Some people think that you’re born into the family you’re given, but my experience has been a bit different. There has never been a time in my life that I didn’t know I was adopted. There was no sit-down discussion that is now forever emblazoned in my mind, there were no secrets and there was no traumatic Annie-esque orphanage experience. There has, however, been a lot of shifts in mood and opinion that have developed from ignorant questions without answers, and unasked-for opinions.
As I grew up, I was met with hard questions and accusations that began with, “So your mom isn’t your real mom?” and “Adopted kids can’t ride the jet-ski,” which grew in maturity to “Adopted kids like chicken more than regular kids. Really. I read about it in a study,” and “Don’t you think you have a responsibility to find out your medical history? I mean, think about your future kids.”
For a long time I didn’t have answers to these questions and my first reaction was to become defensive or to brush them off, only later to cry at home on my real mom’s shoulder. She always told me, “A mom isn’t the person who gave birth to you. She’s the person who stays up with you when you’re sick at night, who holds your hand when you’re sad.” As the questions that were shot at me grew in seriousness, (I mean, geez, the fate of my future kids was held in my mysterious blood) it forced me to grow more quickly so I could be ahead of the questions and be prepared.
I’m realizing now though, that I couldn't grow quickly enough. In answering the many questions the way that I always have, I was selling myself and my family relations short. When asked, “So your mom isn’t your real mom?” I responded with a technical answer, “Well, even though she didn’t give birth to me, she takes care of me, which is what your mom does too.” But there was and is nothing technical about my relationship with my mom. Now I wish that I had always answered:
“Your mom’s labor was hours. My mom’s labor was months. Your mom’s pain ended once you were born. Once I was born, there were months where my biological mom could pick up the phone and reclaim me, her biological property. You came from a night of pleasure and a dream come-true. I came from a lifetime of dreams met with a dozen-plus pitfalls. I came from trial and error. I was one woman’s curse and another woman’s blessing. And even though the way I got to my family was different from the way you got to yours, it is just as legitimate.”
I’m not trying to play a game of “my horse is bigger than your horse” but I am trying to say that there is just as much honor in birth as there is in adoption and in undermining how special my birth process was, I was essentially undermining the amazing family that I got.
Why did I feel like I had to downplay it? Maybe because being adopted is “weird”. Maybe because adopted kids are so different from "regular" kids. Maybe because I was taking my family for granted. Maybe because it took going to college and being away from my family to realize how my process of becoming a McCann was especially blessed.
