Baby Boy Out

Baby Boy Out

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“I was born in a toilet” he chuckles, pausing his beer bottle midway to his lips. I watch as the group of three standing around him respond to this odd statement. As always, when he says this, there is a pause, followed by reactions. I sit back and wait for it to unfold.  They guy with the black rimmed eye glasses says “O�"Kay” in a tone of disbelief punctuated with a swig of beer. “For real bro�"I was born in a toilet bowl” he repeats. “The doctors pulled me out of the toilet bowl upon my birth.”  Now the two women of the group frown as the distasteful image  takes shape. Grimacing, they turn to me for verification. I simply nod.

 

“Why were you born in a toilet bowl? says the woman with the cropped afro and three tiny diamonds. one on her nose and earrings. This is his cue. I see his body shift, his dimples deepening as he smiles, taking another drink of his beer he takes his time to continue. “My real mother he begins “was a girl in her first year of college” “Just a teenager” he adds. “When she got pregnant, she was living with her sister. Afraid, she hid her pregnancy until I was born”  He pauses. He knows they want more to the story but he stops. “Well?”  pushed the other woman with the long black hair and red lips. He smiles. “Well” he repeats her word, according to what I was told, one December early evening,  she doubled over in pain at home.”  “Her sister rushed her to the nearby hospital with what she thought was a bad stomach ache and lo and behold,  he laughs, “it was me kicking my a*s out.”   “Yeah but how were you born in a toilet bowl”?  pushes he girl with the red lips in an inpatient octave.   As he settles himself to continue the story. “While waiting  for the doctor to check her, he continues, she excused herself to go to the bathroom and boom-I was born.”  I look at him and think back to the moment and time when he got the full story of his birth.

 

 Joe was born in the Philippines. His teenage mother, too scared to tell her parents about an out of wedlock birth made a pact with her sister to give the baby up for adoption and never speak of it again. I remember reading about the Philippines women’s health situation and found that In a country where reproductive health was limited due to its conservative religious roots and male dominated politics, health for women and girls has been limited and remains so. Unwanted babies are usually given away primarily to distant relatives but in Joe's case, a not for profit agency was involved through the hospital where he was born.

 

 Babies are easier to adopt and so he quickly was adopted by a US based Filipina and her Afro-American husband.  Joe grew up in Chicago. His mother had come to the Windy City as a post graduate student in archeology at the University of Chicago. A petite woman with a loving demeanor, she adored Joe.  She worked at the Museum of  Natural History as an archeological curator. Growing up around the museum and  in the upscaled Hyde Park community on Chicago’s South Side, Joe was cosmopolitan. His father a Chicago Police officer worked his way up the ranks and provided for their only child, a stable family environment with a network of cousins he was close to.

 

Joe’s real name is Joseph. He came with that name. The doctor who pulled him out of the toilet bowl was Dr. Joseph San Juan, so when he needed a name for his birth certificate, Joseph was as good as any.  His nickname became Joe and while such a non-descript name may not be reflective of the man, he turned his common name into one that sounded sophisticated. Almost like a Bond-James Bond way.  It was not his name alone. Joe created a mystique about himself. Few people ever figured out where he was from. A chameleon of sorts, he blended in with everyone. He would tell people that he was Afro-Pinoy a hyphenation of Afro-American/Filipino.  While being Black by association, he carried himself with an urbane male swagger but at the same time related to his Filipino roots.  The tattoos he sported were indigenous Filipino art and he was proud of them. His mother, a proud woman herself, made sure that Joe understood his roots. She had taken him a few times to the Philippines to spend time with her family. Joe loved his family there and was proud to have been born in this tropical Southeast Asian country but he once told me that while he enjoyed going to visit his mother’s family, he always had a slight feeling of not belonging. “Not being an authentic member of the family” he said.  Joe was more at home with his father’s family.  He said he felt like he belonged.  This he said gave him the right to call himself “Afro-Pinoy.”

 

Joe had a knack with women. He attracted them wherever he went. His 5'8 slim frame along with the dark elongated eyes that smiled in harmony with his deep dimples, his short wavy hair cropped short along with the honey brown skin and slightly pouty lips added to his mysterious good looks. Back in college I used to sing to myself the Quincy Jones 'Cool Joe-Mean Joe' song whenever  I would see him on campus.  I just knew this song had been written about him. 

 

Joe and I go back a long time. He is a couple years older than me so after I graduated from college, we hung out.  For a brief time we were lovers but we quickly realized that being platonic friends was better. In truth, I just did not like being jealous all the time. I did not want our relationship to become one of reproaches.  It’s hard for any woman to be in a relationship with this’ cool Joe.’  More importantly, I know that while he projects himself as this well-adjusted male, he still grapples with his story of being born in a toilet bowl and the rejection of his biological family. His birth story has served him many purposes. He uses it to interest women, it serves as a topic to be the center of attention amongst strangers.  In fact, if you give him time, he will give you the details of how and when he came out. He will tell you that his mother gave a piercing scream which prompted the emergency staff to rush into the bathroom and find that this girl was not having a bowl movement but was in fact delivering a baby.  The baby was rejected immediately by the young mother. She kept denying that this baby was hers and refused to hold him.  We got this full story from his maternal aunt.

 

After college, we made a trip to the Philippines to meet his biological family. Making contact with the not for profit organization that had facilitated his adoption, he was able to get his aunts name and phone number. As an adult, there were no more issues with the adoption. However, his mother’s name remained sealed.  In the summer of  1998 we both made our way to Manila. A first time for me. We stayed in the downtown city area called Makati. He learned that his maternal aunt lived in Marikina city located within Metro Manila just wo rivers away from Makati.  On the day of the appointment we rode 2 jeepneys to the appointment. I remember clearly the jeepneys we rode. One had a painting of wild, white horses out on a prairie on one side and pictures of children on the driver’s side. The second jeepney had a painting of a blond-blue eyed Jesus and an ash blond young Virgin Mary. I remember thinking they looked more like a California couple than the Israeli mother and child they were meant to be. 

 

 We were to meet at the Jollibee fast food restaurant at 3:00 p.m.  Finding, the bright yellow and red sign with the happy looking bee, we entered and ordered a soft drink. Finding a table near the entrance, we waited for his aunt. She told Joe that she would wear a white collared Bench T-shirt.  As we waited enjoying the air-conditioned space he tried to look calm meanwhile chewing his plastic straw finally asking for mine to drink with.  When she walked in, we knew it was her. Not because of the Bench collared shirt but because she had the same beautiful elongated eyes as Joe.  She smiled nervously at us and said, “before we talk, we eat.”  We both nodded and followed her to the counter.   I kept looking at her perfectly pedicured toes in the heeled sandals with her creased jeans skimming the ankle.  We ordered what she ordered, fried chicken with gravy. As we pulled at our fried chicken dipping it in the gravy, she gave us a brief over view of his family, his birth, and patiently answered his questions. She told us of the night he was born. Her younger sister denying she was pregnant even after giving birth to him. She laughed as she told us how the doctor who pulled him out kept shouting “Baby Boy Out-Baby Boy Out.”  She had no idea what the doctors were actually saying at the time.

 

“No” she said to Joe’s question of meeting his mother. She was now married with a family, had a degree in accounting and had moved on.  She quickly added that she was a very good woman. She had just been too young to be a mother. No one in the family knew he existed and it was better this way. His biological father she said was a nice man but also too young. Right after the baby's birth he set sail on a Greek cargo ship. A couple of letters afterwards, the couple lost contact. “Better this way” she added. Holding Joe’s eyes she said, I know it’s hard for you to understand. You live in a country where these things happen all the time and people accept it. Not really, I remember saying to her in my head, thinking of the teenage mothers I knew whose families had rejected them. “but in the Philippines, she continued, “an unwed mother would have found life very difficult.”  Her parents, she said had high expectations of his mother. She never used her name. They would have not accepted her pregnancy she added.  Her parents had high expectations of her. Joe’s mother had been sent to Manila from Iloilo, another island in the country in order to get a degree, followed by a good job, to have more opportunities and to be able to help her parents. She had done all of this and they were proud of her.” Look” she said,  “You have a good life in the US, your mother has a good life and everyone is happy. “ It was all for the best.”  I turned to look at Joe. He lowered his eyes and nodded. He heard this often about how lucky he was to have been adopted, how lucky he was that he had a life in the US, how he had loving adopted parents, he had family and friends. “Yes.” He would say to me.  “I know I am lucky but sometimes, I wonder, maybe I would be happier being less lucky.”  In the momentary silence, his aunt’s eyes began to water. This was Joe’s cue. He sat up, turned on his ‘happy  and lucky’ behavior and by the time we left, the mood was light. They promised to stay in touch but I knew he would not. He had come with a purpose. He found his answers and now he too would say�"its better this way.

 

Sade’s  sultry voice is now wafting through the room with “Smooth Operator.”

 I turn to look at Joe ,’ the smooth operator’, who has his audience still enthralled. As he turns to me, he says, “tell them baby about Baby Boy Out.” The group of three turn their attention to me and knowing my cue, I lapse into my well-rehearsed story….well the emergency staff heard a scream and….

 

By-Luz Maria Martinez

December 11, 2021