The author and his mother

Some of you may have wondered where I’ve been the past several weeks and why I’ve not updated this site with any new posts.  Well, I’ve been in a bit of a state the past few weeks.  Why?  Because I discovered a secret about my origins, a secret about who I am.   

I found out that I am adopted.  Thousands of children are adopted each year.  Adoption is a blessing for all involved.  But to the adopted one, finding out that you don’t share DNA or the biological bond with your parents can be shocking news.  I guess in a way I wasn’t so much shocked, as to say I was disappointed to find out I was adopted. Deep down, I’d always suspected it, though I never really wanted it to be true.

The first hint was that I didn’t really look so much like my parents.  But I figured that was just how the genetic lottery works.  I mean, I DO resemble my mom in many ways – – we both have naturally curly hair, terrible breath in the morning, and like being outside. We’re both very fond of sleep and get cranky when we haven’t gotten enough of it. We both enjoy a good steak, a nice piece of cheese, or a peanut butter sandwich.  But apparently those commonalities were just happenstance. 

A couple weeks ago, sensing that I was old enough and mature enough to handle the news, my mom broke the news to me that she didn’t give birth to me.  She reassured me that even though we didn’t share a biological bond, she loved me as if I’d been her own.  And in looking back, while I was confused and upset, I realized that my mom was right. She always loved me as much as any mother could love a child. Biology didn’t matter.  We were family. By choice.