good thing in this case because I would have smacked my head on the car roof when the car landed after flying through the air like a lady bug on a warm sunny day.) If I had been in a SUV or any other larger vehicle…I would simply be DEAD.

Those little buggers hug tight to the road. SUV’s from my viewing experience do not make sharp turns quickly…they roll. I’m not even sure you can make a sharp turn with one of those – I guess I might find out considering there are no real interesting vehicles out there to choose from. When my eyes locked with the guy who decided that stop signs aren’t really valid…just a suggestion… I slammed on my gas petal, turned hard to the right and hoped that I could out maneuver him. I sort of did. He caught the back drivers side tail which spun my car back to the South. What really killed my car was hitting that culvert in the ditch and lofting the car like a Chitty Chitty Bang Bang car into the air. Landing a bugger isn’t that easy to do without taking out the majority of the under casement that protects the engine.

I went back to the scene of the crime this afternoon…there are pieces of my car all over the ditch line.

I am in mourning of my cute, little, gas friendly, very safe, convertible bug.

my bugger in happier days.

Oh...the bras and shoes comment. I own lots of bras...why? Bras are like underwear that creep up when you least expect it. There are bras for dating, there are bras for comfort, there are bras that are supper tight so that when you are working out that the girls don't flop around...there are bras that make you feel sexy, and bras that you buy just for work...but finding all those bras is work and then they don't last very long or after you wear them so many times...they just don't work anymore.

Shoes ... if you have large feet you understand that comment. Just like the car companies some group of people who manufacture shoes decided that the only women who deserve cute, sexy, and comfortable shoes are tiny. Finding a pair of women's shoes that fit and I want to keep on my feet for more than an hour is like finding a needle in a hay sack and the needle you are looking for is green.

Thus cars, bras, and shoes all go in the same category...a pain in the _ _ _ to shop for.

Hummm...I think I should take my un-comfy bras and worn out shoes over to my car and bury them with it...then I can mourn all the money spent, repairs made, and good times had all together at once. Hummm.

Home Run Shay

I didn't write this...a wonderful person emailed it to me.  I wanted to pass it on the best way I could...thus I'm putting it in my blog.

Two Choices What would you do?....you make the choice.

Don't look for a punch line, there isn't one. Read it anyway.

My question is: Would you have made the same choice?

At a fundraising dinner for a school that serves children with learning disabilities, the father of one of the students delivered a speech that would never be forgotten by all who attended. After extolling the school and its dedicated staff, he offered a question: 'When not interfered with by outside influences, everything nature does, is done with perfection. Yet my son, Shay, cannot learn things as other children do. He cannot understand things as other children do.

Where is the natural order of things in my son?' The audience was stilled by the query. The father continued. 'I believe that when a child like Shay,who was mentally and physically disabled comes into the world, an opportunity to realize true human nature presents itself, and it comes in the way other people treat that child.'

Then he told the following story: Shay and I had walked past a park where some boys Shay knew were playing baseball. Shay asked, 'Do you think they'll let me play?' I knew that most of the boys would not want someone like Shay on their team, but as a father I also understood that if my son were allowed to play, it would give him a much-needed sense of belonging and some confidence to be accepted by others in spite of his handicaps. I approached one of the boys on the field and asked (not expecting much) if Shay could play. The boy looked around for guidance and said, 'We're losing by six runs and the game is in the eighth inning. I guess he can be on our team and we'll try to put him in to bat in the ninth inning.' Shay struggled over to the team's bench and, with a broad smile, put on a team shirt. I watched with a small tear in my eye and warmth in my heart.

The boys saw my joy at my son being accepted. In the bottom of the eighth inning, Shay's team scored a few runs but was still behind by three. In the top of the ninth inning, Shay put on a glove and played in the right field. Even though no hits came his way, he was obviously ecstatic just to be in the game and on the field, grinning from ear to ear as I waved to him from the stands. In the bottom of the ninth inning, Shay's team scored again. Now, with two outs and the bases loaded, the potential winning run was on base and Shay was scheduled to be next at bat. At this juncture, do they let Shay bat and give away their chance to win the game? Surprisingly, Shay was given the bat.

Everyone knew that a hit was all but impossible because Shay didn't even know how to hold the bat properly, much less connect with the ball. However, as Shay stepped up to the plate, the pitcher, recognizing that the other team was putting winning aside for this moment in Shay's life, moved in a few steps to lob the ball in softly so Shay could at least make contact.

The first pitch came and Shay swung clumsily and missed. The pitcher again took a few steps forward to toss the ball softly towards Shay. As the pitch came in, Shay swung at the ball and hit a slow ground ball right back to the pitcher. The game would now be over.

The pitcher picked up the soft grounder and could have easily thrown the ball to the first baseman. Shay would have been out and that would have been the end of the game. Instead, the pitcher threw the ball right over the first baseman's head, out of reach of all team mates. Everyone from the stands and both teams started yelling, 'Shay, run to first! Run to first!' Never in his life had Shay ever run that far, but he made it to first base. He scampered down the baseline, wide-eyed and startled. Everyone yelled, 'Run to second, run to second!' Catching his breath, Shay awkwardly ran towards second, gleaming and struggling to make it to the base. B y the time Shay rounded towards second base, the right fielder had the ball .

The smallest guy on their team who now had his first chance to be the hero for his team. He could have thrown the ball to the second-baseman for the tag, but he understood the pitcher's intentions so he, too, intentionally threw the ball high and far over the third-baseman's head. Shay ran toward third base deliriously as the runners ahead of him circled the bases toward home. All were screaming, 'Shay, Shay, Shay, all the Way Shay' Shay reached third base because the opposing shortstop ran to help him by turning him in the direction of third base, and shouted, 'Run to third! Shay, run to third!' As Shay rounded third, the boys from both teams, and the spectators, were on their feet screaming, 'Shay, run home! Run home!' Shay ran to home, stepped on the plate, and was cheered as the hero who hit the grand slam and won the game for his team 'That day', said the father softly with tears now rolling down his face, 'the boys from both teams helped bring a piece of true love and humanity into this world'.

Shay didn't make it to another summer. He died that winter, having never forgotten being the hero and making me so happy, and coming home and seeing his Mother tearfully embrace her little hero of the day!

AND NOW A LITTLE FOOT NOTE TO THIS STORY: We all send thousands of jokes through the e-mail without a second thought, but when it comes to sending messages about life choices, people hesitate. The crude, vulgar, and often obscene pass freely through cyberspace, but public discussion about decency is too often suppressed in our schools and workplaces. If you're thinking about forwarding this message, chances are that you're probably sorting out the people in your address book who aren't the 'appropriate' ones to receive this type of message Well, the person who sent you this believes that we all can make a difference. We all have thousands of opportunities every single day to help realize the 'natural order of things.' So many seemingly trivial interactions between two people present us with a choice: Do we pass along a little spark of love and humanity or do we pass up those opportunities and leave the world a little bit colder in the process? A wise man once said every society is judged by how it treats it's least fortunate amongst them. You now have two choices: 1. Delete 2. Forward May your day, be a Shay Day

Missing Mail

I go to my mail box every day just like I did as a kid. It was a treat to be the one who got to run down our (what seemed to be really long) drive way to ‘get the mail’. It was like a daily holiday that you could get an unexpected little gift of a card or a letter from someone. As a pre-teen, teen, and well past my college years I had pen pals. They were friends I made when I was at summer camp or on 4-H trips, then bands, and eventually college. Long letters…typically hand written, were exchanged about once a month. It was wonderful and still brings a smile to my face thinking about those letters.




When I was in college I wouldn’t even wait to get back up to my dorm room…I’d sit down in the lobby near the mail boxes, tear into the envelope, and saturate my brain with whatever my friend was writing to tell me about.



I guess that one of the reasons Facebook and Twitter, and online newsletters have become so popular among almost everyone is that same little feeling pops up when you get an email or a comment from a ‘friend’ who you haven’t chatted with in a long time.



Here is the only problem. Because we send each other quick little electronic messages…the depth, emotion, and well…let’s be honest… the connected-ness has decreased dramatically.



If we are also truly honest…one of the best parts of our birthday… is going to the real mail box that is hung on our house, at the end of our drive way, or down in the common lobby at the complex we live in to see if anyone loved us enough to ‘send’ a card.



Thanks to computers and color printers we have reduced our letter writing to a once a year family ‘newsletter’ that we send out instead of a card with a hand written letter that is actually written from one person to another.



Heart felt messages have been replaced with electronic babble.



When was the last time you got an actual card, or letter, with an actual note or letter written to you?

Have Camera Make Money Seminar

Last weekend I was at the STUN groups Heavy Metal photo shoot. The shoot was fantastic...over 100 photographers, 50 models, and a metal fabricating factory as a backdrop. The hair and makeup people did a great job and I think that everyone who attended truly enjoyed the hard work that Mark Anderson and Jaci Anderson put into organizing the event.

The reason I bring all of this up is a conversation that I had with a young man who listened into a number of conversations I was having with various photographers throughout the day. His question to me was this "why are you willing to share so much information so freely?"

My answer was this, 'I've been a professional photographer for over 20 years. It amazes me that photographers in my position would be stingy with the information they have obtained over years of experience. I think it is important to share what I know.'

He then asked "but aren't you kind of training your competition?" My answer to this question (which is asked a lot) is always the same...'I'm not training my competition or yours. YOU are your biggest competition. YOU decide when you get out of bed in the morning if you are going to make those cold calls, YOU decide if you are going to edit that wedding or design that album. YOU decide if you are going to network, update your facebook profile with useful information, or book yourself into a wedding show. It does not matter what JOE down the street is doing...he is not YOU. YOU have your own personality, your own style, your own brand...no one competes with that more than you do.'

If you are thinking about attending one of my seminars...stop thinking and sign up! Look, if you learn one trick, one piece of the psychology that helps you sign more contracts, one thing that tightens your time frame on doing formals at the wedding site...YOU have made yourself a better brand. http://www.az.weddingherald.com/ SIGN UP NOW!