Who is Nancy Faye?

Well, that is a very good question! It is one I will attempt to answer over the life of this blog. What do you say we get started?

First, I'd like to set a few things straight. As far back as I can remember, I have known I was adopted. My parents were two of the most wonderful parents anyone could hope for, and two of the most incredible people I have ever had the privilege of knowing. Let me just say that my searching is in no way related to any "issues" with my adopted parents. I would not change my childhood for all the tea in China, or more accurately for those who know me, all the Chai at Starbucks!

My parents were married for twenty years when I was adopted. They had been unable to have children of their own, although no one was able to tell them exactly what the issue was. They were a wonderful, loving couple who showered me with love when they opened their hearts and home to me as a ten month old infant. I also have an adopted sister who is three years younger than me.

I remember asking my mother once, "Where did you get me?" Her response was "the adoption bureau." As I was very young and had little idea about government agencies, I took her words as I heard them, "the adoption barrel." Images of large wooden barrels filled with babies came to mind. I wondered how they picked me out of all those barrels of babies. Either way, I was quite happy with my selection process.

While my parents were very supportive and open about the possibility of searching as I became older, they did not have a lot of information to offer. I remember my mother showing me an "important document" when I was about ten or eleven, that contained a surname. (Little did I know that this "memory" would come into play more than 30 years later.) She had also shared my "birth name" with me, Nancy Faye. I thought this was an especially ugly name.

I remember going to the public library to search their collection of telephone books some time after seeing the document. After inquiring at the reference desk which area codes were in the San Fernando Valley, I compiled a list of telephone numbers for all the people I could find with that last name. One particular phone call frightened me. So much so that it caused me to give up on my promising career as a detective. A man answered the phone and I asked to speak with Nancy Faye. He started shouting into the phone, "Who is this? What do you want? Why are you calling us?" Terrified, I hung up the phone and never tried to call again. That was the end of my search for about another eight or nine years.