Last June, as I was filming testimony of NJ-CARE members during an Assembly hearing, my primary camera failed. I was filming Susan Perry at the time, and I remember thinking – well, New Jersey isn’t going to pass access legislation while Governor Christie is in office, and Susan Perry is one of the most important voices out there so there will be lots more opportunities.

Susan taught us many things. One of them is, we can never foresee the future.

Shortly after her testimony, she was diagnosed with fourth stage melanoma. She passed away less than a month ago. If she had access to her own birth information, it’s quite possible she would still be alive.

And somehow, Governor Christie is finding his way to ‘yes.’ So in May of 2014, New Jersey will see the light at the end of its very long tunnel of adoption reform. Secrecy in adoption will end – and Susan Perry will have played a significant role in that. While I don’t think she’d be happy that adult adopted citizens will have to wait until 2017 to access their birth certificates, or that redactions were a necessary compromise for the passage, I have to believe she would be thrilled about eliminating the secrecy for future generations. Her advocacy alongside the NJ-CARE team will save lives and provide both equality and dignity for adopted citizens going forward.

Susan and I both had cancer scares mid summer 2013. Mine ended up just being a lot of tests and good news. Susan’s experience was far different. I just reread the last emails between us. As she cheered the good news I’d received, I kept prodding her to consider doing a film. She would have been a natural filmmaker with her storytelling gifts, with her laugh, and with her wisdom. But Susan was very clear about what she intended to do with her time: spend it with her husband, her daughters, her grandchildren – and her two newly found sisters, who arrived bearing love and kindness last fall.

Mid winter, I sent Susan and Ty the very first copy of my new film, A Simple Piece of Paper, about adoptee access in Illinois. I don’t know if Susan felt well enough to even watch a few frames – but it made me feel good to know she was its first audience, in spirit.

The film now goes out into the ‘ether’, as it premieres in twenty states on PBS this week, and will hopefully air in every state in the Union through the summer and fall (see www.asimplepieceofpaper.com/find-pbs-screenings.php for the schedule). I wish she were here so we could talk a bit more about about writing with pictures, and the impact films can have. She had the most important gift of any storyteller: an intense passion coupled with a compassionate mind. I am imaging the films she would have made, stamped with her own special wisdom and wit. I will always regret that I didn’t capture her testimony last June. Her words were so powerful. They will always be powerful…

When I was younger, I felt somewhat cynical. I didn’t believe people could change. But then bit by bit, things began to shift here in America. Drunks who got behind the wheel of a car were no longer funny (watch any movie from the 50’s and 60’s when drunk driving was a comedy staple). Public smoking was no longer tolerated. Homosexuals came out of the closet, and began to be treated like human beings (at least in some places). An African American was elected president. These shifts all represent the capacity not only for individuals but for our large and often unwieldy culture to change, to evolve. But if you had told me a quarter century ago that apartheid would end, I would never have believed it. Ever. And yet it did – and one man was largely responsible.

Nelson Mandela stands to me as a symbol of hope, of change. Mandela was filled with hatred for the first eleven years of his imprisonment. And then, he somehow found the capacity inside himself to let go of his hatred, and to try to love all people, to not let anger dominate him. His smile won people. Smile at your enemies. It will disarm them.

You know – he was a boxer. He looked like Muhammad Ali. When he was younger, he was heavier. He did some things that really were… violent. He was not like MLK or Ghandi. But he was magnifying, articulate, charismatic – and hopeful.

When Jon and I were in South Africa three years ago, we went to Robben Island, where Mandela was imprisoned for 18 of his 27 years. I stood in his cell, and tried to imagine the transformation he allowed to happen inside of him. He might have been in a cell, outwardly under the control of others, but he was free in his mind and heart.

It meant a great deal to me to see this place, to stand for a few moments alone in that small room. I had seen it once before, and vowed if I ever got a chance to go there, I would.

When the Millenium celebration was happening in 2000, I had the flu. I lay on the couch and watched as the clock hit midnight in Fiji (the first country to enter the 21st century), and every hour, television crews showed the celebration in each country. There were huge, spectacular demonstrations, full of magnificent displays of fireworks, millions of people partying, everywhere. Except one country: South Africa.

There, on Robben Island, a camera crew followed twenty-seven barefoot men, drummers, as they walked in a line into the prison hallway where Nelson Mandela had been kept. And they began to drum on the floor. Then they pressed their feet against the sides of the walls, inching their way up, above the ground, all the while drumming the sides of the hallway as they climbed, until they were drumming on the ceiling, their legs forming an archway below them. And underneath that human arch walked Nelson Mandela, holding the hand of a small boy. They walked into the cell where he’d been imprisoned, and together lit a single candle.

I wept. I still do, thinking of it. It was the most hopeful thing I have ever witnessed. Every other country had celebrated with a party. South Africa reminded us of how far we can come, and how far we have to go. They chose to embrace hope.

I would encourage all adoption reformers. Light a candle. Let the anger go. Smile at everyone. Forgive them for their ignorance. Never lose your hope and resolve – people can change…

My oldest son was married last Saturday. To an amazing young woman. It was an magic day – full of remember-forever moments for our whole family. It was a day of joy for Tiff. A day of strength and brotherhood for Jonathon. A day of passage for Jon and I. A day to join with a new family, and to welcome a daughter-in-law to hold hands with us. It couldn’t have been more extraordinary.

Perhaps for those of us who are adopted, or who spend far too much time thinking about the issues adopted adults can deal with, there is something about it all, the growing up of one’s kids, the expanding of a family, the wonderfulness of the joining, that fulfills certain longings, fulfills a sense of belonging. I have heard others speak of the sense of loss when their children wed. I felt only gain – and an odd and wonderful sense that I don’t have to worry so much, something that I’ve spent far too many hours doing.

Anyway. It was cool! I will post pictures somewhere for friends who’ve known Tiff for forever, and share with them the video of the wedding, and the video of Jonathon’s amazing toast as well, if he’ll let me. Wedding days are certainly lifetime moments for the bride and groom – but they can evoke lifetime moments for others as well.

This one did for me.

For all the ‘scares’ that July had wrought, August erased them a thousand fold, and gave us all a day in the sun. Literally.

Okay. For all who are waiting, I am back to cutting the film. And feeling very very happy!

ADOPTEE OBC: a simple piece of paper, had a rough cut premiere in the same fantastic venue in Cleveland, with much of the same audience, that For the Life of Me enjoyed four years ago. The American Adoption Congress returned to Ohio for its annual conference, with an incredibly exciting backdrop: a clean bill passed the Ohio Assembly while the conference was in session. It was an awesome moment. One of my favorite memories of the entire week was watching Betsie Norris’s face as she was given a long sustained standing ovation the morning after this historic passage. Betsie was visibly moved as she was acknowledged by her peers for the 24 year effort she has made to help Ohio get it right. There is still more work to be done – a Senate vote, a governor’s signature, and none of it taken for granted. But it was sweet to watch – for everyone in attendance. Rock on Betsie!

The premiere of the film was equally thrilling. It’s the longest film I’ve ever made, topping the scales at almost two hours. It will need to be shorter in its final cut, but for this audience, it was appreciated (that three minute standing ovation is something I’ll never forget). With many people in attendance who are key in the film taking the stage (State Representative Sara Feigenholtz, her chief-of-staff Stephen Landfear, and the stars of the film, Jennifer Dyan Ghoston, Bill Buchholtz, Gay Ellen Brown, Maura Duffy, and Krista McCoy) as well as many others who helped make this film what it is, it was a spectacular night. Many thanks to the AAC hospitality suite – we partied long into the night! Illinois may have passed a bill that many felt was controversial, but it has gotten the job done in many ways. It has been an honor to be in the state the past year, and to witness the results of a fierce battle. That Feigenholtz and others were able to reverse a bill that sealed all records retroactively in 1989 – well, its just remarkable. It didn’t happen overnight. It took a decade and a half. Move to California Sara. Figure out the mousetrap there. The big states present hard challenges, not only in geography but in sheer numbers (its easier to rally adoptees in states with populations in the thousands, than in states that have tens of millions, not mention thousands of miles between borders.) Suffice it to say, I have learned that education works both ways – working a bill through the legislative maze in any state is an art form which demands patience, hard work, and street smarts born of years in the field.

The AAC continues to evolve in its membership, and in the content of its presenters. The organization has always provided a forum for new voices (I adore so many of the new faces these last few years – all with fresh perspectives and important voices to add to the dialogue!), and for the academy of pioneers who continue to find their way to the conference each year. We missed Sharon Roszia – whose name on the brochure got me to come on Wednesday for the first time. Be well, old friend, and here’s hoping you come next year, when the conference is in San Francisco. Oh my gosh – wish I had a film to take there! But these things take years to hatch (as evidenced by this one), with each story deserving the time and care to ‘get it right’.

I told many at the conference that this is most likely my last feature film on adoption (though I said that about the last one too, come to think of it). When people ask if I’m going to do a shorter version or another film about a different aspect of this, it often feels like when each of my kids was born and people asked if I was going to have another baby. A film, like a book, or like any piece of art, be it a painting or a sculpture or a play, is a birth. Truth be told, I’m exhausted. This film, following the journeys of so many people, has worn me out. I feel both hopeful and sad. Each story leads down a path – each story has a resolution of some kind. But so many people are in the wings. So many states remain closed. And there are those handful of people who cope with redaction or disclosure – equally deserving of being given a piece of paper with the facts of their arrival on it. Why is it taking so long for our culture and citizenry to understand the need for access for all. Why?

To all those who are fighting the good fight, stay at it. Ohio – may 2013 be your year – and may you inspire yet more legislators and citizens to push this ball down the field. It’s time America. It’s time for all fifty states to provide all adoptees with the beginning of their story. It’s the record of their own birth dammit. Filming in Illinois rocked me to my core, made me adamant. THIS IS RIDICULOUS. It’s almost 2017. Minnesota became the first state in the union to seal records in 1917. Almost a century has passed since that misguided act. Let us use Minnesota’s centennial as a benchmark going forward – a hundred years of secrecy is enough. Eliminate the shame and the darkness. Every story in A Simple Piece of Paper drives it home: treat adopted citizens equally – let them have their truth. It is so empowering, so healing. Just let it be.