I was very proud of my first spelling test in the 5th grade because I got every one of the words correct. I proudly displayed my accomplishment on the fridge with the help of random magnets that were kept there. My adoptive parents said nothing.
The following day in the car, for whatever reason my adoptive mother decided to counsel me on life goals.
“You know, there is no shame in factory work”
At this point, I was both hurt and puzzled. I just got one of the highest marks in the class the day before. Yes, math was a bit challenging, but I was doing better in that class as well. What was worse though was both of my adoptive parents were educators at one point. Oddly enough though, neither one ever offered to help with homework. Even worse, dad taught math for ten years. So, what was she saying?
I sat silent in the passenger seat for the rest of the ride home. She said nothing either.
Reflection
I think the preconceived narrative in their minds was that somehow a kid from a poverty-stricken background was too stupid to waste time working with. What was I good for? Chores and manual labor; not just for them but people that they knew. Never any instructions about how much my time and effort were worth. All joking aside, I was pretty much regarded and treated as a tool.
Yes, I know that some will argue about building character and work ethic, but in my case; to what end? Neither one of them had any interest in developing or teaching me. For example, dad kept horses as a hobby, so he decided to barter my labor to our neighbor farmers to get the hay for his horses for free. To clarify, the horses were there for his hobby and amusement; they provided no income for the family.
To add to this, was all the work and upkeep for the horses along with a half-acre garden that was used as a dump by the previous owners; shards of broken glass protruding from the soil. And no, there was no medical attention given to the lacerations on the bottom of my feet.
In that moment with mom in the car, it all came to me about what kind of future I would have. They viewed me as nothing more than an indentured servant. They were nice enough to take me in and provide the bare minimum, but I had to “earn” it. To know that mom saw me only as a potential factory worker stung in the back of my throat. It’s very difficult to focus on something to be good at when you have been discounted so early. There was a drop off in my interest in school and yes, they did notice and criticize but I doubt that they knew why. My adoptive mom went to her grave not understanding her role, and my adoptive dad just plays dumb when I bring that up or any one of the other “truth slips” that she made over the years.