I am really not adopted

Have you ever heard of children who find out they are adopted? It shatters their world. Everything they thought they knew about themselves is not true. They may have a need to find their biological parents and start a lifelong quest for answers.

That is not me! My dream was actually the opposite. I had this childhood fantasy that I was switched at birth, and that someday my real family would figure it out and come and rescue me. They would be wealthy and refined, loving and kind.

When I was a teenager, this dream came very close to reality. Applying for a social security card, I had to fill out a form listing all the information on my birth certificate. So I listed my parents’ names, dates of birth and so on. When I approached the counter, the woman looked it over and said, “I’m sorry, but the names of your parents that we have on record do not match those you listed.”

My heart began to race. Was my dream coming true? I knew it!
“Can you tell me who my real parents are?” I asked.
She replied, “Sorry, that is confidential information.”

Oh, how high my hopes were running. I soon returned with my birth certificate, listing my supposed parents. When she wasn’t looking I snuck my head around to peek at the computer screen. I had to know. Who were these secret parents of mine?

The names on the screen were Herb and Evelyn. What? My grandparents? Of course, they had been mistakenly listed as my real parents. Oh well, you can’t blame a girl for trying.… I left, with my shattered dream.

I will admit that, even as an adult, I still wonder if there was a mix-up at the hospital. But would I really be happy if you told me today that my family was not really my family? Probably not! I would then inherit another family that would have just as many quirks and probably be just as dysfunctional. What if they were worse? I’ll stick with the family I know, and appreciate the fact that I am really not adopted.