Personal Identity Essay

Many children were told that their parents had died or abandoned them, and many never knew where they had been taken from or who their biological families were

At two-years-old, I experienced many adult situations. My biological mother has struggled with substance abuse ever since I was born. My biological father is Hispanic and was never involved in my life. His whereabouts are unknown to this day. I recall constantly moving to unkempt houses, including living in a garage and a tent in a different state, and regularly feeling filthy. When I was three, my mother moved my sister, myself, and herself to New Jersey. My current guardians brought us all back to Indiana after we had experienced horrible living conditions for six months. Consequently, when I turned five, a judge ordered that my sister and I be removed from my mother’s care. This is when my adoptive parents became my legal guardians. They

On October 17, 2033, I was adopted from The Carey House For Girls soon after my third “birthday”, when Dixon was 10. I was your average orphan girl: left on the doorstep with a name around my neck before I could remember my parents faces, so the day i was taken in (October 11th) became my birthday. I never once wondered about who/where/how my birth parents were. I wasn’t mad that they gave me away nor was i curious as to why they did it. I simply didn’t care. For instance, One day when i was 13, a couple showed up at our house claiming to be my parents. Cia and Page were busy upstairs so I invited them in, shared some juice with them, chatted a bit with them, and then showed them out the door. By the time my mom asked me about who came in,

Before I came to this life there were family members who had lives. Let’s start with my mother. Her name is Lisa Hansel back then. She told me, when I asked her 20 questions before, she told me what my name stands for her. Because she has Faith in me. Before I was born my mother gave birth to my older brother. Leroy Jr. He was still born, and didn’t make it. Losing a child and then trying again must have been a tough choice. My father’s name is Leroy Curlin. He’s right now at least near his fifties. I’m eighteen; he was in his thirty years old when I was born. Before I was born my parents were together. Either dating, or have a mutual relationship. I didn’t want to know all the facts, for imagination

Although it may hurt the adoptive parents to let the child know that he or she isn’t theirs biologically, a child should always know where they come from so that they are able to establish their own identity whether it be the identity of the biological or adoptive parents or even both. If the child knows at an early age that they are adopted, it is likely they will be able to deal with it better once they reach the adolescent age. In “Adoption History: Telling”, Ellen Herman gives the story of how adoption was never disclosed to the child, but not at the sake of the child. Telling has been a chronic dilemma in the history of adoption because it highlights the problem of making adoptive kinship real while also acknowledging its distinctiveness. During the twentieth century, adoption professional maintained a firm consensus that children placed in infancy should be told of their adopted status early in life, but adopted parents did not always agree, and anecdotal evidence suggests that many children were told in adolescence, on the eve of marriage, or even later in life. The reason adoptees were told had less to do with honesty than it did with emotional inoculation against stigma. Parents would be wise to tell children about their adoptions with kindness and love before they learned the truth from unfeeling relatives, nosy neighbors, or cruel

It was April 23, 2009, and my sister had just come home from Taiwan, with my mom that day. My parents paid extensive attention to her, so neither my brother, nor I got any attention from my parents. This also meant that we couldn’t spend much time with her, either. However, before she was adopted, we shared the attention of our parents.

When I finally learned about my heritage, I was ten. My mother and I were standing in the bank vault, and she was getting some papers for a trip to Canada, to update all of our passports. While Mom was sorting through the papers and jewelry in our lock box, I joined her. One particular, colorful document caught my eye, so I drew it from the lockbox and held it up to her, asking what it was. After looked at what I was talking about, she explained that it is my birth certificate. The writing was strange, definitely not English, so this couldn’t possibly be my birth certificate. Mom gathered all of the passports, my birth certificate, and we went home. I couldn’t stop asking her questions about what all of the words meant, until she finally told me. That day, I learned of my adoption. The adoption story

Fourteen years ago, a newborn baby was found in a woven basket at the front gate of an orphanage. This orphanage, which housed over 400 other abandoned babies and children, took her in and cared for her. Ten months later, she was adopted by an American couple, with two biological daughters of their own. This baby was me and this I believe: Whether a child is adopted or blood related to the parents, the love and connection between the family remains the same.

For example, the birth of a child to an adopted person, which may be the first experience with a biological family member, may cause the adopted person to revisit earlier issues of identity. The new parent may also be prompted to think about what his or her birth mother experienced in giving birth and what the birth mother and father may have experienced in making the adoption placement decision. Adopted adults who become new parents may be sympathetic to the difficulties of their birth parents, or they may wonder how their birth parents could ever have placed them for adoption. In a study of adopted adolescents’ thinking about adoption, 13 percent never thought about adoption, 54 percent thought about their adoption once a month or more, and 27 percent thought about their adoption once a week or more, with males thinking about their adoption more frequently than females (Kohler, Grotevant, & McRoy, 2002). Adolescents in closed adoptions were no more likely to have increased frequency of thought about their adoption than those in open

Mark comes home one day to see both of his parents sitting at the table staring at him. A sense of suspicion creeps into his mind. His dad sternly requests Mark to sit down. At that moment, Mark’s parents inform him that he is adopted. As Mark recollects the event in his mind years later, that was the point where his life changed forever. Children around the world experience the life changing event and nothing prepared them for it, but it can be avoided through open adoption. The subject of adoption continues to be a problematic topic, but for the betterment of the people involved, open adoption brings the child a sense of wholeness, more information on the child’s background, and lessens the grief of the birth mother.

Most children are surrounded by their biological parents their whole lives. They look to their parents for guidance from the time they are born until the time they grow up to become parents themselves. They may still need the assistance from their mom or dad to raise their own families. For those who are not as fortunate as other to be able to conceive a child of their own, couples and families have the option to adopt. In my case, I was not only blessed to be adopted just once, but twice. Although adoption is a miracle, there are many obstacles and barriers to cross before the adoption process can be complete, especially when adopting from foreign countries such as India, where I am from. I had to face going through the Indian government’s slow and painful adoption process, adjusting to a new environment and people, then shortly after being given to a new family.

I was what people stereotyped as the typical teenage brat. I was 17 years old with not one passing class in my senior year and all I ever did after school was hang out with my boyfriend Brian and my girl squad. My adoptive parents Linda and George were so nice to me but I took advantage of them. I would steal and then blame it on the maid or if I got a bad grade I said the teacher was purposely failing me, and even after all that they still gave me money and treated me with respect and kindness. I didn’t like who I was turning out to be so I decided to do something that might change my view on other people and myself- I decided to find my birth parents.

My life began when I was born unto two people who loved me but could not keep me. About three months after my birth, I was found by a policeman in the middle of a large park in Nanchang, Jiangxi and brought to a local orphanage that is still supporting orphans to this day. As sad as the beginning of my life sounds, I was one of the lucky ones. Many unwanted children are discarded in ways that ensure their deaths, bumped around to different temporary homes, or brought up through orphanages until adulthood when they are sent to live on the streets. I was placed in two different foster home, both sets of foster parents loved me and looked out for my health. 16 months later I was adopted by wonderful American family and brought to live in Eugene,

I was born in the general city hospital and even before I was brought into the world my birth mom had decided she was putting me up for adoption. I know in my heart she wasn’t a bad person, but instead was just in a bad place and wanted to give me my best chance and the best life I could possibly have. Where I was born the country was very poverty stricken, but my parents still fell in love with the culture and the people who lived there. At first they would go down for a vacation type visit for a week or two, but after they decided to adopt a child from there they would stay for weeks on end. Once they found a local adoption agency they began spending time with the children there and eventually they decided to adopt me. When all the paperwork and legal documentation was taken care of I was taken back

When I was fourteen years old, some pre-pubescent insult of a highschool boy assured me that it was MY fault my parents put me up for adoption because I was a less than desirable human being. I took a second to gather my thoughts and calmly responded, “Well at least I was chosen. Your poor parents, having no other choice, are stuck with you.” Although these insults tore me apart from the inside out, making light of them was the only way I knew how to protect myself from vulnerability. I didn’t want anyone to know my story because the truth is, it wasn’t a pretty story. While other kids who were adopted waltzed around holding their pretty stories up as if they deserved the Pulitzer Prize for them, I tucked mine away deep into the crevices of my being.