She and I were talking before lunch when we probably should have been working. I had started temping for this major scholastic publishing company that morning, but the other secretary in the office, a Long Island, Italian-American version of the energizer bunny, had drawn me in to yet another gab. Good for “productivity?” Absoluetley not. Hilarious, especially in light of her thick, “Ow my Gooawd,” accent and bip-didi-be-bop-bouncing thought process. Absolutely.

The latest water cooler gab (without ever quite making it to the water cooler) was about the Great American Small Talk Topic:

“Sawoh… What nationality awer you? I’m Italian.”

“My father is Lebanese, my mother the early all-American mix … bit of German, bit of English, bit of Dutch but so many generations ago nobody knows for sure anymore…” dramatic pause (I always liked drawing out the explanation to hit with the punch line, timing perfect,) “but I’m adopted, so I’m whatever I want to be. I can be Italian today.”

She laughed. Fortunately, it wasn’t a honking or really obnoxious laugh. It was just a normal, happy laugh somewhere between giggle and guffaw.

“My cousin is adooawpted, too. She knows she is Polish and Italian but she doesn’t know much else.”

“I have no clue, so, I decided I can be whatever I want. I’m pretty sure I’m not Italian, though.”

“Maybe from the nawrth? Definitely nooawt Sicily.”

“Definitely.”

We laughed some more and finally got back to work.

At lunch time, after my new colleague had left, the Vice President of the department asked me to step into his office. The lights were dim, the blinds closed. The atmosphere was very tense. For the briefest moment, I felt apprehensive, but then I remembered that there were plenty of people around and he hadn’t closed the door completely.

He sat down heavily on his chair and looked away from me. I waited.


“I overheard you tell Steph that you are adopted.” He was looking me straight in the eye.

“Yep. I was.”

“I was, too. What has your life been like?”

“Really good. My family isn’t perfect, it was a bit rough when I was younger, but now we are close and supportive when it counts. I’m pretty lucky. You?”

Big pause. Felt big. Maybe bigger than that.

“I … I mean, have you … My … It hasn’t been good. My mother died two years ago. She … she wasn’t a good mother to me. Well, maybe she was when I was really young, but I barely remember that. My father died ten years back. I hate to admit it but I was glad when he died. He had been an alcoholic. So was she, but later, after he started abusing both of us.” Mr. H was shaking. His voice was not strong. He was looking away.

“After my mother died, I was cleaning out our house. I just wanted to get rid of it. Anyway, I found some papers … turns out [nervous laugh] I was adopted. I was 46 years old and I just found out I am adopted.”

He started to cry. I held his hand.

Just when you think this may sound like a TV movie … it gets … more …

[Continued…]