Recording songs onto cassette tape off the radio was a favorite hobby of mine during my adolescence.  

Poised and focused, ready to pounce like an animal waiting for its prey, I waited for songs that spoke to my condition. As soon as I heard the first note, all the blood pumping in my veins sent my body into action. I jumped onto the “record” button to capture each word of the song, replaying them a thousand times, writing down every nuanced lyric, studying the melody, so I could learn to sing the song. 

I wanted to sing out loud, and more importantly, to know my own feelings. I had no idea that I was adopted or what that could mean, but I did know that I was all wrong.

“Out of my head … I had a brain, it was insane, the idiomatic logic that went on in my head …” sang Joni Mitchell.

Even then, I was searching for the concepts my future self would need to make sense of abstract connections and relationships. I found a home in the art and lyrics of songs. “I learned the truth at 17…” Songs which grabbed my attention and which begged exploration. “Killing me softly…”  Each song a quantum telegram from the future. 

My solace was inside a radio. My body answered the ecstasy of language, despite my lack of reconnaissance. I dreamt and longed for my own future. Words meant something to me. I wanted more words and more art and more music.

Other words during my youth were not as inspiring or hopeful. Unfortunately, those continued to play in my head alongside the songs I wanted to sing. 

I spent many a day with my brain in between headphones. Singing along with the greats brought delight and a feeling of peace, unlike the piano lessons and practicing, which made my mother scream, “NO, wrong!” I was a prisoner in my own home until I pushed “play” and immersed myself in the magic of others who had learned to create and become artistically amazing. I believed I could be like them one day, freely giving my gifts. 

One day when the grownups weren’t home, I rode my bike to the record store and bought a Zeppelin tape, my first one. Led Zeppelin IV with “Stairway to Heaven.” 

I caught serious shit for that maneuver. “Stairway to Heaven” got me grounded for an eternity, but it was worth every second. I needed that stairway. Stairways lead to new places. Before I knew of the separation from my own flesh and blood, I told myself, “One day.” One day finally came and I found my stairway, but it was not to heaven. 

All I wanted was the truth, and I knew the truth was up some stairway somewhere. My adopters held most of the keys and my heart felt the locked restraint. 

It took many years, but I eventually figured out that I was an adopted child, and that my two younger sisters were both biological children. Now, I long for the simplicity of those days when I thought I was merely crazy, without knowing I was adopted, too. Because, as I memorized all those years ago from a radio recording, “I got a thing that’s unique and new to prove it, I’ll have the last laugh on you.”

Not really how it ended, they had the last laugh on me.