The entire time I was in Portland, which was the five years, I had absolutely no contact with any of my family.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
I had been out there long enough. I had not seen my family for four years.
I was ten years old in 1969, and while we lived in Arizona that year, I spent most of the summer staying with family friends in Portland, Oregon while my parents visited Spain. It was an adventure all around.
In 1965, I was 11 and in my last year at Junior school. I was living with my mum and older sister in a rented flat in south London - my parents had separated when I was five and got divorced a couple of years later, which was unusual at the time. My dad was working abroad, and I hadn't seen him for several years.
I was born and raised in East Los Angeles by a single mom who had three biological kids and adopted four more. I never met my dad.
Being an only child, I didn't have any other family but my mom and dad really, since the rest of my family lived quite far away from London.
Just before my final year of high school, my brother, sister and I moved with my mother to San Francisco.
I grew up in an average middle-class family. I don't think I even knew any friends who were fostered or adopted.
My father was never around. It was almost as if he didn't exist. I would tell my friends he was in Cleveland, on business. Sometimes, every six months or so, he would come by for dinner.
I lived in Portland for almost 20 years, and that's where my eldest daughter went to college. I missed the sunshine. I grew up in L.A.
I lived in L.A. for a few months. It seemed like no one there had parents. Or if they did have parents, they would deny it.