Category Archives: Rudy Owens

Two-year anniversary of publishing my adoptee memoir

Author Rudy Owens at a September 2019 lecture on his memoir, You Don’t Know How Lucky You Are.

It is amazing to think that two years have passed since I announced the publication of my memoir, You Don’t Know How Lucky You Are: An Adoptee’s Journey Through the American Adoption Experience.

My story remains one of the most distinct books ever written on this hidden chapter of U.S. History.

You Don’t Know How Lucky You Are details my experience being born in one of the largest maternity hospitals devoted to separating families through Adoption, Crittenton General Hospital.

It then examines my life story amid millions of other stories of U.S.-born adoptees and what we know from the long ignored facts about this institution that still denies basic legal and human rights to millions of persons.

Unlike other works on the U.S. adoption system, my book uses a wealth of facts from multiple disciplines: biology, evolutionary psychology, history, public health, sociology, and original source material to provide an overview of the public health impacts on millions of adoptees. This is because adoption cannot be understood without the research from multiple fields and because adoption has to be understood as a public health issue.

That fact matters now more than ever in our COVID-19 world, when many people can finally see the connections between systems, laws, policies, and health outcomes.

I self-published my book in May 2018, through a publishing company I created called BFD Press. You can order it here, or get a copy from Amazon, IngramSpark, or from your favorite online bookseller.

Rudy Owens holding his completed memoir.

Rudy Owens holds his completed memoir.

Since that time, I’ve heard from many readers, in the United States and abroad, who have purchased my work and have shared how much they appreciate me telling this story.

My work has been especially helpful to Michigan-born adoptees like myself, who continue to struggle with my birth state’s extremely hostile treatment of adoptees and its discriminatory laws that make it nearly impossible for uncounted tens of thousands of adoptees to know their past, their medical history, and their family history.

I want to let all of my readers to know that I remain humbled by the trust you have placed in me and my story. You, the readers, have always been my inspiration and the silent yet powerful supporters who kept me going when I wanted to put this project aside because it had no interest to traditional publishers.

Two years since I published my memoir, I can still say with certainty that adoption remains one of the few sacred institutions in this country that strangely binds the political left and the political right in terms of policy.

I can still say with certainty that adoption, as a system of practices and laws, still marginalizes an entire class of people because of their status at birth and because of hidden bias. Few admit to such prejudice that is manifest in the collective and systemic practices against so-called illegitimately born human beings.

Adoption remains an institution that is sanctioned by state laws that still discriminate against millions of Americans only because they are adoptees.

I continue to promote my book to the public and the media, including any opportunity to do book readings. I can always be contacted if you are interested in inviting me to speak to your group, including medical professionals, policy-makers, public libraries, and bookstores.

As a final note, I also can still say with absolute confidence that the underlying truth about my identity has not changed since I first published my work. I have not forgotten who I am and what motivates me to continue to supporting all adoptees in their quest for equality and human rights.

I will never shy away from calling myself the “Bastard from Detroit.” This name honors my true identity, rooted in our country’s historic discrimination against so-called “illegitimate” humans. I will continue to work on behalf of all adoptees because I strongly believe there is no such thing as an illegitimate person.

My sister will die never knowing her past

On Jan. 3, 2020, The Detroit Free Press published my guest column on Michigan’s discriminatory and restrictive adoption records law that denies Michigan’s adoptees legal access to their original birth records, except by overcoming restrictive barriers.

In my adoptive sister’s case, she falls in the 35-year period, between 1945 and 1980, for which the state statutes have almost impossible barriers for an adoptee to overcome to get what is theirs as a legal and human right. My sister, who is seriously ill and bedridden in a skilled nursing home, will likely die in the near future without knowing her biological kin, her biological parents, and her ancestral past.

This unfortunate outcome is intentional. In fact, this scenario was the design of those who created Michigan’s biased law that is zealously enforced by Michigan’s vital records guardians at the Michigan Department of Health and Human Services.

My sister and I both were born in these post-World War II boom years of adoption, that saw nearly 3 million adoptees separated from their biological kin through the U.S. adoption system.

It is no coincidence that Michigan’s lawmakers adopted the most restrictive rules for adoptees in this cohort, because records secrecy continues to hide from the public how widespread and systemic that system was in the United States, impacting literally millions of Americans.

My book on my own experience challenging this discriminatory records-keeping system details how adoption history has been hidden, preventing adoptees from knowing themselves and their past and the public from knowing the truth about the many players who promoted this system for decades.

Author note: The guest column published by The Detroit Free Press has slight changes from the original I submitted, without changing the substance of the submitted column.

Rudy Owens’ book reading and conversation focuses on the American adoption experience

Join Portland author Rudy Owens for a free book reading and conversation on his recently released memoir that explores the secretive world of American adoption. The Pageturners event is sponsored by the Friends of the Multnomah County Library.

What: Rudy Owens’ book book reading and conversation on his memoir, You Don’t Know How Lucky You Are
Where: Multnomah County Library, Belmont Branch (1038 SE César E. Chávez Blvd., Portland, OR 97214)
When: Wednesday, Sept. 11, 2019, 6:30-7:30 p.m.

All media are encouraged to attend. See this press release sent to Portland-area media.

Owens is available for interviews before and after the event.

Owens’ memoir, You Don’t Know How Lucky You Are, offers insights on the widespread American institution of adoption, a national social engineering experiment that remains mired in discriminatory laws and partisan politics, not equality and fairness.

If you aren’t counted, you don’t count

The upcoming 2020 Census will ask a question about some adoptees, who are younger and in a household with parents/guardians, and not count those who are older and are heads of households.

My guest column on the upcoming 2020 Census and how it will, again, fail to count all U.S. adoptees was published today (Aug. 17, 2019) in the Eugene Register-Guard newspaper. In my column I highlight how the last two national headcounts of all Americans failed to accurately count all U.S. adoptees. (You can also see a slightly different version of my column, with footnotes and references, on this page.)

I show how this failure to account for all adoptees represents part of a decades-long problem in how adoption and adoptees have been left out of official systems that should be counting them.

My book on the U.S. adoption system, You Don’t Know How Luck You Are, documents in greater detail how these glaring failures in our vital records and public-health systems are not accidental and should be seen as policy failures that should have long-provoked calls for reform, especially from the public-health community.

My piece makes one of the most basic points about politics and policy-making: If you aren’t counted, you don’t count. Unfortunately, the 2020 Census will again fail to acknowledge the presence of millions of adoptees, who still do not count by being denied equal treatment by law and by being denied unfettered access to their original vital records.

An adoptee may never be family in kin networks

This shot was taken during a visit with some of my adoptive relatives. With some, it was the last time I ever saw them, and this image is nearly four decades old.

When I wrote my memoir on the U.S. adoption experience and my family story, I knew that I would have few fans among my adoptive and biological family members.

In fact, I wrote this in the introduction to my memoir, You Don’t Know How Lucky You Are: “Some families may feel aggrieved by an adoptee sharing family tales. Some may feel deep anger. Adoptees risk harming those relations by helping others know about this experience that touches nearly all Americans through their personal, work, and community relations. Adoptees know they could disrupt their family ties forever.”

A year after I self-published my book, I learned that more people in my family network had read my book than I had thought. Some did not tell me they had until I learned by accident in unrelated communications. Of those who read it, none have genuinely reached out to me to discuss it, except two cousins, on either side of my adoptive families. I am happy for these conversations.

One likely barrier is my history with my extended adopted family. Some of us never really communicated for decades. In my book I explain how not being biologically related as distal kin is a major factor why there is this undeniable communications gap. My book makes this point, and none have reached out to explore this with me.

My adoptive father’s many failures, as a father and more, is another complicating factor. He was an alcoholic, and I only briefly touch on how that addiction forever shaped my family’s history and my life in ways I still think about on those dark, cloudy days. His very existence represents a shameful family secret, not to mention what he did as a husband and father.

From those who read my book, I did not receive any words of support about issues I addressed, such as the immorality of state laws and adoption systems that hide people’s identity. It is as if the issues I made clear at the individual and societal level did not matter, even when they had this true-life story connected to them personally. I never heard one communication that showed empathy.

By contrast, I have received many thoughtful comments from readers, who are strangers and who I have known throughout my life. Their words have been reassuring that the story I wrote touched on themes that are universal to the human experience.

In the end, the mostly cold shrug I received from my adoptive and even my biological family networks has made me all the more happy I wrote my book. And maybe my story will really only will connect with adoptees and just those who see them as equal persons in the eyes of the law. 

(Author note: My memoir does not mention any family member by first or last name, nor do I provide any clues that might reveal their identities.)