Personal Narrative: My Adoption

A long time ago, in about 2004, I was born to two drug and alcohol addicts. We lived in Plano, Texas, in a disgusting apartment. We had cat and dog feces everywhere, and overall it wasn’t the best environment to raise a child in. But when I was about four and a half, my mother put me up for adoption without telling me. I ended up being adopted by my aunt and uncle, but although being four and a half, I will always remember that day vividly, because that was the first day I had experienced real love.

Throughout life I have experienced numerous events that have shaped me into becoming the person I am to this day. Out of all these events, my adoption has been the most significant and life changing event of my life. Two weeks before my first birthday in, I was adopted from Nanchang, China. As I grew up, my parents never once tried to conceal my adoption. Without them, I believe I would have grown to be a totally different person. Although I was adopted and brought in by my adoptive parents, I see myself in the everyday. I see them as nothing less than my real parents and I aspire to be as generous and compassionate as they are. Without them, I would have never been able to experience half of the life changing events I have gone through. As

I’m in the prison line minding my own business as a few girls punch me. I did nothing to them, but that day i was getting out of prison and the girls get jealous if the others get out. The police are sending me to a foster home. My seventh one and i’m hoping it’s the last. My head is throbbing and there is a cut on the upper part of my lip. Before I leave I ask where is my brother you said you promise would never split us apart. The social worker finds my brother and he is taken out of the home he is in, now he is with me I feel safe.

I remember the day like it was yesterday. I just had got off the bus and I looked at my phone I saw I had 20 text and 8 missed call. I was wondering why I had so many text and calls before I could even look at them.

I remember as a teenager thinking I never belonged to this family, and that I did not fit in, and I never would. I admit, not looking like everyone else in the family was difficult. It was not just the color of the hair. Going through life, not truly being attached with your real parent. For people who are raised by their real parents, this is not a big deal. They grow up knowing whose freckles they have, where they got that chin, why they are talented in different areas. For me, living without that knowing, was a huge deal. Maybe it doesn't sound important to you, but when you do not know the answers to those simple questions, it really bothers you. Those of us from open adoptions deal with knowing a very little if anything about our parents.

It was five years into our marriage when my husband and I decided to adopt. We were told that I was infertile. We adopted a 3-year-old boy called Ryan. He was very kind and affectionate. He would often hug me and say 'I love you mommy'. We were happy; our little family was complete. I then became pregnant.

I woke up in an unfamiliar place. I felt warm and safe, but I wasn’t sure why. Then it came to me. I was home. Not just one of the foster homes I had been in before, but a real home. A forever home. A place where I had a mother and a father, and plenty of food and clothes for me. I looked over to where my sister was sleeping peacefully on the bed next to me, and joy made my whole body feel warm.

Why don't I fit in with my family? That's the question I’ve been asking myself since I was eight years old. That question came up when my parents had my baby brother, his name is Elijah. Through my years I was picked on for having a white mom and dad. I never listened to them until I was 11 and a kid name Lilly asked me,

I remember when I decided to exclusively pump for my son. I had struggled with nursing him in the three weeks since he’d been born, and we’d been going to the doctor every few days for a weight check, because he still wasn’t back up to his birth weight.

When I was thirteen years old, I gave myself a shot. I was never good with medical things as a child, like never wanting to take medicine and absolutely hating needles. Many children, and even adults, hate needles but they just have to suck it up and deal with it. That was what I did for most of my life, until I had a very bad ingrown toenail. My mother made an appointment with a podiatrist and off we went. I had no idea what to expect, and figured they could just remove it with not too much difficulty. However, the doctor informed me that removing it would be extremely painful and that my foot had to be numbed before he could do the procedure. Naturally, I freaked out, especially when he pulled out the needle. In my mind, the needle was a

One year later, a very tragic day happened. I have heard the talk about the word “adoption” and that “there’s too many dogs.” I ran towards Koda and hugged his paw. “What’s the matter?” asked Koda. “Dad, whats adoption?” I asked. “Adoption is a state of someone legally takes someone or something and brings it up as one’s own.” “What do you mean?” I asked. “It’s time for your brothers and sisters to be adopted,” said Koda, “but don’t worry, Kingsay has a home here and so do you.” Then, my owner came and picked up Koda and Koko and took them to the car. “Dad!!” I yelled. “Mom!!” yelled Kingsay. “Kido, don’t worry about me,” said Koda, “just be brave and take care of your brother.” “Kingsay, I will always love you,” said Koko, “take care of yourself

There she was, tan with blue eyes and brown points. Sitting there was my Queen of the House cat.

My baby cousin was abandoned by her parents in California when she was six weeks old. Two years later she became my baby sister. This happened after my parents decided to adopt her. The process took longer than expected. I’m happy that things turned out like they did.

In my English class I was asked to write about a circumstance, an obstacle, or a situation that has happened in my life. Today I am going to be writing about when I got adopted. First of all I will start by saying one of my favorite quotes; “I was chosen, I was wanted, I was cherished, I grew in their hearts, I was the missing piece, I was loved, I was adopted.” Unknown (www.adopitionassociates.net/). As I am sitting here writing this essay, and doing my research, I found out that adoption started back in 1851, (http://pages.uoregon.edu/). WOW! That is a very long time. I can only speak for myself that being adopted I would not change that at all. I can only wish that my adoptive parents had me instead of my biological parents. What I tell myself is that you are not always born to the right family, how kids in foster care

When I wake up, then bed is warm, but I feel so cold knowing my parents weren’t really parents. Uncle John has been my father the entire time, and knowing how close we were made me want him out of my life more than ever. But that made me question who was my mother, and why Jenna only knew my birth mother’s story but not her name.