I spent the first eight years of my life in a Catholic orphanage. My birth mother became pregnant at fifteen, and her father sent her to a home for pregnant girls and insisted that she put me up for adoption. Although my family was not Catholic, they placed me in an orphanage run by nuns. It was 1938. I was two months old.
Many people think of an orphanage as a sad place. That was not my experience. As a child, I was tucked in...
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This story was told to Carl Koestner, who lives in New Mexico and is working on a book of oral histories of adoptions. The narrator, the father of four children, has been married for nearly fifty years.