Recently, I read a book entitled The Personal Librarian, by Marie Benedict and Victoria Christopher Murray. It was written as an historical novel about an actual person who became J.P. Morgan’s personal librarian and helped him acquire many treasured books and artworks for his collection, which he hoped to be part of a museum as well as his personal collection.

The main character in the book is Belle da Costa Greene, who had been born Belle Marion Greener. Her parents and siblings, as well as Belle, had all been classified as black, or in those days, “colored.” The mother decided that they should leave Washington, D.C., and move to New York City and change their identity to “white.” For Belle, not the very lightest of her siblings, the mother informed her she must drop the “Marion,” become Belle da Costa Greene, also dropping the final “r.” She invented a Portuguese grandmother, to account for the darker skin and eyes. Belle had no choice about these changes in identity, but had constant stress and fear the rest of her life, worried that someone might find out her true identity and racial background, which no one ever did. She did learn that other people she knew were also “passing” as something they were not, including Jewish or Russian backgrounds. J.P. Morgan himself was extremely racist, antisemitic, anti-Russian, and a few other things.

Belle never married and had very few deep personal relationships as a result of her “passing,” but she did support herself, her mother, and siblings for many years. Her father had left and later had another, this time Japanese, family. He felt strongly that he and his children should always work for acceptance as black citizens, entitled to equal rights and privileges as white people, so he was never told until many years later.

As I read this book and found it fascinating and felt for Belle, as she worked so hard to be who she said she was, I found myself wondering if many of us have spent many years “passing” in similar, though not as legally dangerous as her situation, ways, as adoptees or adoptive parents in closed adoptions; as birth mothers who relinquished a child and were told to never tell anyone else; as birth fathers who never knew or who never divulged their fatherhood to subsequent wives or families.

Keeping such secrets causes enormous stress, not being able to be fully open with spouses, other offspring, friends, medical personnel, their own parents and siblings, employers, churches, and neighbors. Adoptees without all their information and without knowing their birth parents, siblings and other family members, and in some cases, not knowing they were adopted, let alone having information about or acquaintance with, their original families, still know something is missing, whether they can identify it or not.

The adoptive parent(s) in a closed or semi-open adoption also have a lack of information, no real connection to the birth family, and therefore do not have full information about their adopted sons or daughters, even if they have some background information. They may insist that they are just as fully the child’s or children’s parents as are biological parents, but at some level, they are also “passing” as parents, and their children are “passing” as being their children.

In many cases, they are taught to be “grateful” to the adoptive parents for obtaining them or rescuing them from a terrible situation or terrible parents. In some cases, there may be some truth to that, but in a closed adoption, no one is getting the full truth, and, therefore, cannot really deal with the adoptee’s need to know, nor the adoptive parent’s need to fully accept their adopted child’s identity and needs. An open adoption may involve grief, sadness, the adoptive parents’ need to grieve their losses, but also the chance to heal, to know all the parents’ and all the child’s needs, so no one has to feel forever “passing.”

As a birth mother, I was never as closeted as many were. I told close friends, subsequent doctors in most cases, my spouse when we were dating, but I did not tell my subsequent offspring, let alone his children by his first marriage, until much later. My parents would rather I had never told anyone, but I knew I could not live like that. Still, in general, I always weighed whether to say I had three children or four, did I include my step-children, when would I tell my three sons I was raising, and so on?

I always knew I would search for my first son, and I did, and we were reunited for many years, in full communication with my other sons, and my second husband and his kids. Then, ten years ago, my first son and his wife cut off all communication for reasons I do not know. I sometimes feel again that I am “passing.” How many children do I say I have, how many step-children, how many grandchildren? This first son did not have children, so that is not an issue. His adoptive parents were kind to me, and we sometimes spent holidays together. They are now both deceased.

Other birth mothers I know have expressed similar thoughts and difficulty deciding who deserves to know their stories and who might not be receptive, or might be blaming. Looking at it all from the stance of “passing,” while not as dangerous as passing for white was for Belle and her family, it is still not always safe. Reading this book helped me to understand my own situation, and perhaps my first son’s, as “passing” and even perhaps his biological father’s viewpoint as an adoptee himself. Most of us do not know our complete biological background, either, so we may be passing in that regard, too, without knowing it.

This book is not about adoption, but persons with adoption connections may find it interesting and in same ways helpful. It can be found on Amazon or Thriftbooks.