I don’t remember ever not
knowing I was adopted. It wasn’t a
big deal, it wasn’t a small deal; it just was.
I was given up by another woman so that my mom and dad could have a
child. No secret, no drama, no
surprises.
As I got older – 2nd or 3rd grade –
kids would occasionally make fun of my adopted status. As if it were something I should be ashamed
of or could have changed. My standard
answer was always, “My parents chose me, your parents got stuck with you!” I
don’t remember my parents ever coaching me to say that by the way, it just came
out of my mouth. After I said it a
couple of times, kids stopped using it against me.
Later, I asked questions about my birth parents. My mother and father always answered them
honestly and without making it a big deal.
They told me what they knew and what they didn’t. They reminded me that they loved me and
wanted me and that the decision to give me up must have been very hard for my
birth mother.
I often wonder about my birth parents; I’ve researched them
through genealogy and could drive to my birth mothers address. I know my birth father is dead and I know I
have a half-brother. I know my ethnicity
and some specific details about my birth parents. I don’t really care why they chose not to “keep”
me; I don’t blame them or have hurt feelings about it. Their decision made it possible for someone
else to have a child.
I’ve spent my life not knowing my medical history or genetic
markers. I don’t know if there is a
history of cancer or insanity or heart disease in my family. I didn’t know if I resembled my mother or my
father; does my half-brother look like me?
Do I have nieces and nephews?
Cousins?
I’m going to try to write down a little bit about my
adoption story as a way to put down my thoughts and maybe help others who are
adopted or are thinking of giving a child up for adoption.
There is a lot I don’t know; but there is also a lot I DO
KNOW!
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