Read an Excerpt
MADE THIS WAY
By David J. Daynes
Balboa Press
Copyright © 2012 David J. Daynes
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4525-6411-1
Chapter One
In the Beginning ...
I was born on August 6, 1967, to a woman in her twenties who was having a hard life of her own and opted to place me for adoption rather than subject me to her hellish life or to terminate my existence. Spoiler alert: Thirty-six years later, I actually found my biological mother. I will tell you all about it in a chapter to come. So, yes, I discovered all the circumstances surrounding her choice to give me up, and I want to fill you in on the details now rather than when I learned about them. This way, I think you'll get a clearer understanding of the beginning of my life.
Really long story cut really short: My mother was married, and while her husband was away in a branch of the armed forces, she wasn't dealing with her life in general very well. She already had two children, Sherry and Scott, and due to a variety of circumstances, she moved in with an unrelated family as a nanny/housekeeper. My mother was 23 when she became pregnant with me by the eldest child in her new household, a mere 17-years-old. My father's name is Jerry, and according to my mother, he denied I was his from day one. Following the pregnancy news, there was a great deal of bitterness and drama from his family. She was accused of trying to ruin his life and blah, blah, blah. Obviously, she was booted from her job for offering one too many services as a nanny.
Being an honest woman, my mother opted to tell her husband about what had happened. Although angry about the situation, he agreed to stay with her, under very specific circumstances – one of which was to effectively dispose of the vile child (me). He wanted nothing to do with a child not of his loins. He was very adamant and descriptive of how he would never be able to love such a child, much less tolerate even looking at it. My mother begged to keep the child growing inside her, but her husband continued to threaten that if she didn't get rid of it, he would divorce her and take her other two kids with him, along with everything else in her life. He would, for lack of a better term, ruin her life. Reluctantly, she agreed and tearfully contacted an adoption agency. All the arrangements were made, and on the day of my birth, I was whisked away. We never even so much as saw each other.
Apparently giving up her child for adoption was more than my mother's fragile state of sanity could withstand. My mere existence, coupled with my mother's loss of her grasp on reality, was also more than her husband could take. Things went real bad real fast, and my mother totally lost her grasp on life. Her husband eventually divorced her and did, indeed, take Sherry and Scott with him. He wouldn't allow my mother to see her children, and I, of course, had legally disappeared. Her husband went on and on about what a bad person my mother was to the point that Sherry and Scott didn't want to have anything to do with her. My mother took to self-mutilation to ease her emotional pain. Eventually – and I do mean years, maybe even decades later – she came to terms with everything and got herself together.
In the midst of my mother's pregnancy, literally only miles away, two people were engrossed in lives of their own. Their names, John and Joan (pronounced Jo-ann). John was born in 1932 and Joan in 1936. Dispensing with their entire life story, which would be a book all of its own, they grew up in very different parts of the country and met one day while John was in the Air Force and Joan was in college, studying the secretarial arts. John said it was love at first sight and how he wasn't going to let Joan get away. So he married her on March 4, 1955. True to his word, she never got away since they are still together today.
In 1956, John and Joan had a daughter, Deborah Jean, whom they called Debbie for short. She was a premature baby. Now, take into consideration, in that time medical advancements were in their infancy and in rural Oklahoma, it was even more so. Nonetheless, both mother and daughter survived with no ill effects. However, the doctor cautioned Joan of further pregnancies, siting additional complications may develop, causing further problems in subsequent pregnancies. They never were ones to heed warnings.
Sometime after the birth of Debbie, John's military deployment moved the family to San Diego. There, in 1959, Delisa Jo (pronounced Da-leesa), entered their life. She was also premature and more so than Debbie. She, too, survived with no ill effects. But their new doctor reinforced the caution of the previous doctor and told Joan she shouldn't have any more children, as it may be detrimental to either her or the fetus. Joan was heartbroken; she wanted a little boy so badly. She even had his name picked out. Still refusing to heed warnings, she became pregnant again, and she carefully nursed the pregnancy along in hopes God would answer her prayer for a little boy. But God had other plans for this family.
On a day Joan will not speak of, she gave birth to a baby boy. Just as the doctors predicted, he was premature to a degree that medical science of the day could not save his little life. Sadly, he passed away. Joan was devastated, and John did the best he could to comfort her. But how can a woman who just lost what she so begged for ever be comforted? Time pressed on, and she continued to care for the two children she already had. After a long while, she gave up on having a baby boy of her own womb. But she did not give up on having a baby boy, though. She and her husband took to trusting God to provide the desires of their hearts.
I can only imagine the conversations that took place between John and Joan as she begged her husband for a little boy. I wonder the options they discussed. Finally, they decided to visit an adoption agency. After filling out all the mountains of forms and passing the rigorous pre-adoption inspections, they were placed on the waiting list for a baby boy. Although I have simplified the matter into a few sentences, the process was tedious and wrought with years of paperwork, inspections, and untold difficulties with courts, attorneys and whomever else. Joan recounts the ordeal as nearly unbearable, but she was so determined to have a baby boy and John so loved his wife that he did everything in his power to give it to her. If that isn't love, I don't know what is. When they were finally accepted as potential adopters, the nursery in their house was prepared for a baby boy. There were cloth diapers, a crib, clothes and a variety of toys.
So began the waiting, but the praying never ceased. At long last, the call came. The agency had a baby boy available and requested John and Joan to come get him. Eagerly, they dashed to the agency where they were introduced to a bright-eyed, bouncing baby boy. Joan snatched up the child and was headed for the door when John stopped her. He carefully gauged the baby and said quite simply, "This is not the one." He took the baby from his wife and handed him back to the nurse and gathered Joan to leave. Bewildered, Joan followed her husband's lead and they left without the baby. Keep in mind that for the 1960s, there weren't a lot of babies available to choose from. It was odd, to say the least, that this man would make such a statement and leave without the baby Joan was so longing for. But she trusted John and his relationship with God implicitly and knew that somehow she would get what she wanted.
When they arrived home empty-handed, they had to explain to Debbie and Delisa that the baby just wasn't the one God wanted for them. Days stretched into weeks, and their continued prayers were met with another call from the agency. Another baby boy was available. Just as eagerly, John and Joan dashed to the agency. Just as before, Joan took the baby and headed for the door. But John studied the baby and again said, "This is not the one." He collected the baby and handed him back to the nurse. Once again, they left empty-handed.
I have to interrupt the story for a moment. You need to know I was fifteen when mom told me this story for the first time. But it wasn't until much later in life when I gained a clearer perception of what they must have went through to adopt a child in the 1960s, albeit it was only a partial understanding. I know it was nothing like it is today with open adoptions and surrogate mothering. Back then, the process was much more legal and much less friendly. An adoption of that era was a very formal and permanent ordeal. Apparently, there was a certain big-haired woman with bright red lipstick who made John and Joan's journey a living hell. But, more on that in just a bit.
Still later, perhaps even months later, they received another call from the agency. Yet another baby boy was available. With unwavering eagerness, they dashed to the agency. They were introduced to the baby and Joan scooped up the baby and headed for the door only to be blocked by John, who after studying the baby, uttered his becomingly notorious phrase, "This is not the one." Once again, he had to collect the baby from his wife's arms and observe the heartbreak on her face. And yet again, they left without a baby. Although during the telling of the tale, mom never alluded to how this affected Debbie and Delisa; I can imagine it was difficult for them to understand.
I know this sounds far too preposterous to be true, but it happened just as I tell it. The above scenario actually continued for not just the three times I have revealed, but for a total of six times. After the third time, the agency officials began to question their actual intention of adopting a child. After all, they had been brought viable, healthy babies and John had turned them all down, simply stating, "This is not the one." What, pray tell, was John examining and why were these babies not living up to his expectations, whatever they were. Decades later, I asked dad what he was waiting for, and he simply said, "I was waiting for God to tell me which one was the right one." John and Joan vigorously assured the ladies at the agency that they did, indeed, want a child. John was just waiting for the "one." The agency agreed to keep them on the list, although they were very skeptical of this couple. The agency promised to call the next time they had a boy available. You know, I wonder if they really did. Did they push John and Joan down the list a little or did they really call the very next time? We shall never know.
Well, one day in August 1967, the seventh call from the agency rang on their telephone. If I have the details correct, this was nearly (or maybe more than) two years into the process. Another baby boy was available. Now with wavering eagerness, Joan went with John to the adoption agency. But when they arrived this time, Joan told John to go see the baby. She could not bear seeing any more babies who she couldn't take home. They passed through the front doors and John was escorted to where the baby was resting. He remained in the room for a long period of time. After some time, curiosity got the best of Joan, and she made her way down the hall to the room John had disappeared into. She slowly pushed open the door. To her delight, she found dad sitting in a grand rocking chair. He was holding me in his arms and staring into my face. I had ahold of his finger and was returning the loving gaze. Hearing his wife enter the room, he looked up. With tears in his eyes he proclaimed, "This is the one." In near disbelief and overwhelming joy, she rushed to his side to have a look and this child, her new son. I can only imagine the elation in the room at that very moment. Their hearts pounded in glee. They finally had the baby they so wanted. God had answered their prayers. I imagine the ladies at the agency were also relieved and joyously removed the Daynes name from the waiting list.
Understand, I had been born only the day before and now I was going home with my new mom and dad. And I was given a new name, David Joseph. Mom thought it was a good biblical name with David meaning "Beloved" and Joseph after my mom's dad. Mom got exactly what she wanted, and she had God to thank for it. Oh, and her husband for listening for the voice of God to say, "This one."
You may have noticed I have referred to Jerry as my father and I have omitted my mother's name so far. You will find out my mother's name soon enough. You may also have noticed I refer to John and Joan as dad and mom. I don't mean to confuse you, but try to follow my logic. I read something in a greeting card once and I found it to be profoundly true. Therefore, I have put it to practice in my own life. It read, in part, "anyone can be a father, but it takes someone special to be a dad." I adapted it to be the differentiation between my biological parents and the loving parents who raised me. The two people by whom I was conceived hold no special place in my life or heart. The people who raised me on the other hand, are two of the most incredibly special people and have, without a doubt, earned their endearing titles.
So the year that followed my much anticipated homecoming day was, sadly, the living hell I alluded to earlier. As joyous as it was, the agency was very particular in the manner in which they required my parents to care for me. Not only that, the agency pried into how my sisters were cared for as well. They wanted to make sure the other children weren't neglected in light of the new arrival. It was as though the agency was evaluating their worthiness to have been granted a child and in the 1960s, adopted children and their family underwent untold and unscrupulous assessments. It's odd, in my opinion. No one checks up on parents who have children naturally.
Mom tells of a particular social worker assigned to their case who would make unannounced calls at any time of the day or night. The woman wore her red hair in a very large hairdo (I picture a beehive) and always had on a very bright shade of red lipstick. As early as 6 a.m. and as late as 11 p.m., she would come knocking at the door. She would very literally barge in and commence to looking in the refrigerator, the cupboards, the girl's room, and even my diaper. This occurred every week for 52 straight weeks. Occasionally, she would show up multiple days in a week but never skipped a single week. During the 53rd week, mom and dad received word that my adoption was finalized. No more agency inspections, no more red-lipstick-lady, no more attorneys, no more court dates. I was an official member of the Daynes family, as though I had been birthed to John and Joan. My birth certificate was changed to reflect that I am their biological son. Any trace of my egg or my sperm donor was erased from my existence (and theirs). My first birthday was a milestone in more ways than one. I can imagine there was more celebration taking place than just my birthday.
Much later in life, while looking for some of my early school work and class pictures, I stumbled on a file box of legal paperwork. On a few of the top pages, I glanced at the date and noticed it was around my birthday and had my name on a lot of it. I nosily poked about and discovered it was all the official and legal paperwork that went along with my adoption. There were reams of paper, and although neither mom nor dad ever tell about the court visits, I came to understand they were frequent and must have been at a significant cost. I was curious what information the documents held regarding my mother, but interestingly, there wasn't even so much as a mention of her name. She was referred to, when necessary as, "the biological mother." Mom and dad never told me about this part of the adoption, and I haven't ever pressed them for the details. Up to now, they never knew I found the legal documents.
If I may, I would like to define the purpose of this book. I was raised by Christian people who looked to God for all their needs. I was raised in church from my earliest days and well into my adult life. Of course, I will expound on all this a little later. But I want you to understand that God undeniably placed me with this family. John was guided by God in the selection of the child. What other logical explanation can anyone offer? Honestly, it is preposterous to believe otherwise. It was revealed to me that dad prayed to God for guidance in choosing a baby to have as their own. And God delivered. There is literally no other feasible rationale.
I know there will be skeptics who will say it was just a coincidence. Well, if so, you better get ready to use that phrase a lot over the course of this book. Having lived the life I have, there has never been any "coincidence" in any aspect of my life. God has not just been in my life, He has been my life. It is obvious to me and I hope I can adequately convey that my life was, is and will be carefully calculated by the Master Creator to be exactly what it is. It is my earnest desire for you to see Him through a new perspective by having a look-see at my life.
My life has not always been a bed of roses. Given that, there will be those who will say I am a product of a set of circumstances. I will say it now and remind you of it along the way: God knows every breath I have and will take; from my conception to my death. If He knew how I would turn out, why did He make me this way? There is no other explanation; I know I was made this way.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from MADE THIS WAY by David J. Daynes Copyright © 2012 by David J. Daynes. Excerpted by permission of Balboa Press. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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