Semir Jackson
A&E Editor
During my freshman year at the College, I had many conversations as I got to know people. Among those various conversations, one that emerged for me was family. We talked about what our parents and siblings did, and when it came to me, I said, “My parents are on the older side, so they’re both retired.” Naturally, the next question was how old they were. I answered, “My dad is 82 and my mom is 79.” This drew many stares and prompted numerous questions. “Your parents were having sex in their 60s?”, “Your mom pushed out a baby that old?” and the most common one, “Are you serious?” Since having older parents is the norm for me, I forget to preface the statement with the fact that I am adopted.
Since this isn’t the norm for a lot of people, I understand having questions. What I do not understand, however, is the negative connotations associated with being adopted. Oftentimes, closed-minded people think that adoption means that you weren’t wanted or weren’t loved. More often than not, however, children are given up for adoption because they were loved so much that their parents would rather give them the chance at a better life than be subjected to the hardships and struggles they would face if they stayed. On other occasions, parents are simply unfit to raise a child.
Over time, I have been told many things when I have told people I am adopted. Sometimes, people are immediately intrigued and want to know more. Other times, I get insensitive questions like “What, did your real parents not want you?”, “How much did you cost?” and the real kicker: “I’m so sorry.” People that I’ve told have even used it against me, either as a joke or in an argument. Once when I was younger, I was arguing with my nephew and he hit me with “At least my mom is my real mom!” Mind you, his mom is also an adoptee, her being my older sister. I always wonder how people distinguish “real mom” and “biological mom.” “Biological,” when talking about family, means sharing the same blood and genetics. “Real,” when talking about family, takes a softer route. “Real” refers to the ones who took the time to love you as you went about life. It could be the ones who raised you, the ones you’ve known for years, or someone you built a strong relationship with and feels like family.
For me, the family I have is my real family. Real is a subjective thing that changes for everyone. As far as I know, anyone that I could consider “biological family” has passed away, which I am content with. My family is my family, and blood transcends that. So, if you have questions about adoption and know someone who can answer them, please be mindful of how you ask the question, so as not to be disrespectful. Adoption saves children’s lives every day. I would have grown up in foster care if my parents hadn’t adopted me, so I am eternally grateful for having a stable household to grow up in. Being adopted is not a negative thing, a thing to be sorry about, or imply not being wanted; it is a way for children to find a family who will love them, like I did.
(P.S. for those wondering, yes, my parents are black.)