Golden Strangers: An Adoption Memoir - Brossura

Kelmis, Maria

Brossura

ISBN 10: 1468545701 ISBN 13: 9781468545708

Casa editrice: AuthorHouse, 2012

Riassunto

Maria Kelmis was adopted from Greece at the age of fifteen months. She always knew she was adopted and considers it one of the best things that happened in her life. Golden Strangers is a story about a journey to find her biological mother specifically to thank her and tell her that she had a wonderful life. You will experience the great moments in Maria's life that may not have happened if she was not adopted from Greece. Journey with Maria to San Diego, California, as a young lady out on her own for the first time, share her multiple visits to Greece including the months she spent on the island of Santorini painting, travel with her to Uganda, Africa, as she embarks on the experience of a lifetime, and share the excitement of participating in the 1984 Olympics in Los Angeles. All these events combined with her biological mother's sacrifice have made Maria thankful for all of the blessings in her life and have given her the desire to give back in so many ways; from working and volunteering with the Greek Orthodox Church, to helping the homeless, volunteering with autistic children, and becoming a certified life coach, thereby helping people with their life goals. This book is not only for people who share her story of adoption, it is for anyone who loves to hear a great story and believes in a power greater than all of us that makes things happen in our lives. If you have adopted a child or know of someone who has, you are encouraged to buy her children's book, Rainbow Bridge, which is a book for parents to read to their children of any age to let them know that they were adopted and that they are special and loved, also published by AuthorHouse.

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Golden Strangers

An Adoption MemoirBy Maria Kelmis

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2012 Maria Kelmis
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4685-4570-8

Contents

Chapter 1: A Writer's Retreat.........................................................1Chapter 2: Growing Up in America......................................................4Chapter 3: My First Trip Back to Greece, 1980.........................................9Chapter 4: California Dreamin', 1981..................................................30Chapter 5: Painting in Santorini, 1987................................................52Chapter 6: New York, New York: Back Home, 1987........................................76Chapter 7: A Mission to Africa, 1990—Mission: Possible..........................80Chapter 8: More than a Business—Amway Opens in Greece, 1996.....................117Chapter 9: The Letter.................................................................119Chapter 10: The Hand of God...........................................................127Chapter 11: Eureka—I Found Her!.................................................130Chapter 12: Meeting Anna for the First Time...........................................134Chapter 13: A Mother-to-Daughter Heart-to-Heart.......................................142Chapter 14: Diary of a Mad Big Fat Greek Woman........................................152Chapter 15: Still Single After All These Years........................................165Chapter 16: Sisterly Love.............................................................168Chapter 17: God's Backup Plan.........................................................172Chapter 18: The Aftermath.............................................................176Epilogue My Mother, My Angel..........................................................185

Chapter One

A Writer's Retreat

Everyone has a story—this one is mine. I was kind of apprehensive when packing for my trip to the ranch on the second Saturday in April 2011. Whenever I do something major in my life, I ask myself, "Why am I doing this?"—and when the time actually comes, I get anxious and nervous and wish I had never planned it. Well, this writer's retreat to St. Nicholas Ranch was no different. I was looking forward to it up until the day I started packing, then I got uneasy and just wanted to stay home. It was a three-hundred-mile drive up to Dunlap, California, from San Diego, where I currently live. I got up to the ranch on Monday morning about 9:30 and met Amber, who had taken my reservation over the phone. She said she still had to clean a room for me since there were more people staying there last week than she expected. She asked me to wait about twenty minutes for her to clean a room. About thirty minutes later, the New York in me kicked in; I was already disturbed by the solitude. It was a beautiful, sunny day after the morning clouds burned off. The birds were chirping, and it was so quiet it could drive a city girl crazy—and it was. I was already stressing that the day was getting away from me. I went to the dining hall to wait.

I was wondering what I had gotten myself into. I was stressing about all the information I needed to parse through to write my story. I have all I need to write the book, I just need to get it done, which is why I scheduled this trip. I needed to focus and get this done once and for all. I thought coming up to the mountains in Dunlap was just the ticket. There were no televisions in the room, no cell phone reception, and no Internet, just peace and quiet, which gave me anxiety for the first hour after I got up here. Amber put me in a room all the way down the hall—the very last room. It took about four trips to unload my car. You would never know that I was only staying for one week by all the stuff I brought up here. I had to bring all my food since I was the only one staying on the ranch this week (they cook for you if you come up with a group). It was Great and Holy Lent, which meant I was limited to what I could eat; no meat or dairy. On top of that, I only had the use of a microwave, so I brought utensils, bowls, and a can opener. Oh, my goodness! I was frustrated already. A control freak like me could not be comfortable in this situation. Before unloading my car, I saw Michael Pappas, who is the director of St. Nicholas Ranch. We used to work together in the Youth Office at the Greek Orthodox Archdiocese in New York. I haven't seen him in over ten years. He hasn't changed much except for maybe a little extra gray hair. It felt really good to see him.

After I unloaded my car, I was hungry; by now it was after eleven o'clock. I ate leftover steamed vegetables from the night before and an orange with some peach tea. Then I went to the chapel they made out of a barn to venerate the icons and pray for inspiration and strength in completing my task, which is writing the story of finding my biological mother in Greece. I went back to the room and arranged the desk. I tried setting up my laptop to see if the broadband card would pick up a signal, but no luck. I looked through the desk and opened a book with information about the ranch. It had a map inside and I was amazed when I saw what the name of the pool was: "Haretakis Swimming Pool." Haretakis is the last name of my biological father! What a coincidence, but as I learned throughout the search for my biological mother, there are no coincidences.

After writing for a few hours, I took a break for dinner. I went to the dining hall to microwave my pasta and make a tomato and onion salad, which is a Greek favorite. When I was in the dining hall, I met one of the cooks, Mary. She was organizing a surprise party for Michael, the director, since it was his birthday the next day. She asked me what I was doing up here at the ranch all alone. I told her I was writing the story of finding my biological mother. She was intrigued.

"Wow, how did you do that?" she said.

"Well, it's a long story," I said, "but if you have some time, I could start telling it to you. It is a very special story to me—I feel like I am sharing a piece of my heart every time I tell it."

"Sure, I have time," she said.

Chapter Two

Growing Up in America

"I've always known I was adopted," I started. "My parents told my sister and me right from the beginning that we were both adopted from Greece. In fact, they told us in such a loving way that we have always had a great self-image about being adopted. They surrounded the word `adopted' with loving and special words—as a result, adoption became a positive concept for both of us. For this reason I was inspired to write a children's book called Rainbow Bridge: An Adoption Story, which is already published and available on the Amazon and Barnes & Noble websites. I have a copy in the car if you'd like to see it later."

"Yes, I would love to see it!" Mary said.

"My parents were the best parents any child could ever have," I continued. "So my search for finding my biological mother was not because I lacked a good mother or father. I think people who adopt children have to understand this. If your child decides to search for their biological parents, it could be because of any number of reasons. Thankfully, my parents supported me in my search.

"Growing up with my sister, Kathy, we were kind of like twins," I said.

Mary asked, "Is she your real sister?"

"She is not my biological sister, if that's what you mean by real, but she is the only sister I knew growing up, so yes, she is my real sister," I responded.

I continued, "Kathy is three months younger than me. We were in the same grade all through school, but we were intentionally put into two different classrooms. When my friends would meet her, or I would meet her friends, they would always ask questions about our age difference and the fact that we looked nothing alike. We would hold out as long as possible to see how many ways they could come up with on how we could possibly be three months apart. Some would ask, 'Are you half sisters?' Others would ask, 'Did one come out first, and the other one stayed in for another three months?' After all, we looked nothing alike. I was dark skinned and she was light skinned. I have brown eyes, and she had blue eyes that later became hazel. I had curly dark brown hair, and she had straight light brown hair. After they struggled for a while, we would let them off the hook and tell them that we were adopted from Greece. Would you believe some of them would still ask us if we had the same mother? They must have really wanted the reason to be that one of us stayed inside our mother's womb three months longer than the other one.

"Our looks were not the only things that made my sister and me different. Our personalities were completely different. I was shy, while she was outgoing. I was artistic, while she was athletic. Mom and Dad always tried to make everything even between us. They never compared my strengths to her weaknesses or vice versa. They were educated, and before we came from Greece, they must have read every child rearing book there was. They were married in 1956 and had prayerfully tried for many years to have children. My mom and dad loved each other very much. She waited for him for nine years. They were the best example of unconditional love that I have ever seen in my life. She was twenty-nine when she got married, and he was thirty-five—which was kind of an old age for getting married during that time period. When a couple loves each other that much, the next step is to create a child out of that love. As much as they tried, they realized they were not able to conceive.

"So their first attempt at adoption was in the United States. There was a long waiting list, so when they found out that a friend of theirs adopted a baby from Greece in a short amount of time, they changed their plans. My parents were born in New York, but their parents were born in Greece. They used the same lawyer in Greece as their friend and completed the entire process through the mail and over the phone. They had to decide whether to start with one child and then adopt another, or to adopt two at the same time. One thing they were sure about was that they wanted girls. That was my father's wishes, and if that's what made my father happy, then that's what my mother wanted. So the lawyer sent over two pictures of his cutest baby girls (Come on, we were!). Once all the papers were in order, we left Greece and arrived at JFK Airport (actually back in 1962 it was called Idlewild Airport) on March 23. It was the week of my mom's birthday, and she said it was the best birthday present she had ever received. They came to the airport with Polaroid and movie cameras in their shaky, nervous hands, with family along to support them and celebrate with them. After the plane landed, my sister was carried by a pilot and I was in the arms of a flight attendant."

"You were on the plane by yourselves?" Mary asked in amazement.

"No," I replied. "They found two people to care for us on the plane ride and in return paid for half of their fare.

"We were surrounded right away (I told you we were cute!). They brought us home and we were raised by the best parents ever. We always knew we were adopted, and we loved telling our story, because our parents loved telling our story to us. One of the stories my mom would always tell me about when I was younger was how I was independent—even as a baby. She remembers putting me in the middle of her queen size bed at fifteen months old; my big brown eyes were open wide, looking around the room, as the sun came in the window and highlighted the brown ringlets of my hair and made them golden brown. As a baby, I would twirl my hair with one finger when I was tired. When I got older, she knew when I was tired because I would still twirl my hair the same way. She said she would try to undo the buttons on my dress, and I would push her hand away and do it myself. I didn't care how many times she repeated that story, I always loved hearing it.

"As a child, I never had a desire to find my biological parents. The only thing I was curious about while growing up was what they looked like; I wondered if I looked like them. Did I have my biological mother's eyes; my biological father's nose? Honestly, that was the only thing I was mildly curious about when I was young. Then when I got older, I was curious about why my biological mother gave me away. What happened to her? Did she die? When I was younger, I figured the only reason you would give away a child was if you died. I didn't know. The only thing our mom ever told us was that we were from Athens, Greece.

"When I was younger, I never liked going to the doctor. I had a bronchial cold when I came from Greece at fifteen months old. So growing up, when I caught a cold, it developed into either bronchitis or pneumonia. One day when I was a teenager, I was coughing really hard, and my mom wanted me to go to the doctor. Being the stubborn Greek that I was, I refused. She finally got so angry with me, she blurted out, 'The only reason I want you to go is because your mother died of tuberculosis.' Wow, really? (It wasn't true, but I didn't know for sure. It shocked me, but I still didn't go to the doctor!)

"So some time passed. My parents had kept all the correspondence from the lawyer in Greece and all the papers relating to the adoption in a folder for each of us; there were letters, phone calls, and telegrams, since this was before computers and even fax machines. They didn't give us the adoption folders until we asked something about our adoption. They wanted to hear some interest on our part for a desire to search—then they gave us the information. Neither of us asked for years. At nineteen years old, my sister and I planned our first trip to go back to Greece together. We had just graduated from the same junior college, and it was time to celebrate. My parents waited to see if we would ask for any information since we were heading to Greece, but we didn't. We weren't interested at that time. Everything has it's time. We just wanted to go and have fun. We were nineteen! My parents contacted some relatives in Greece, and they took care of us for the entire trip. We had a great time!

"It's getting late," I said. "Maybe we should continue this tomorrow."

Mary agreed. "I would love to hear the rest of your story," she said. "Not to jump ahead, but what did your biological mother say when she saw you for the first time?"

I said, "I will tell you the details later, but what I can tell you is that her main question was, 'Did you have a good life?' My answer was 'Yes!' Let me tell you what a good life I had!"

Chapter Three

My First Trip Back to Greece, 1980

The next day, I saw Mary in the dining hall, preparing for Mike's surprise party. As she finished cleaning up, she asked me, "Can you tell me some more of your story?"

"Sure," I said. "Let's see, we left off when my sister and I went back to Greece for the first time together, right?"

"Right," Mary said.

"This was probably the first time I had kept a journal," I said. "I was nineteen and returning to Greece on a plane with the person I came over to America with eighteen years earlier, my sister Kathy. We left Athens together March 23, 1962, and now we were returning together. It was a lifetime dream coming true for the both of us. I was nervous and anxious about the trip, as were my parents. The good-bye was a long one. Our parents could barely let us go. Even as we sat on the plane waiting to leave, there they were, waving at the window. This was our first, no wait, second time on a plane. It was the first time their little girls were going to be on their own. Not that we were on our own for a moment."

7/22/1980: Tuesday

As we stepped off the plane it was obvious to us that we were not in the United States of America anymore. As we came through customs, we heard the anxious voice of Thea (Aunt) Angeliki yelling, "Maria, Katina." We heard our names from a large group of people, and the odd thing was we didn't recognize anybody. We finally pinpointed the excited voice from our very welcoming aunt. They made it clear that anything our hearts desired was ours. A warmer welcome we couldn't possibly have expected, even from the relatives we grew up with in America. Their kindness overwhelmed me. We rested and ate, and from the taste of the first meal I realized it was going to be difficult to lose or even maintain weight here. After all, I was in the greatest shape I have been in for a long time, since I was swimming laps every day in my pool at home before leaving for Greece. At night we met their daughter Stella, her husband John, and their twin sons, Vasili and Niko. We took a drive to the Temple of Poseidon, and what a trip. The roads were winding, and I have never seen such drivers in my life (and I live in New York!)—cutting off other cars and speeding. What an adventure. From there we went to Cape Sounion and went swimming and ate—again. A meal of fried squid, French fries, salad, and ouzo. Delicious! We stayed up almost thirty hours and I was exhausted, to say the least. We got up bright and early to start the new day.

7/23/1980: Wednesday

We had toast and jelly to start the morning. Shortly after breakfast, we went with Theo (Uncle) Niko through the streets of Athens at a very fast pace to the American Express office so that we could exchange money for our trip. Then we went to the travel agency to buy tickets to some of the islands we were to visit. Midday, we went to Oropos to swim. The water was so clean and a color blue that I have never seen before. The beach was made up of rocks, not sand. Lunch was small meatballs, feta cheese, tomatoes and small round peppers, bread, and thick yogurt. At night, John and Stella took us to a cartoon festival about the energy shortage, and we ate pizza at Portofino No. 12. I was discovering that in Greece, breakfast was a light meal, and the heavier meals were eaten later in the day for lunch and dinner. Most of the time, dinner was eaten around nine or ten o'clock, after a nap, like a Mexican siesta, that followed a heavy lunch in the afternoon between four and six o'clock.

7/24/1980: Thursday

Today we begin to pack for the islands. The boat leaves at 5 p.m. The boat trip was great. We sailed on Golden Sands ( µµ) to Tinos. On the boat we met this guy from Florida, and by coincidence, he was also staying on Tinos. Thea Angeliki, having spent nine years teaching in Tinos during the war (and Theo Niko even longer), knew many people in Tinos and had a lot of influence. The boat ride was a long five hours. Pipi Longstocking was on the TV (in Greek) inside the cabin. When we reached Tinos and got off the boat and walked down a long walkway on this small island, Kathy and I got stares for wearing shorts. Tinos is a very religious island. Between not having any kind of nightlife in four nights and getting the critical stares from the people, my sister and I were ready to leave that night.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from Golden Strangersby Maria Kelmis Copyright © 2012 by Maria Kelmis. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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Dettagli dell'edizione

• Editore: AuthorHouse
• Data di pubblicazione: 2012
• Lingua: Inglese
• ISBN 10: 1468545701
• ISBN 13: 9781468545708
• Rilegatura: Copertina flessibile
• Numero di pagine: 212
• Contatto del produttore: non disponibile
• Persona responsabile: non disponibile