How I knew I Was Adopted

For signing version of this story, the link is below:

This is from the potential memoir adoption book that I was writing. I want to share a piece of how I knew I was adopted:

My adoption has always been open adoption. My adopted mother Elaine told me that I was adopted at a very, very young age. Yet, I was not able to register that. I could imagine the conversation between my mother and me would be like this:

“Justin, you know that I am your mother, right?”

“Yeah, mommy!”

 “Well, you should know you are also adopted!”

“Adopted? What is that?”

“It means that I did not give birth to you but that someone else did and gave you to me.”

“Oh, why?”

“Because something happened when you were a baby, and it was difficult to do but they believe I can help you to be better so now I am your mother.”

“Oh, what happened?” 

“You were very sick, and your parents need someone to take better care of you. That is where I come in!” 

“Oh, okay!”

Adoption is something abstract at that young age that I do not think I would have been able to connect on how it was completely related with me until I was able to see it hands on. Elaine have never told me who were my birth parents were. She did it out of respect for them as it was their decision for them to tell me who I was. It was not until I finally was able to figure out what my mom meant that I was adopted when I was four or five years old.

It was late in the night and it was after dinner. My mom was watching television and the news was on. There was a story about a mother that have a child after the age where they weren’t supposed to have children, thanks to the new technology that the doctor was trying for In Vitro Fertilization. It went on to explain about menopause and how it affected the woman’s ovaries, etc. I do not remember a lot of details, but one detail strikes me that this woman could not have a baby after she had menopause on the average age of forty-five. I then looked at my mom and wondered how old she was. She looked pretty old to me, as a child, at that time so I thought, “If she is old, then she couldn’t have given birth to me”. I knew at that time that babies are given birth by their mothers because I remember reading young children’s books about where babies are from. I did not want to ask for her age, so I remember the next few days, when she was not at home, I sneaked around in her room or in her mail looking for papers that told me of her age. My first confirmation was when I found a medical doctor information summary document that her age was 55 and I thought, not in the exact thoughts, “I am five years old. If she gave birth to me, then 55 minus 5 would be 50. The movie said women after 45 could not normally have children so I was right. She did not give birth to me!”

           I did not want to talk with my mother about it. I think it was because at that time, I was worried that she would not tell the truth. I wasn’t shocked about it at first. I felt that deep down, I knew there was something about me that does not quite fit into this family. The more that I think about that documentary and what I deduced, the more curious I was about my birth parents. So, I decided to devise a plan or some sort of an experiment. I thought, “There are many people who visited my home. I think one of them may be my birth parents. So, every time someone came to our house, I would call them, ‘Dad’ if they are men and ‘Mom’ if they were women.” The plan was to see the expression on their faces and follow my feelings whether they were my birth parents or not, 

Whenever I see new strangers come in the care home and try that “test” or “experiment” idea that I had earlier, they always give me odd expressions or think that I was an uncanny child. Imagine being in their shoes and finding out a child you know is not yours calling you a name, right in front of their own parent. I do not know what my mom’s excuse is for me acting like that. If I were to wager a guess, it was because my mom was not suspecting what was going on because I was focused on new people that I never seen before and most of them were men who came to help my mom with tax documents, working on the yard or other maintenance issues around the house, etc. I think she was thinking at that time, I was looking for my father. Or maybe she knew I was looking for my birth parents and was hoping this would be a phase that would diminish soon before I could bump into my birth parents because my mother probably felt my birth parents are still not ready to share the truth with me. 

Every time I saw people’s expressions after I said it, I thought that it couldn’t be it, they would smile or be sincere with me and then they would focus on what they came here for. There were not many conversations or interactions and that was when I think that it could not be them. In and out, different people came, and the same thing repeats over and over. There was one memorable event from this “experiment” whom I thought was sticked out was a construction worker who also brought his son over sometimes. I keep calling them Dad and Brother every time they come over. I followed them around, I watched them working on the roof. I would even try to volunteer to help. I wanted them to look at me for me, hoping that they would give me the truth I was looking for a while and hoped they would take me home once the work was completed. When the work was completed, however, they just did not tell me or say goodbye. From what I remember, they were finishing up the roof and told me they would be back the next day. They never did. I asked my mom about it after a couple of days, and she said they called to inform her that the work was done, and they won’t come anymore unless there was anything else need to be fixed. I was disappointed. Shortly after that and a few other tries, I just gave up and moved on.

           It was a few months or a year after the experiment. I was at the care home because at that time my house was being in pause because of some payment problems my mother having with multiple states in regarding the children she adopted or fostered at the care home. One day, she took me on a chance to go in and visit. My mom told me, “Justin, we have to go back to our home, and you will stay there. I have errands so would you mind staying at home with…well, do you remember Jeff and Rebecca, the people who visited before from time and time? I think you will have a fun day!” I was smiling and nodded, but not really understanding what she meant or who they were. I wanted to go back home to my room because that’s what I was excited for. I packed some toys and put it in my school backpack. I was ready to go.

           We got in the car and drove up there, even though it was a few minutes’ walk. When we went inside, I took my toys out and started playing in the living room. My mom got to the door because the doorbell rang. She opened up and I saw a family. A man with short brown hair, a beard, and blue eyes with glasses. He has a muscular, tall body, and a fatherly smile. He was holding his daughter, she was about three or four years old at that time. She has short, blonde hair, a cute baby smile, and her face was round. Her mother was next to her. Her hair was exactly the same color as their daughter; blonde, short hair. She has brown eyes that looks like mine as well as her and a familiar smile. I felt like I have seen it before. That I have seen them before. In that moment, I felt something that I have never felt before. It was an exhilarating feeling of belonging. I just blurted out, “Mom? Dad? Is that you?”

           Their first reaction did not look confusing or having odd expressions. They did look surprised at first, but quickly they both smiled at me and said, “Yes, it is us! Ready for a big day today?” We were walking to my backyard and I showed them my tricycle. The girl, who they introduced as Allison, asked to ride it. I said, “Yes, sis!” and I watched my “father” push her around on the tricycle. I did not hear my adopted mother say goodbye as she left.

A few minutes to half an hour later, we all got in the car and we drove to Chico to Bidwell Park. It was raining a little, so we all had our jackets or sweaters on. We were playing with the kids’ structure such as the big cheese with holes model in which you can crawl in the bottom tunnel or climb on it. My “sister” and I were crawling in it, sitting on the top of it, laughing. We were climbing on the monkey bars. It was wet and I remember that my adopted mom would never let me out in the rain like this if she didn’t want me to catch a cold. I looked at them and my mother was taking pictures of us. I smiled and thought it was funny we are doing this in the rain, without a care in the world. We went on the slide and I asked, “Hey, Dad! Would you come to slide with me?” He was laughing and said, “Sure, I will be right behind you!” And we slide down with me on his lap. He was holding me as we went down laughing.

           We must have stayed at the park for a few hours before we went back to my home. Jeff and Rebecca told me that we need to set up a tent because my big older brother Joe and his family would be in town. Since at that time, there were no furniture around for them to sleep. I grabbed the tent set from the closet and we worked together to set it up. Allison was probably napping at that time. Then I had this feeling when we finished up the tent. It was as if something was hidden for a long time that was coming to the surface now.

It was about dinnertime and that was when my adopted mom arrived home. I came up to hug her and told her about my day. That feeling started to grow and I did not understand what it meant until when I finished my story, I looked at them, my birth parents. My “father” was holding my “sister” and said that it was time for them to go. I looked at them intensely and asked, “Would I see you again?”. My voice was shaking and sad. Rebecca came up to me and hugged me hard. She then paused and touched my shoulders and looked at me in the eyes. “We will always come back to visit, and you can visit us too!” I hugged them both tightly and waved bye as I watched them go out of the door to their car.

           All night, I was feeling gloomy. Since they were gone, I missed them already. It felt like there was a hole that was missing from my heart and it was heavy. It felt like the heart was dropping out of my body when I lied down so I just curled up to my chest as if I was preventing my heart from getting out of my body. Then I cried. I cried myself to sleep silently so that my adopted mom would not hear me. I did not realize at that time, but now that I identify what I was feeling. It was like there was something locked away and I finally took the key to unlock the answer on why something does not fit with my adopted family, why something did not feel right all around me. And I did not even realize I was feeling that way until that night. For me, finding out the truth was like finding a part of your life that you didn’t know mattered, that part that I never knew that was missing. A loss that spanned for the rest of my life and I didn’t even know I was grieving. 

After that night, the next day, I did not want to talk with my adopted mom about what I was feeling. I was upset, confused, never wanted to feel that again. I never told anyone about how I felt on that night for a long time. Elaine, my adopted mom and I had a talk and she confirmed that I was right about Jeff and Rebecca and that they are my birth parents. Looking back, neither parents figured out how I knew. When Jeff and Rebecca asked me a month after my high school graduation how did I knew it was them. I simply shrugged and said, “I had a strong feeling, and I just knew it was you both.” I smiled.

More from this would be in the potential book that I want to publish someday.