I was born a Native American then adopted in a hotel lobby in San Francisco where the mothers met, probably over a coffee as one does, there they made the exchange. My new adopted mother being Countess Barbara von Bismarck returned to Europe, as my adopted father Steve Brooks worked as a Hollywood Exec for Yul Brynner (actor) was based in the south of France, and she wanted to be nearer to her family but not too near!
I eventually found and met my birthparents August 1989 and eventually became a recognised enrolled member of the Northern Cheyenne tribe. The missing part of my life puzzle was complete.
The Adoption Agencies and ex-American Indian Movement members really don’t like my cross cultural adoption story. It’s now illegal to adopt Native Americans.
This was published in Spirit & Destiny national (UK) magazine November 2011.
PS: I noticed in the article that it said that my adopted mother snapped at me when telling me that I was adopted. That wasn’t true.
This is how I found out: I was about 6 yrs old and I was sitting on the carpeted floor at home watching an ol…d black/white cowboy & Indian film. It was a stage coach raid scene where the Indians were attacking the stage coach with lots of shootings going on etc. Then my mother came into the room.
I had always sensed that my mother never really liked me shooting (pretend guns), so I decided to push the boat out a bit this time and with a pretend gun by using two fingers, I fired shots with sound effects (bang, bang) at the TV. My mother knelt down to eye level and looked at the film that I was watching and calmly asked me “Who are you shooting?” I replied back “The baddies…look …there’s one there!” pointed and then let off another round from my pretend pistol.
Mother: “And who are the baddies?”
Me: “The Indians of course”
In the old western films the usual storylines depicted that the cowboys the goodies and the Indians the baddies. Clearly, I was on the side of the goodies being a normal child ;o) my shadow side would come later in life!
Mother: You really shouldn’t be shooting the Indians, because you’re one, you were adopted.”
The difference between an adult’s significant world like ‘how do I tell him he’s adopted’ and a child’s playful world is this: I vaguely remembering not caring that much that I was adopted, but if I couldn’t shoot the baddies because I was one and I couldn’t shoot the goodies, then who can I shoot?
Now what identity do you think I and my mother might have un-knowingly set me up for?