Sunday, 15 August 2010

15 August 1968: The day I won the lottery

The queen and I don't have much in common, but we do both celebrate two 'birthdays'. Forty-two years ago today, my mum and dad, John and Rita, collected three-month-old me from the Home for Catholic Friendless Children in Liverpool.

Obviously not everyone has had such a happy experience, but being adopted was a priceless gift to me. While a lot of parents seemed to treat their kids as an inconvenience, knowing how many hurdles my parents had to jump to get me made me realise just how wanted I was.

Something that always gets on my nerves in TV drama is when people become traumatised when they discover they were adopted. They always start blubbing about how they don't know who they are and how the relationship with the people they called 'mum' and 'dad' was nothing but a lie.

My mum and dad handled it differently – I can't remember being told I was adopted, but I never didn't know. And instead of feeling 'different', I felt 'special'. 

I always understood what having me meant to my parents, and got great pleasure at the pride they took from my achievements. In everything I did, I wanted to repay them.

Sadly my mum and dad both died when I was in my early 20s, but a day never goes by when I don't think about the chance in life they gave me.

And on August 15th every year, I raise my glass to John and Rita and the day I won life's lottery.

2 comments:

Mark L said...

you could bring a tear to a glass eye sometimes Tom.

I miss your folks all the time too

Take care

M J said...

What a fantastic post - here's to your parents too - they were good people by the sounds of it!