‘Indy’s birth in 2017 made me realise I didn’t need to be afraid anymore’
Alex Kane reveals how the joyous arrival of his second child this year has finally given him the emotional security to embark on solving the mystery of his own early years
Iwas struck by something when Indy (Independence Atticus) was born i n July. I should have been struck by it in October 2009 when Lilah-Liberty was born; yet, for some reason, it didn’t register with me then. But looking at a photograph of them
together — and hearing people tell me how much they both look like me — it suddenly dawned on me that they were the first humans I had held and hugged who shared my blood.
I have no memory of my birth parents, or of grandparents, or siblings, or aunts and uncles. There is no one I can compare myself with in photographs; and no photographs with which I can compare Indy and Lilah-Liberty, spotting similarities and genetic traits that can be traced back through the family. I was like an abandoned, uninhabited island.
I remember, a decade ago, during a series of miscarriages, being asked if there was any ‘relevant’ information in my family background and replying: “I’m adopted, I don’t know.”
That answer is no longer good enough. Indy and Lilah-Liberty have a right to know about their roots. All children do. I had taken the decision not to inquire on my own behalf: partly because I thought it would be a betrayal of my adoptive parents, who had helped me to rebuild and reinvent myself; but mostly because t he nightmares which have dogged me since I was six persuaded me that there was something very dark, very disturbing, which I would actually be better not knowing.
In my Letter to Indy (published by the Belfast Telegraph in August—and which received more feedback than anything I have ever written) I wrote :“It also made me wonder whether I should do what I have resisted doing my entire adult life, finding out about my parents. In the same way that you and Lila h-Liber ty exist because of me and Kerri, I exist because of them. I haven’t made the final decision about it yet ...”
Well, I have now made that decision. In the boxes and files in my study the children will find hundreds of articles and hundreds of thousands of words by me. They will find articles about them, my adoptive parents (who they never got to meet), my adoption and my cats and dogs.
But nothing, not one single word, about my first six years or the circumstances which led me to an orphanage. If the emotional highlight of 2017 was Indy’s birth and the happiness he has brought us, then the psychological highlight for me was the realisation that I didn’t need to be afraid anymore. I didn’t need to worry about upsetting or betraying my adoptive parents, because they knew how much I loved them. I didn’ t need to be afraid of what I might uncover about my past. I’m not the person I was when I was adopted in 1961. I now have my own roots and my own family. I have spent much of my career as a columnist/ commentator investigating the subject of ‘identity’. Who are we? How do we see ourselves? Why do we vote the way we do? In what way do our early memories and backgrounds continue to influence us? And yet I know nothing about my own beginning. Nothing about the man and woman who created me. Noth- ing about those four years before I went to the orphanage. Nothing about a family circle that must have existed at that time. Nothing about the orphanage itself.
And the most important questions of all: what makes a parent give up a child; what makes the state step in and remove a child from a family background?
So, at the age of 62 I’m about to embark on a journey of discovery. I don’t know what lies at the other end — although I do accept it could be uncomfortable. But I also know that, at last, I’m ready for the journey. I know that the roots I have now are strong enough to see me through anything I might discover. And I hope, I really do, that there are people who will want to meet me at the other end; people who have vague memories of a boy who was a part of their lives from 1955-61.
Indy’s arrival triggered off a series of expected emotions and unexpected questions and decisions. That’s the joy and power of children — particularly for those of us who don’t know our own roots. It has already been a fabulous year and now 2017 has the potential to be one of the most important of my life. Happy new year, everyone.