As with any web of lies, many are dragged into the sticky mess. When things went down with my dad and I moved in with the H family, my AC unloaded the Secret on an unsuspecting mama. She was sworn to secrecy. After the big reveal, she let me know that AC had told her the donor dad was a Stanford student. This juicy tidbit had still been shrouded in secrecy for me.
For some reason, this locates him in space. My space. Yes, I am very self-centered...I am referring to the world as "my space." (Another product of the 'me generation,' I know.) Could I have crossed paths with him? Could I have seen him on that strange Lutheran Youth event at Stanford in high school? Silly, he must have left by then.
If he was an undergraduate, he could be as young as 53 or 54. Do you think he looks like me? Do you think he reads the New York Times on Sunday from front to cover or just lingers over the Styles section? Ugh. These questions. They were bound to come. You probably knew that. I did not.
I am not even going to ponder the nature vs. nurture question. I cannot go there. I routinely try to avoid it when I see gendered things happening with my boychild and girlchild. And now, this? My cousin dared to blurt out "I guess that is why you are so smart" upon hearing of the Secret. Or another remarked that it explains why I was a bit of a misfit.
I cannot think about this. I am not going to ponder. And I most certainly will avoid The Kids are All Right. For now, I am just going to focus on this funky picture of Nora.