A Wish for Ashley

Throughout the country, Americans gathered at retailers yesterday to celebrate the unofficial holiday of Black Friday. Over the years I have celebrated this day of misguided holiday-induced judgment by trampling customers in pursuit of Power Rangers and spending hours on the sidewalk of a Best Buy… but those are stories for another day.  Last night, Tara, her Boyfriend and I commemorated the occasion not by hitting up a mall, but by striving to celebrate the day in the purest fashion: going out to acquire a Christmas tree. 

I was intrigued when my mother tasked me with coordinating the Christmas Tree and Decoration Acquisition for Tara and Erich of 2009.   My only prior experience with tree acquisition and décor has been limited.  There are no family tramps to the tree farm to saw down a tree and strew the tree in popcorn strings in our home.  Oh no, my mom is of the OCD I pick the tree, pick two colors of ornaments (Christmas of 2008 featured the black and white motif- all gifts not wrapped in Mother Approved black or white wrapping paper were not allowed under the tree) and decorate the tree on my own since I don’t trust you not to put two ornaments of the same color too close together generation.  Mind you my mom’s tree is always beautiful… but not so much kid (or 25-year-old) friendly.  So when she entrusted me with an envelope of cash and instructions to make sure Tara and Erich used it to introduce the Christmas spirit to their LA apartment yesterday morning, I didn’t want to let her down.

We set out last night to a formerly abandoned lot a few blocks away from the apartment, equipped with “sap friendly” clothes and an SUV that just screamed ‘tie a Christmas tree to my roof!’  All was going wonderfully: we picked a tree in under 8 minutes, and it was tied onto the roof within another five.  We celebrated our success with a stop at a frozen yogurt place on the way home. 

As we turned into the drive of Tara and Erich’s apartment building, my over-thinking mind turned on. “Hey, do you know what the clearance is of your parking garage?”  I asked, moments before we turned the truck towards the structure.  “7 feet” Erich read from the posted sign.  We all did quick calculations… and proceeded down the ramp into the underground garage. 

Turns out, the clearance of the garage is 7 feet…. but the clearance once you subtract the directional signs and pipes is, well, much less than that.  Perfectly selected tree nearly wiped out the signage of the apartment complex and perhaps the steam pipes as well.  Tara and I dissolved into giggles when the SUV finally pulled over and Erich got out, horrified, to see the tree was about to take off part of his roof in addition to a sign. 

Mom, you’d be proud.  The tree is properly proportional, and not yet decorated in popcorn strings.  The car may be a bit scratched up, and the parking structure has probably seen better days, but I think I have proven my tree acquisition skills.  However, for the record, I think I’ll pass from taking on this dangerous challenge again anytime soon.  Though, Ashley, if you want to join me for some misguided holiday-induced judgment sometime soon, I can promise you a good (and almost vandalism-free) time.

With love (and smiles as I head out for another day with Tara!),

Audra

 

 

 

I’m running on fumes.  Rather, 7 cups of coffee and two handfuls of goldfish, but you get the idea.  However even after logging 9 hours in a car and 6.5 in a plane in the past 48 hours I am wired.  Why? Because I just surprised my oldest sister in Los Angeles!!!!!! How did I end up here?  Let me rewind…

So Tara, Sister One (my consistent guest blogger- gold star!), has this bad habit of running off to warm climates when the thought of a New England winter enters her mind.  That’s all well and good- I support my sisters in all their endeavors and blah blah blah- but fact is, she ends up missing all of us a lot.  Call it lack of entertainment, withdrawal from my mom’s famous cream cheese macaroni dish or, dare I say it, love… she runs away and then gets very sad to be removed from the rest of us.  Oh yeah, and then there’s the fact that we miss her too. All in all, it leads to many sad phone calls…

Two months ago, Sister One’s boyfriend propositioned me.  Ok get your head out of the gutter.  Not like that.  He’d fly me to LA to surprise Tara if I would be up for coming and showing her some love.  Even with my aversion to hugs and all acts infringing on my personal space, I’m not an idiot.  Free trip to LA? To see my big sister?!  Count me in!

It’s been hard keeping the secret from her.  Yesterday I nearly cracked.  When Tara called us as Sister Two’s house (my favorite suburban couple hosted their first Thanksgiving yesterday.  Say it with me now!: awwwwwwww) she sounded so, so sad.  And it hurt me. I don’t like my family members hurting, especially not if I can do something about it.  So I decided that I could either blow the secret I had kept for 2 months or I could pass the phone as quickly as possible to the next family member.  3…2…1…. “well, I miss you!  Here’s Kayla!”   I passed the phone… and tried all I could to get my sister’s sad voice out of my mind.

When my alarm went off at 4:30am I rolled my stiff body (ever driven 4 hours stuffed into the back of a Honda coupe?  No?  Well, I don’t recommend it) out of bed and psyched myself up for flying. I felt like night of the living dead as I stumbled through security, straight to the Starbucks kiosk and then to the gate and then decided I must be experiencing the afterlife during the 6.5 hour flight during which the pilot kept apologizing for not being able to find “pockets of smooth air.” However, I snapped awake when I stood on the curb outside the terminal and watched my sister experience heart failure when her boyfriend pulled up to the curb and Tara registered that I was not, in fact, her boyfriend’s friend Josh, and was in fact, Podge, live and in the flesh.  There were many tears.  And hugs.  I kept my end of the proposition.  And hugged back (with both arms). 

It’s my first official visit to the west coast and while most of the weekend will be devoted to sister bonding, I’ll certainly keep my eyes open.  Not just for celebrities… but for potential Ashleys.  Who knows, maybe my cousin has a bad habit of running off to warm climates at the thought of a New England winter…

With love (and YAY- T-T and Podge weekend!!!! excitement),

Audra

 I did it.  Ok, no I didn’t do it- didn’t find Ashley- but I did do the other big It.  I made and submitted my ‘video plea’ to Troy. The Locator.  Now don’t go clicking around this website for this particular video diary- I’ll save you some time: it’s not here.  There is no good reason you could possibly give me to see my ridiculous self filming a plea to a complete stranger and sounding like a mad person in a process.  No, no, you’ll have to be pacified by written pleas.  Let’s not get greedy now.  

What led me to this position?  First, your emails.  Many of you sent kind, insightful emails that helped me to form more comprehensive Pro and Con lists.  Your commitment to our search was at once warming, inspiring… and a reality check.  You guys have logged hundreds of hours and me, well… I’d rather not know… searching for Ashley and pursuing leads, and while we have successfully ruled out thousands of girls… we still have not found the One.  Second, my mom.  We had a long discussion last weekend about this Locator business and she made me think a lot about a number of important things.

I’m not someone who asks for help easily.  When someone closes a soda bottle too tightly- “Podge Proofing’ it, in my family’s speak- I would rather wrestle the 2 liter bottle on the kitchen floor than call out ‘hey can someone help me?!”  However with the number of hours that have gone into this, the thousands of visitors to the website and the hundreds more we’ll reach over outreach events the next few months… a little more direction is welcome.  Add to that some new, reliable information that is both helpful but also extremely frustrating (more on this at a later date), I figure if The Locator specializes in locating, he can locate an unlocateable girl.  Right?  

Who even knows if Troy will pick our case.  I tried my very hardest on the video but well, nothing is certain and well I’m a pessimist.  Perhaps Troy will check out this website and read this blog and if so, Troy, PLEASE HELP ME!  Please help us.  Perhaps you are inspired by a challenge and I can tell you that based on what I learned today, this is an incredible challenge.  But if you are able to overcome it and find the One Ashley I’m looking for, I will never ever ever question your locating abilities or reality show again.  Ever. That’s a promise.  And the whole reason I’m here, writing such things like a crazy person, is because I don’t break promises.  

With love (and a shout out to my favorite Locator… pretty please help us with a cherry on top?),

Audra

Growing up, I was always fascinated yet baffled by my mother’s complete inability to sit through a movie.  Regardless of the genre, length of the movie, presence of captivating actors or power of the plot line, she would nod off, get up and start cleaning or otherwise completely tune out the action on screen.  As a middle schooler I, on the other hand, went to the movies at least twice a weekend and could happily sit through any film and be entertained.  When I turned 24 though, I inherited my mom’s disease: movie-induced ADD.

Nowadays, very few movies can keep my attention.  I try, I really do, but I swear there’s sleeping powder falling from the ceiling of any movie theater I step into.  When I luck out and there is no sleeping powder… my overactive brain kicks in.  Check lists run through my head, along with anxieties, and the next thing I know the credits are rolling and I’m telling my fellow moviegoer ‘oh yeah, I agree.  The movie was good.’  

However there is one movie that no matter how many times I watch it, I can pay attention to it.  Ok, I can do way more than pay attention to it: I can be completely captivated by the plot, music, characters and message.  I wish I could tell you that movie is some notable classic, a renowned piece of cinematic history.  Instead I have to tell you that the best movie in the world, is, in fact, Lilo and Stitch.  

What is it about Lilo and Stitch that can always engage my 25-year-old brain and bring me to a happy place?  Well for one, Stitch is like my long-lost twin.  As many of you know, I only act as Audra in day to day life, because at home and amongst friends I am Podge (or Paahjj, according to my late Uncle Will): a semi-human, kind of alien creature.  Podge, like Stitch, often communicates only in short, non-phonetic syllables.  Rahhh, ehh, mrah and erm are among the most popular.   Podge, like Stitch, doesn’t eat real food; main staples of Podge Nutrition are coffee, chocolate and cheddar goldfish.  Podge, like Stitch, can’t swim- it’s a part of her chemical makeup.  It’s really not possible.  However, most importantly, Podge and Stitch share a common, ruling principle.  One that brings a smile to my face each time I watch the movie and hear Stitch’s high pitched voice articulate it: “Ohana means family. Family means nobody gets left behind or forgotten.”

Family means nobody gets left behind or forgotten. Ashley, that means you.  Wherever you are, know that I never left you behind.  Wherever you go, know that you won’t ever be forgotten.  

With love (rah),
Podge  

The holidays are coming up and I won’t be home for them.  As a result, I’ve been thinking a lot about Christmas last year.  That holiday season I learned a lot, and as my sister, there are lessons I want to share with Ashley.

I have lived away from home since I was 13 when I decided boarding school was the place for me.  The place I might find myself.  (I was wrong.  It didn’t happen there.)  However, I hate being cold.  And I am ALWAYS cold.  So I said goodbye to Massachusetts, goodbye to New Hampshire, and hello to Florida.  (Every time I move to a new state I wonder if Ashley is nearby.)  I was there for 3 years.  The weather was gorgeous, it was a beautiful community, and I could see myself “settling there”. (Gasp! Yes, even Miss Dreads Suburbia thinks that way sometimes.) But a piece was still missing.  I went home for December last year because I needed to reset, feel that unconditional love that I mentioned in my last blog, to figure out the next step.

Will was there when I woke up that first morning.  It was grey outside, there was 3 feet of snow on the ground, I could hear the wind howling, and my mom told me to stop by the training studio for coffee when I got up so I needed to motivate.  Instead I walked downstairs, got some cereal, and sat with my butt on the stone outside of the fireplace and didn’t move from there all afternoon.  Will came down and sat with me.

We spent a lot of afternoons like that last December.  Me looking out the window perplexed why ANYONE would want to live in the tundra when there are places that only require a light sweater for the restaurants with their AC turned up too high.  He laughed at me and with me, talking about fishing when the weather got nice for 2 weeks out of the year.  We talked about him visiting me in the next warm place I lived.  In my living room I found what was missing in Tampa.  Understanding.  He didn’t sugarcoat life.  In the mornings when he made his way to the kitchen I would ask, “How are you feeling?” He would respond “Like shit.” with a smile.  We talked about how tough life is sometimes.  How easy it is to get lost along the way because sometimes you don’t always know where you are going.

He made it okay that I did not fit into the traditional mold.  It was okay with him that I wasn’t sure I wanted the dog (I’m allergic), the cul-de-sac house, the picket fence (they are cute, just not me), the adoring husband (ok, I want that now), and the 2 kids.  He also was the only person in my family that liked my country music.  I guess because like the TV show Cheaters that he watched with my mom and Audra, cancer isn’t so bad compared to the person in the song who lost his pick up truck and found his wife sleeping with his brother that shot his dog.

I miss him so much.  And for the record, not all country songs are so depressing.  My Uncle Will spoke to me in this one the other day:

"Hold your head high.
Don't ever let them define
The light in your eyes.
Love yourself, give them Hell.
You can take on this world.
You just stand and be strong
And then fight
Like a girl…
Oh, with style and grace
Kick ass and take names.”

From Will I found the strength to see the next step for me was California and realize I might never find myself in the way that people say, but that’s okay.  What I CAN do is fight like a girl with style and grace and maybe learn some more along the way.  I also need to eventually embrace the tundra as my home.

Dear Ashley, you might not know where you are going or if you are ready to see my family again, but from my cheering section to yours, just fight like a girl and laugh about it along the way.  It’s what Will wanted for all of us.  Part of the mold or not.

(And if you are the second 1⁄2 black person in the world that enjoys country music, I love Sugarland and am willing to switch my stilettos for a pair of cowboy boots any day.)

All you need is love,

Tara

When I was in college, I had to take the Myers-Brigg personality test.  I was highly skeptical that any test with seemingly trivial questions could generate any accurate profile; I mean I spent years in middle school tricking Seventeen Magazine ‘do you have what it takes to be a princess’ quizzes- do you like crowns?  YES!  So when I was handed a Myers-Briggs ‘INFP’ profile and then told I scored so far over on the INFP spectrum (highly introverted, intuitive, feeling and perceptive)  that ‘people like me’ comprised  under 2% of the US population… I was less than thrilled. Yeah, as if I’m weird enough being mixed race, now you’re telling me my personality is an oddity too? Great thanks.  However, I remember reading the profile you deal with things based on how they make you feel, and how they fit into your personal value system… do not like conflict… idealists and perfectionists…flexible and laid-back, until one of their values is violated…hard to get to know, they reserve their deepest love and caring for a select few who are closest to them…and thinking whoa.  That’s me.  I was starting to feel like a freak when the test administrator pointed out that two other girls in the group not only scored as INFPs but that the three of us had identical numeric scores for each personality element; ‘that never happens!’ she exclaimed.  Three freaks, it seems, but we found each other.  And to this day they are two of my best friends. 

The irony of a strong INFP-er taking a personality test and reading her profile is that INFP-ers are usually incredibly aware of their emotions and others’ perceptions of them.  The profile was accurate, but it was all stuff I had been writing about in my journal for years.  I had been aware of my tendency to feel hugely loyal to those in my inner circle, blame myself for things and ‘feel the world on my shoulders,’ and to never feel like things that I worked on were never good enough (yeah, remember my running water diorama?).  I knew that I rarely had strong reactions to situations unless I felt one of my values was truly being violated.  I was at a point that I was able to identify what my ‘ruling values’ were.

It is clear to me now that one of them is family.  Challenge my family members, and I will have an extremely strong- and emotional- reaction.  Challenge the values and sense of self that my mom worked so hard to instill in me and there is little hope that I’ll ever let it go.  That’s why A Wish for Ashley is so hard for me; it plays on every strength and flaw in my personality.  I want to right a wrong done to my family 15 years ago and I cannot let that go until I find my missing family member, my little sister.  However I blame myself that we are now 4 months into this and we still haven’t found her.  The weight of the search often keeps me up and I never feel like I’m doing enough.  Miss a few days of blogging because of things going on in my real life and I feel immensely guilty. 

Ashley, I wonder what you’re like now, if you feel these same tensions in your life.  The people who help me balance mine are your family too.  I hope you’ll give us a chance and meet us one day.

I miss you.  

With love (and INFP-ers don't mess around with that word),

Audra
 

Yay! Another guest blog (which is good because right now I'm at my kitchen table helping one of my "clients" write an AP English paper...oh I have so many fake jobs)... Thank you, Tara!

***
(I’ve been dreading this. But like my mom said, anything for Audra.)

I’m the oldest, the one who ran away from New England winters 5 years ago, slow as molasses, and yes I have a penchant for stiletto heels no matter what the weather.

Over 15 years ago, my home was Ashley’s home.  Love, laughter, and unconditional support flew off the walls. I just knew that DSS would see how much fun we all had together and that Ashley would be a permanent member of our family in no time. I naively thought it was a sure thing.

Then the day came that we weren’t going to see her anymore.  Usually one to get sad when I’m hurting, instead I got angry.  They made a BIG mistake, one that I didn’t understand, and one that I needed to fix.  It was my first realization that nothing is a sure thing in our world.  Well, almost nothing…

I too have spent time secretly searching for Ashley online over the years and when I first logged on I faced the questions that all of the members in my family faced.  Am I being selfish by searching for her?  Who am I to disrupt a child’s life? Should I just leave this girl alone?  Those doubts only crept in for the amount of time between the first and second mouse click because for all of the backlash my family and Audra have been subjected to, I know that searching for Ashley is the right thing.  Let me explain.

I am terrified of flying.  I don’t like knowing there is space between my feet and the ground.  I do not belong in a small metal tube with strangers.  I do not enjoy being on that metal tube as it speeds through the sky bumping along the way.  And I derive absolutely zero comfort from the fact that my seat is also a flotation device.  Did I mention my fatal allergy to nuts? Airplanes are not for me. So where am I now? 3000 miles away on the west coast, a 6 HOUR plane ride away from home. What the?!?

I needed to come out here to be with the love of my life, and that would not have been possible without my family. Often when I don’t feel like I have the strength to do something in this tough world, I rely on the same love, laughter, and unconditional support that used to bounce off the walls of our home, to pull me through.  I know that everyone needs a cheering section because, as my brother would say, “Life’s a bitch, be it’s pimp.” While I don’t feel like a pimp, I know I will make it past the next obstacle with these people behind me (alright, and a little Ativan for the long flights), and THAT is a sure thing.  There is no doubt in my mind that wherever Ashley is, she should be able to utilize the same support network and there is nothing selfish or wrong about reminding her that NO MATTER WHAT, we are still here for her.

I derive my strength from my family, and whether or not you know it, Ashley you have always been a part of that. Thank you for the opportunity to come out here and stand by my man.  My address may be Los Angeles, but my heart and spirit are spread around the country with the members of my amazing family and hopefully somewhere in Ashley wherever she is right now.

Ashley, if you’re reading this, I would hop on a plane tomorrow for you. Name the place.

All you need is love,

Tara

I’m pretty predictable.  I like routines, I like rules.  If I write out a schedule, I’ll stick to it.  Just ask my high school roommates: work until 3am, nap 20 minutes, work until 5am, nap 10 minutes… wow, I was kind of compulsive.   I could eat the same thing day in and day out for years and not get tired of it.  Not only could I, I do.  Coffee.  Caesar salad.  Plain chicken. Chocolate. Repeat.  My interests have not drastically changed since the age of 6.  Dance, working with kids, reading, writing, fashion. Check the box.  My friends don’t change much either.  Alex since kindergarten. Janis since first grade.  Priya since sixth grade.  Danielle since tenth.  Courtenay, Ava, Issy since freshman year of college.  And so on.  I’d like to think that I know what I’m looking for so when I find it, I stick to it.  As it turns out, my intellectual interests follow that pattern too.  So I shouldn’t be surprised that six people all saw this New York Times article and sent it to me: http://www.nytimes.com/2009/11/09/us/09adopt.html?_r=1&hp   Obama’s buzzword may have been change. My buzzword would be identity, so predictably this was forwarded straight to my inbox.

I’ve shared with you before that I think a lot about race and racial identity.  How can I not when at least three times a week a total stranger will approach me and ask “what are you?” Growing up, my parents did little to influence ‘what’ my siblings and I saw ourselves as- in fact, if anything, they avoided bringing it up.  I believe it was my sister Kayla who stumbled upon her childhood journal a few years ago and doubled over in laughter when she read her 6-year-old astute observation of: “my grandparents are coming to visit today. They are brown.”  We might have been ignorant about race, or what it meant to be biracial, but the “what are you?” questions let us know that we were different. 

So I found acceptance in every ‘different’ community I could find.  Alex?  Black.  We became kindergarten buddies because someone told her she was black because she drank too much chocolate milk.  She befriended me by saying ‘you must like chocolate milk too.’  Janis?  A Korean adoptee.  Your parents look nothing like you too?! COOL! Now let’s go read chapter books!  Priya? Indian.  You’re brown and skinny.  I’m tan and skinny.  Let’s be BFFs.  Danielle? You speak Spanish.  Everyone thinks I’m Spanish.  Amigas!  It wasn’t until college when I came to realize all of my adopted cultures were just that.  I realized that if I wanted to feel sound in my identity, I would need to define it myself.  “Mixed” means little in today’s world.  “Biracial” means Obama.  But wait, he’s black, right? So what is biracial again?   Going to college in the South meant defining it and defending it.  Coming back to the Northeast has allowed me to embrace it.

I think a lot about how Ashley might understand herself.  If she was adopted, does her family understand?  Do people constantly look at her, look at her adoptive parents, raise their eyebrows and ask her what she is?  If she wasn’t adopted, did she find a support network- perhaps adopt cultures like I did?- and come to understand herself that way?  Does she think of herself as a foster care kid? Does she think of herself as special?  

My brother came home this weekend.  He’s a few months into his freshman year in college.  He was beaming when he told me that kids at his college actually recognize that he’s part black- finally! he said.  My baby brother felt validated because for once he didn’t have to defend a part of himself, but rather it was acknowledged without prompting and accepted.  I hope everyday that Ashley’s identity, as a foster care survivor, or perhaps adoptive daughter, a ‘what are you’ young woman or just a 21-year-old girl is validated.  Because she should be acknowledge and accepted. She should be celebrated and loved. 

With love (for all the people who listen to my identity conversations everyday- and Happy Birthday, Janis!  I'll buy you a Boxcar Children novel of your choice...),

Audra
 

I’m hitting another search wall.  We’ve gone through nearly all of the Ashley leads that people forwarded us in response to the Globe and AOL stories and most have simply brought me back to Ashleys I’ve already been able to rule out.  Ashley Marie, where are you?  I’ve been operating under the assumption that her first name is still Ashley.  I find it hard to believe any family would change the name of a child past the age of 7.  Maybe I’m naïve; but at the same time I need to trust my instincts.  So I’ll keep on looking for one elusive Ashley. 

In a moment I’m going to blast our facebook group members and ask for their help in blanketing the Ashleys on the facebook site.  If you’re reading this and are on facebook, myspace, or perhaps some hipper networking site I’m not cool enough to be aware of, I hope that you’ll be a part of this challenge too.

I promised my uncle I’d find Ashley a little over five months ago.  Since I’m looking for an arbitrary number, five seems appropriate.  So here’s my pitch- in an effort to locate Ashley before five more months have passed, I hope you’ll search “Ashley” on a networking site and send a message to the first five Ashleys that pop up.  What should that message say?  Well, I don’t want to dictate your communications.  But if you have writer’s block, a quick message explaining that you a part of a big effort to help reunite a family by locating a 21 year old who was born with the name of Ashley Marie McFarland should suffice.  Ask her to check out this website or the ‘A Wish for Ashley’ facebook group; you never know if it’ll be my cousin, or another Ashley that will bring us closer to her. 

If you complete the Five Ashley challenge, email facebook@awishforashley.com and let us know that you did so.  I’ll soon be making a volunteer page for this website and I’d love to acknowledge all of the people who participate in our outreach challenges!  Five Ashleys… and it’ll take less than 5 minutes of your time.  Five Ashleys… and you may be the person to make this wish come true.

Thank you for your optimism and continued support.


With love (and ongoing gratitude),

Audra