adoption.

This is my brother, Ian. He is about a year younger than I am. This was taken just a few days after meeting him for the first time, two summers ago.


I am adopted. Most people know this about me, but not many people know the (long and confusing) story behind it. What better way to explain it all than through a blog post, but of course?



Let's get some details sorted out, first of all. When I say "my dad," I mean the man who adopted me. He is both my father and my dad. When I say "my father," I'm speaking of my biological father. I'll most likely just refer to him as Tony. I do not and will never call him my Dad, as he is not. 


I was adopted at birth. Dad worked with Tony for a short time at a local restaurant in my hometown. I'm a little unsure of exact details as to how they arranged things, but Mary Beth (my biological mother) was pregnant and they weren't ready for a child. My mom was unable to have children due to stress. The doctor recommended she adopt, and so she did (and then popped out my little brother, Daniel, a year and a half later.) Anywho, so the adoption was arranged. Apparently I almost wasn't adopted, because Mary Beth (who, to my knowledge, isn't that nice of a lady) wanted more money than my parents were willing to give / had, and almost went back on the decision at the last minute. Lucky for me, they went through with it in the end. 


I have always known I was adopted. My parents never hid that fact from me, which I am grateful for. I still have children's books that explain the process, which I'm sure helped quite a bit. I have never once resented my birthparents giving me up for adoption, especially after I got to know them. In my youth, my mom and dad and I would fight, of course, and naturally I would say some mean things, but when it came down to it, that's my mom and dad. My biological parents are not my real parents. (And I hate when people say that. A real parent, to me, is someone who actually parents. Who raises their child. That makes my mom and dad my real parents, not the other way 'round.) 


I had the opportunity to meet my biological father, my two blood siblings, my step-mother (he never married my biological mother, and married Emilie - who recently passed away last year, I'm sorry to say - about ten-ish years ago), and two of my step-siblings two summers ago. Let me make something clear to you. I have a big family. First, I have my adopted family. There's my mom and dad, and my little brother, Daniel. Then, on my biological side, we have Tony (my birth father), Mary Beth (my birth mother), Emilie (my late step-mother), Adam and Andrew (my half-brothers from Mary Beth, who are in their 30s), Ian and Mirielle (my blood brother and sister, a year and two years younger than me, respectively), Scott and Tiffany (younger step-siblings), and Dee, Dawn, and John I think his name is, who are my older step-siblings. So there you go. I have ten brothers and sisters. Whew!


Meeting (part of) my birth family was a big experience for me. My parents had allowed me to learn several details about my biological parent's lives when I was sixteen, but I was only allowed to have the letter Tony wrote to me when I turned eighteen (and they didn't even give it to me until I'd almost graduated!). It took a long time of waiting and a lot of patience, but if and when I adopt my future children, I suppose I'd probably do the same. I called Tony up the afternoon after reading the letter explaining everything and talked to my biological father for the first time. Surprisingly, I wasn't as overwhelmed as I thought I would be. I guess you could say I'd built up this image of them in my head. It wasn't so much of a childish fantasy, that my biological parents were some sort of superstars or world-famous botanists or anything. I just expected...something different. What I got was essentially people who were just like me. From the pictures that I've seen of my birthmother (I've never met her and probably never will), I'm the spitting image of her when she was my age. My sister Mirielle and I look eerily alike, especially when you compare our childhood pictures. Ian and I have the same eyes, hair, and smile. We all have identical personalities. 


Knowing that there are people out in this world who look and act just like me is a little strange to me. I'm sure it comes naturally to you, those of you who are not adopted. It's only natural that you look like your parents, that you and your brother have the same smile. I grew up with people - albeit, my family that I love and accept as my own - that were nothing like me. My mom and dad and brother all have dark, olive skin, and dark hair. There's this family picture of all of us (mom, dad, brother, grandparents, aunt & uncle and cousins), and I stick out like a sore thumb. As pale as the day is long, with light light light blue eyes and bright red hair. Aside from my dad (and even that's only up to a point), my family and I have never really connected. Although I might have been somewhat like-minded in ideas about the world when I was younger, I still stood out in a way. My family doesn't read. I have a whole library of books that I devour on a daily basis. I became an extremely liberal atheist, while they remained conservative Christian republicans. I was the first one in my family to go to and stay at college, and probably will be the only one to get my doctorate (both my parents are on their master's now, and i'm hoping that my dad will go on to get his doctorate, too). Socially and mentally, we're practically on opposite ends of the spectrum. Regardless, they're my family.


Lately, my family and I have been drifting apart. I made the decision to tell my mother that Blake and I were discussing getting married, and now our conversations last less than thirty seconds. In the end, I guess I get to choose my own family. I always have been given the opportunity to choose, in a way. These people chose me, and I chose to accept them as my own. I chose to not consider my biological family my family. I choose to call Blake's family my family. I'm coming to terms with the realization that you shouldn't feel guilty for telling your mom you want to get married to the man that you love. That feeling should never occur. You shouldn't regret it. It should be one of the happiest moments of your life, announcing to your family that you are choosing to take a major leap with this person that you've found, that you're basically making a permanent to choose them, and to choose them always. That shouldn't be something a family will yell at you about, or try to change your mind over, especially if they know and understand that you are absolutely happy. Even if your happiness confuses them, or it's not similar to what they would consider happy.