I thought this would
be for the book but it started to get a wee bit preachy, therefore a perfect
blog post! And yes, a reminder that I do have a blog. A blog that may be as
scattered as its proprietress, but still a home for writing about the book or
whatevs. One I shall make greater effort to muse all over.
Mother
Her reasons for adopting me were not from her heart but
rather from a need of replacement. The son she gave birth to left her womb visibly
empty and wounded in an imperceptible way. Much to her surprise and likely
humiliation, the Sapiano clan took to her son as though he were the second
coming, (clearly ignoring the meaning of the name Michael in the bible, “Like
the Lord?”) claiming him as ‘theirs’ and setting out to destroy any connection
my mother may have had with her son.
This is where I come in. I have no idea how the conversation
went but I do know that my mother told me she wanted a child that was hers, a
child that was NOT a Sapiano. So off they go to Catholic Community Services in
San Francisco. It is here that an evil (adding the word evil in hindsight of my
life) Catholic social worker cons my parents into adopting me instead of the
older non-Sapiano child that they set out to. Patricia was interested in a
toddler, wishing to bypass diapers, bottles, rashes and such. What she got was an
infant undeserving of what was about to happen to her. What she did was adopt a
human being to fill in gaps within her that to this day leak toxic energy all
over anyone who lingers too long.
I must have seemed an alien to her and therefore a failure
first felt within her only later to be transferred to me as I continued to
demonstrate how very different from her I was. It was not just my freckles and
extreme musical talent, it was that humans are not meant to be the caulk
plunged into gaping wounds in other humans, and when this is discovered, a
small child can find herself…the villain.
I am not certain that I’m the mistake the haunts her, but I know her mistake haunted me. It’s
not a leap of faith to believe this is the foundation for much that went wrong
between us. Our history is littered with fallout from our railing, our tears,
and our disappointments. Oh there’s that the word…disappointment. This one
concept pushed upon me deep into my flesh is likely the foundation for the
wrongs I would commit, all my missteps, and the self-ignited hell that I
brought to the rest of the world as well. The end result of my mother’s dissatisfaction
with me was a life wasted on a deep need for acceptance via rebellion. Here
lies my precious oxymoron, I sought acceptance and yet never yielded to what she
wanted me to be in order to receive such. Oh how I am of polarities.
So my origin story goes a little like this: I was adopted,
unloved, unwanted, and condemned to abuse and misfortune. But now in my prime I
am loved, wanted, and willing to share what I’ve learned from all that I have
done, seen, tasted, felt…endured. It’s vital that I remember this book is not just for my material gain, it’s for
all those that sting with the pain of even one of my stories, that they too can transform. If one person is
changed by what I write, I will have done what I lived this life for.
We are all mutable,
we are all magic…deity even.
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