My Letter to Ruby

Dear Ruby,

I have begun this letter countless times in my head, and more than a few times on paper. I keep telling myself to not over think…to simply write…but that, as it is with many things, is easier said than done.

I am Rick. I was born on November 30th, 1970, at Deaconess in Oklahoma City. I have had a good life. It has, of course, been a mixture of the extraordinary and the mundane. I have seen friends come and go. I have experienced the highs of love and the occasional pangs of heartache. I have traveled the world and lived in many different places. I have watched my grandparents age and leave. I was the class clown in high school and a thumb in the eye of authority in college (at least in my own mind). I married an incredible person, Sara, whom I met while performing in a play (Cat on a Hot Tin Roof). She has been a steady rock and partner for me over the years. I have witnessed the births of my son and my daughter, Luke and Hannah, to whom I am indelibly bonded. I have performed in Carnival in France, and on stage in orchestras. I have been a teacher (two years of high school English), a tree trimmer, a musician, a butcher, a published poet, a work site supervisor for people with mental disorders, and now, a software designer. I have carved my initials into the Eiffel tower and stood barefoot on the Taj Mahal. I now live in Keller, Texas with a house full of dogs and cats and the kids’ toys, my books and music and Sara’s countless projects. Throughout all of these experiences, I have known that I was adopted.

Being adopted as been a casual fact of mine for almost as long as I can remember. When I was five years old, my family moved to a neighborhood outside of Denver, Colorado. As it so happened, four other children in this small neighborhood were adopted. One evening, over dinner, I simply asked if I too were adopted. The answer: yes. And that was it, no big deal, heck, half the neighborhood was adopted.

Of course, being adopted does bring about the obvious questions: Who are my natural parents? Why was I adopted? Where are they now? Do they still think of me? As I got older, in addition to the random contemplations on being adopted, I would think about you on my birthday and wonder if you remembered that day…if we could possibly be thinking of each other at the same moment.  

I hope that your life has been good as well. I hope that you have accomplished some of your dreams and made peace with any that have not come to pass. I read in the brief bio that was included with my adoption records that you played the clarinet. I hope you still enjoy music. I think about how difficult a decision adoption must have been for you to make, and I am humbled by your courage.

I would like to know you, to sit and chat and exchange questions and answers, ideas and thoughts. I hope you feel the same, though I will understand if the circumstances of life prevent you from being able to reunite. My hopes and good wishes for you remain the same regardless. Thank you for giving me a start.

Love,



Rick