I just looked and realized this will be my 800th post on this blog! Wow. That sorta blows my mind. I started blogging in 2005, right after my daughter came home, and kept it private for a long time. I finally "went public" when I realized it might be a way to encourage people to adopt, if they read about my wonderful kids.
At the moment, Michael is getting sick, and I am taking him to the doctor in the morning. Alesia said tonight her throat is scratchy, too. I hope she doesn't get whatever this is, and I hope it isn't strep.
A lady I know is putting together a book of adopted children's recollections about their adoptions. I asked Michael if I could submit his "stories" he wrote last summer, when my mother was trying to help him improve his writing skills. He said sure. So I combined them into a sort of narrative. [I am trying to get Alesia to write something, too, but no luck yet..] I think it's fitting that I post here Michael's story, in his own words.
My Life in Kazakhstan
By Michael Thompson
I was born in Kazakhstan. My birthmom didn’t take good care of me, and when she told me to go to school, I would go halfway, and then I would go to my friend’s and I would stay at his house and play with him until school was over. Once my birthmom was walking with her friend past my friend’s house and we were playing outside and my birthmom saw me and then I got spanked. But still I didn’t go to school after she spanked me.
My birthmom was named Natasha. She yelled a lot. She had a man friend, and a lady friend. They drank vodka until they got drunk.
We usually slept on the floor made from cement. It was hard and cold even in summer. I went to bed before she did. She was often gone when I woke up. There was nothing to eat. I almost never went to school. No-one wore uniforms at that school.
When we did have food, it might be a banana or dry or cooked spaghetti. One time she put bread in the vodka for herself. To get money she sold our window glass and roofing.
I don’t know what happened to her now.
I used to have a brother. His name was Sasha and he was 17 years older than I. He was tall and thin and darker than me. He had dark, and curly hair.
Sometimes, when it was warm outside, he would take me swimming in a pond. Sometimes my birthmom took me to the pond to take a bath. The water was cold in the morning. It was more fun when my brother took me.
Sasha took me to his girlfriend’s house when my birthmom was drunk. Sasha’s girlfriend’s son was my friend.
My brother was put in jail twice. We went to see him and stayed there with him for 3 days. It made me very sad when my brother died. [His brother committed suicide.]
Later, police came and took me away to the orphanage.
[This is just a shot of a typical street in Kazakhstan]
The woman took me to The Shelter before the orphanage. It was boring. When toys came and other things, the adults took what they liked, like flashlights and other things.
Once, I got sick and I had to go to the hospital. When I came back from the hospital, the people let kids go outside, but not for long, like for 30 minutes. If anybody did anything bad, everybody had to go in and do pushups.
Later, they shaved my head and gave me a shower, and gave me clothes. Then, in a police car, they took me to the Regional Orphanage. When I got there, it was a big place with 200 kids. At first I was scared, but then I got used to it and I had lots of friends.
The orphanage was divided into 25 families and I was in Family 9.
[Here is the orphanage:]
[Here is Michael with his group:]
My mother spent hours with Michael, painstakingly getting him to remember and write down what he could. Sometimes he had a hard time talking about it. He is a very brave and amazing little boy. He is very fortunate to have a Granny who adores him, and has made it possible for him to thrive here, in so many ways. Thanks, Mother!