Twenty years ago, in a city in China, a little baby was handed to his new parents. He was wearing a pale yellow onesie and had the most confused expression on his face. The people who had been taking care of him for the past nine months were no doubt sad, but happy because this was going to be a new life with new opportunities for the child. Then, with the last few goodbyes traded and assurances given, the baby was taken away.
As you might have guessed, that baby was me and I have no recollection of what happened. I’ve seen the little home video that my parents took — thank god for their obsession with filming me as a child — and it’s always been a question in my mind: what was I thinking? I was certainly confused. I doubt I had seen a white person before, let alone two — and one with red hair!
Adoption is complicated. My family has always been very upfront with me about it — not like they could hide it (though they were told to by several people) — and I appreciate that greatly. It’s never been difficult for me to talk about being adopted, even though I think that I didn’t quite know what to talk about for the longest time.
But today is happy. Today is Family Day.