An Accident

The other day I went hiking at a state park and it was going well as per usual until I happened upon a camp site in the woods. Suddenly I heard echoes of the campers possibly making an attempt to bully me. If I heard them correctly it seemed as though they were mocking me for being what they felt was seemingly pretentiously “outdoorsy”. I ignored it. I’m not pretentious in any way. Really. …I walked further into the woods toward their tents until I heard more noises that sounded odd and unfitting. They sounded less like campers and more like angry squatters.

Considering the layout of the terrain it suddenly felt dangerous so I turned around and walked back to my car. It was genuinely a little scary.

People are overstaying in state parks and not because they are true outdoor enthusiasts with moral authority to mock “the pretentious ones”. They are overstaying outdoors because they don’t have anywhere else to sleep. And, with the moderate fall temperatures the outdoors at night are welcoming. They are people with decent cars, nice tents and maybe even ok jobs or college degrees. But they’re sleeping in state parks to survive for one reason or another. The whole situation infuriates me for a myriad of reasons.

This last month has been eye-opening for me. I’m coming to terms with a great many things. The nature of that moment in the woods is part and parcel with my realizations as of late. Ugly realizations in some cases. Terribly ugly. Too good to be true, but maybe are true in other cases.

I doubt I’m an accident. Two lovers who couldn’t resist each other creating me, deciding to keep me in this world and then finding a home they thought was better than the one they could provide. But…at the same time…my face doesn’t look like either of the parents who raised me. Not…really. My personality doesn’t match with them either. Etc. etc. Oh well… Truly. Whether I’m their child by birth or not I’m blessed in many ways to have had them as parents and I’ll leave it at that. They’re both very steady people.

Would my birth parents have been in those woods? Not likely. I don’t think so… I’ve been researching the whole possibility for over ten years. Very quietly. And, again, it seems most likely I’m not an accident baby but…two sets of likely parental pairs have emerged over time. I had other creative ideas in the past but the current theories are much more likely…I think. One set: a stewardess in her 20’s and an older, wealthy businessman whose wife had died and was living with his long-time mistress. She was a Midwestern Scandinavian beauty working in the airline industry of the 1980’s and he was an elegant older man with a way with women. She wouldn’t have known how to tell her family that she was pregnant outside of marriage (this was the early 80’s) and he was old enough to likely feel guilty raising me. My father knew them both. And in this case they must have trusted him. The other set: my father’s old girlfriend and some guy who could possibly even be my father who raised me. She had wanted to marry my father who raised me. Her parents were divorced and her mother was living in South Africa but her father was a very wealthy British shipping heir. I think he too may have worked in the family shipping business though? She grew-up in England until her later teen years in a very beautiful and large house with maids, butlers, etc. Literally. Ironically she hated the British class system… My father who had raised me has told me that I look like her in the past. But…he’s also vaguely compared me to the stewardess and I think I vaguely look like the older man either way. The older man was likely Dutch, Irish, French and English in family origin.

Am I a September accident baby? *shrug* I do love this month. It’s actually always been one of my favorite months of the year. I like October too though? And June. Who in North America doesn’t enjoy the month of June?

I’m glad I’m here. At the end of the day, every breath is a gift from God, as they say. Truly. There’s something enormously, profoundly awe-inspiring about the human being alive. Each of us. Even if we are all but ghosts waiting to discover it. Our fleshly lives are always magical… In childhood we more often know that, of course. That’s partially why hurting a child is so atrocious, of course.

When I return to that state park in December after it gets much colder, too cold to camp outdoors, I won’t be quite as worried about being attacked. But I do worry about what that means.

It’s all a mess nowadays isn’t it?