I'm Adopted, and Who Cares?

When friends would see me with my mother or father, they would occasionally remark about the lack of resemblance, at which point I'd tell them that I was adopted. For my whole life, people would ask me if I ever wanted to meet my "real" parents, which bothered me to no end. I already had my real parents, the ones who raised me. As for my birth parents, the interest wanes and piques; if I find them, that's fine, and if not, that's fine too. I don't feel a void in my life that I want to fill, I already have a loving family, and as for my ethnic background, I can research that without having to meet two strangers with whom I only share blood relations.

I've never understood why adoption has become something of a four letter word in a family structure. A long running joke is for siblings to tease each other that they were actually adopted, and while I can understand that finding that out can be a shock, it shouldn't change anything. A child is already part of the family, whether it's given birth to, adopted, or taken in as a foster parent.

For my family, it was never an issue. Even as a child my parents told me that I was adopted, and instead of telling stories about how my mother went into labor at the hospital, my parents, grandparents, aunt and uncles still recount how everyone went to the airport to pick me up. I know about how excited and nervous my mom was, and how my dad couldn't stop pacing in the airport terminal. I know how everyone in the airport applauded when a nurse handed me to my mom, and how I was passed around at my parent's house, finally falling asleep when my grandmother sang to me.

My parents and I celebrated two birthdays; my actual birthday, and the day I arrived in the airport. My parents encouraged me to ask about my background, and anytime I've shown an interest or a lack of interest in it, they've been supportive.

The fact that I don't have the same DNA as my parents, or that I don't resemble them or have their ethnic background never mattered. Even when I fought with my mother and father, particularly during my turbulent teenage years, I never brought up that we weren't actually related as a means to hurt them. As far as my family is concerned, I'm one of them, and have been since my mom took me home from the airport.

As for adoption being treated as something unsavory, I don't think it helps when families wait to tell their children about it. The fact that my parents and their families have never been concerned about my adoption has never made me feel like an outsider in my own family. In a family, what matters is that you are loved, not your DNA structure.