About the contributor: Snoopy

Wow, it’s hard for me to write my name here, and I’m going to tell you why. Maybe I’ll even tell you my name by the end of it, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

Twelve-ish years ago, My parents got a call asking if they wanted to adopt a baby boy. They said yes, since adoption was-and is a big part of our family. This was our first encounter with the adoption system, and we expected things to go smoothly. My parents knew that there was a chance that things could go south, but it was a small chance. They met the birth parents, a white dude and his african/pacific islander girlfriend, who seemed to believe that they were doing what was best for their baby. “Take care of my son.” The birth father said to my dad. There was no reason to believe that this would go anything but smoothly.

But we were wrong.

The same man who said “Take care of my son” turned around and called my parents ‘baby-stealers’. This man and his girlfriend took my parents to court to fight for the child that they tried to abort… TWICE. The child that the birth father didn’t want because the kid would “taint his pure German bloodline.”

Seven years we fought for my brother. During those seven years, my parents endured hours of court, in which they were viciously attacked by lawyers, in which one false statement could spell disaster. They fought a seven year war of attrition against a man whose pockets were deep, all while providing for three children [while the birth father REFUSED to pay child support. and lived with his grandmother… just gonna leave that there]. We eventually had to get a restraining order on the birth mother because she was stalking us. It put immense strain on everybody, on my parents’ relationship with each other [they considered a divorce, and they don’t know that I know that], on my mother’s relationship with me [I was going through the ‘nobody understands me’ phase of puberty, and this did not help anything], and probably others that I still don’t know about.

And the birth father apparently was cyber-stalking us, trying to dig up dirt on my parents to use against them in court. My mom’s first Facebook account did not use her real name, picture, or location, and this creep STILL managed to find out that it was her. He had a cousin of his join a private FB group for difficult adoptions that my mom was apart of and use what she said there against her in court. So unlike other thirteen year-olds, my dad had a legitimate reason for not allowing me to not have any social media.

So that’s why I hesitate to put my name up on this blog. As for the end of my story, it is tragic. After seven years of court battles, the birth father won custody of my brother. I haven’t seen him since. We had some contact for a while, but only for a few weeks afterwards. we tried to call him for his birthday, and the birth father had a RELATIVE call my dad to cuss him out. [the coward didn’t even do it himself.]

I don’t know if my brother is well fed, or safe, or happy. I don’t know if he has been given tools to process his grief the way I have. All I know is that God kept him safe before he was born, and God will continue to keep him safe.

On top of all of that, I have ADHD [like my dad], and have been diagnosed and medicated from the tender age of 7. My symptoms were extreme enough to overshadow my sister’s symptoms. [she didn’t get diagnosed until she was 13]. I have anxiety [like my mom], but that’s a more recent discovery. My family still fosters kids, and that’s a pile of chaos, but it’s life.

Anyway, that’s my tragic backstory. Perhaps a bit more grief-centered than abuse-centered, but it’s my story. I honestly have gotten so used to it… it doesn’t seem like much because I haven’t been abused or seriously considered suicide or anything like that… But I’m here, and I’m here for you guys, and I hope that I can help.

-Snoopy [yes, like the dog from Peanuts]

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