Me, my mother (Rose) and my father (Larry). They are wonderful.

A few years back I was contacted by the Government of Nova Scotia. There is a division that focuses on adoption and those who have been adopted. They asked me (I was adopted in Cape Breton in 1975) if I would be interested in meeting my biological and also adopted sister.

At that time, I never knew I had a sister. I had never met my birth mother or father. I had no idea who they were/are. My adoptive parents never kept the fact from me that I was adopted, but I never really did the research beyond that. I will delve into this further in future posts, but or right now I’m digressing a bit too much.

Short story shorter, I said ‘Fuck yeah’ and was introduced to my sister Angela. At first there were letters and pictures, then a phone conversation. We hit it off immediately. Same stupid sense of humour. Same ability to make any subtle nuance an over-sexualized metaphor. On top of all that, she was a police officer. I won’t go too much more into her story, needless to say (but I find myself in need of saying it), she is awesome and a bit of a hero of mine.

My parents (pictured) surprised me by flying her out to Ontario at the same time I was going to introduce them to Elizabeth who was, at the time, my fiancée. There is an awesome picture of a bus terminal with me walking towards Angela with my mouth agape, arms open and Elizabeth basically walking behind me not really knowing what the crap is going on. Elizabeth meeting my parents for the first time was still very important but, like I said, it was a surprise. I forgot about it all and walked towards Angela. We hugged and then pushed each other back in studious glances. It was weirdly primal.

I’m sorry Elizabeth, for just adhering to biological awareness like that. But hell, I’d never met anyone with the same blood as me. And I love you. Forever. I knew you’d get it. Well, I did. After the fact.

We got super duper drunk that night and played scrabble. The whole new family. It was pretty rad.


I’m sick of doctors asking about my biological parents’ medical history. Not unlike those family tree projects in grade school, this question is fundamentally irrelevant to my situation. I don’t know my bloodline’s medical history. I don’t know how to answer these questions. I’m tired of very well paid people looking at me like I’m an asshole. I mean, I’m used to it (I am a writer/performer/actor after all), but usually, those people have paid to see me.

I’m a father. I need to know what I’ve passed on in the form of physiological malfeasance. I need to be fair to my wife and my son.

So, I contacted the Nova Scotia adoption team again. I want to talk someone who is a biological parent. Or at least, someone who will have an inkling of insight into my biological history. I’m sick of not knowing if there is a history of heart disease. Or cancer. Or geriatric profanity disorder. The latter I feel I’m already suffering from.

More to come.

3 Comments Add yours

  1. contessabessa says:

    I love this, Trent. ❤


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