Then Again - Diane Keaton [81]
You’re a very different baby than Dex was. It’s already clear you will communicate your needs. Sometimes I worry—well, frankly, Duke, I worry all the time. Let me explain; yesterday Dexter’s school called to inform me of an incident. Apparently one of her classmates, a girl, told Dexter she was born in the pound, bought at the zoo, and didn’t have a real mother. Dexter’s response was unfathomable. My response to her response was exactly—well, sort of—what the experts said to say. “Dex, being adopted is like finding yourself with a whole new family.” Whatever that means? What I didn’t say was this. Everyone is sort of adopted, in that eventually we’re all abandoned in one way or another. What constitutes a family? Hard to say. Take me. I was born into an attractive-looking post–World War II family, with a daddy and mommy and three siblings. We appeared normal, but we weren’t. Who is? The idea of family can be expansive, as in extended family. Duke, you have two mothers; one had the wherewithal to know she couldn’t raise you given her set of circumstances. The other, me, chose to take care of you, and always will. Someday you may decide to make your own family. You might marry and have children of your own. You may even consider close friends as part of your family. These are options, and there are many more. Think Big.
Being adopted is to start life with loss. It’s not necessarily a bad thing. Loss helps us learn how to handle goodbyes. Like Dexter, one day someone will tell you you’re adopted, as if you are less than your typical run-of-the-mill person, whatever that means. It’s not true. In fact, starting out knowing something they will have to learn has its strong points. You will already have the tools to make you more open to the many varieties of love. Love is not restricted to a set of rules. I will say this: The sooner you embrace the word adopted, the sooner you will find a defense that will help you grow into the loving man I know you can be.
Edited Out
I drove Mom home to Cove Street for our little ritual. The ocean was waiting behind Dad’s picture window. I got two glasses of wine, and we sat down to Grammy Keaton’s scrapbook, as usual. Mom was feeling proud of herself. She’d passed her periodic memory test with flying colors.
Dr. Cummings had presented a set of drawings with complex grids and intersecting lines, designed to confuse. Mother’s assignment was to draw exactly what he’d drawn. The task was completed with few mistakes. First test down, two to go. The next section—always the hardest—required Dorothy to identify as many animals as she could in sixty seconds. She came up with cat, dog, elephant, lion, tiger, bear, reindeer, pig, and porcupine. Pretty darn good. When Cummings asked her to list as many words as possible that start with F in sixty seconds, Dorothy Deanne scored higher than expected.
Keep passing those tests, Mom. I hate them too. They continue to mount, not just for you but for Duke and Dex and me—well, everyone. It’s rough. How about this one? Last week I plugged my ears in a bathroom stall at the Landmark Cinema when I heard someone say “Did you see Diane Keaton?” I couldn’t help myself. I didn’t want to hear what she might say. Some things never change. But forget about that; what I really hate are the mounting edits in our conversation. Neither one of us is passing that test. I know Duke’s a nuisance you have a hard time tolerating. He’s already caused you more confusion and more noise than Dexter ever did. I can’t explain why he takes up so much space. I know you need my undivided attention. I just wish we could go back a couple of years. I’d love to get your take on him. For instance, I wish I could have talked to you about how I wound up with Duke’s name.
First there was Parker, then Wade and Rover. I loved Clovis and Boeing, but Dorrie thought the reference to any kind of aircraft would bring us bad luck. I’m sure you would have