My favorite pen pal
If I had a nickel for every time I’ve been asked, “How did you find out you were adopted?” I would be a rich woman. There’s a widely held assumption that adopted children discover the buried truth about their familial history in a massive, emotionally-charged moment. My answer is surprising to some, but it shouldn’t be. My adoption is part of who I am. It always has been. I have always known.
I was born when most adoptions were closed and details sealed from both parties. I’m grateful for the commitment my parents and birth mother made to keep communication channels open, agreeing that it was in my best interest. At home, we talked about my adoption, birth mother, and the foster parents who cared for me immediately after I was born. We faithfully attended the annual Family Services picnic for adoptive families. My parents celebrated my adoption anniversary each year, telling me stories of the 12 years they waited for a baby. My mom and birth mother exchanged letters and, when I learned to write, I began penning my own.
This story appeared in print, in the March 2021 issue of Forsyth Family Magazine.