Honoring Adoption – A Friend’s Story

By Teresa Branstetter Kimbel

HONORING ADOPTION

Momma went back to work in 1955 when I was one week old. With Daddy opening Bob’s Auto Supply that same year, both the business and I needed constant attention. So, momma chose wisely when she left me with the lady and her husband two doors up the street, to go work with my dad. Known publicly as Jack and Lela Dilley, to me they were just Ma and Pa.

Ma taught me how to bake cornbread and cakes, make sauerkraut, and cracklings, and lye soap and how to wring the chickens neck off so we could eat it for dinner, or lunch, that same day. It was there that my sister caught her hair in the wringer washer and I baked the cake that contained the weavels that I took to daddy at the store to eat anyway; where I rode the plow behind the mule; where I gathered the eggs in the chicken coup and “swam” in the galvanized tub in the summertime; where I watered the plethora of flowers that Ma grew in the sunroom; where I drank the “home-brew” that Ma made when I had croup and where, at the age of four, I smoked one puff of a cigarette that Margaret (Ma’s niece) offered me. When the nurse asks, in a doctor’s office, if I’ve ever smoked cigarettes, I have to laugh and answer, “Just one, when I was four at Ma and Pa’s house.”

The story goes that even at the age of “barely able to walk” I would grab my bottle and blanket, as early as sunrise, and crawl off to Ma and Pa’s where Ma would tuck me back into bed with her—a great big featherbed that I would sink waaaay down into, cold feet and all.

Pa took the job as janitor at the Edmonton Elementary School the year I turned six and entered first grade. It never occurred to me until years later why the two happened simultaneously. I had no idea the depth of Pa’s love and how the six years I practically lived with both of them would impact my entire life. Today I look at the clock at 11 a.m. and think “bake the cornbread” and I buy Joy dishwashing liquid just to remember the smell of Ma washing dishes.

Working Moms

If you are a working mom, unable to stay at home, or just choose not to for some reason, someone out there is doing for your child only what she/he/they can do, that you, perhaps, cannot. Somehow, someway, for some reason you have to trust that they are supplying a piece of the puzzle to the bigger picture God visualizes for your child. Ma and Pa were two simple, uneducated, precious souls who raised me for six years, until “higher” learning could take place. I say “higher” but certainly not “greater.” They let me live carefree in a no-holds-barred world and loved me unconditionally.

Honoring Adoption

In this month specified to honor adoption, I could not NOT honor them. Their home was my home. Their food was my food. Their ways were my ways. And, thankfully, some always will be. #adoption #adoptionmonth #November

This was written by a friend of mine, Teresa and I not only share sound alike names (Teresa Kimbel and Teresa Kindred) we also went to school together. While neither one of us is famous, there are lots of famous folks who were adopted. In case you are interested can read about them here.

I also wanted to mention I understand my friend Teresa’s feelings about being adopted by the couple who watched her. My grandmother was my go to sitter and Dorothy helped me raise my children. They still refer to Dorothy as their second mother. Here’s a piece I wrote about them called Grandma, Soap Operas and Game Shows.

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