So this summer I'm helping plan my 40th (!) high school reunion. That seems like an awfully big number, us George Washington Patriots would never have imagined reaching -- let alone celebrating -- back in 1975.
I must admit that the Fourth of July holds a very special place in my heart, having nothing to do with the Declaration of Independence or The Stars and Stripes. It was a 4th of July weekend in 1975 that my high school held its 10th year reunion.
Cornell was home, and it always will be home. It felt good to be home, even for a brief weekend. I've been to every reunion, every five years, since I graduated. In many ways, I can mark the milestones of my adult life by those reunions.
The 258-page book compiled by Wendy Kramer, the mother of a donor-conceived son and Naomi Cahn, family and reproductive law professor, helps blood-related kin navigate relationships unthought-of generations ago.
In my hometown of Wendell, Idaho, the annual combined class reunion includes graduates from the past 60 years. All ages come together to reminisce, shake their heads at the rambunctious youngsters, and moan about the loss of the playground equipment.
When they got sick, I wrapped them in blankets and held them close. We laughed and splashed at bath time, we picnicked in the mountains. I was there when they first saw the ocean. But now I am a stranger in Walmart.
Adoption curiosity begins with the understanding of what it means to have been adopted and grows with knowledge of biology, birth and genetics. No matter how loved, happy and content, the adopted child grows up wondering why they were placed for adoption.
From Barbies to boyfriends -- through the shifting tides of girlhood and womanhood -- my girlfriends and I shared a journey that was both profound and simple. We grew up together. And then we grew apart.