Falsified Documents Research Papers - Academia.edu (original) (raw)

In June 1989 my adoptive mom died about three weeks after suffering a debilitating stroke. As required by law, a couple days later, her attorney, whom I'll call by his initials JR, and I went over to the bank to open her lockbox and... more

In June 1989 my adoptive mom died about three weeks after suffering a debilitating stroke. As required by law, a couple days later, her attorney, whom I'll call by his initials JR, and I went over to the bank to open her lockbox and inventory its contents. My boyfriend, Gordon, who was pretty-hmm-impressive-(retired bank robber and the only Orthodox Jewish hillbilly in the State of Ohio) came along. A bank official was also present as a fiduciary witness (or something) to oversee the entire affair. Afterwards, we were to hop over to the county seat and file the will for probate. All on my dime, of course, or rather the estate's dime, of which I was the heir. By the time it was over Lawyer JR had collected about $20,000 in lawyer's fees. Adoption was the farthest thing from my mind that day. I'd gotten my original birth certificate (OBC) and adoption decree in 1980, and been rejected by my birthmother, Mama Dot, the following year. In my own way, as a trained historian, I'd begun to accumulate my bio family history and documents as a matter of genealogy. A hobby. I was pretty sure nothing else could really piss me off about adoption. Little did I know. This was way before Bastard Nation, deformers, and the adoption industry ate my life. So there we are in a little room tucked away in the Salem, Ohio branch of BancOne. Lawyer JR, who always struck me as rather self-important and definitely patronizing, opened the box. It was full of stock certificates, deeds, legal papers, that he and I thumbed through and made small talk over. But, there, at the very bottom of the box lay something that looked like a birth certificate. My birth certificate. The original, original birth certificate. But something was wrong with it Parts of it looked to be missing-as in cutout missing! Before I could grab it for myself, Lawyer JR, with Houdini-like skill and a smarmy smile, slipped the cert in his pocket. (Gordon made a move towards the offending hand, but thought better of it; snapping his wrist might be a good idea, but didn't fit into our timetable.). Then incredibly Lawyer JR says: Mom wanted to protect you. She had me razor it out.