Today is Mother’s Day and I’m going to set politics aside…Just for today.
There was never a day in my life that I can remember, and I can remember things that happened when I was 2 years old, that I didn’t know I was adopted. I grew up knowing it and, trust me, adoption ran rampant through my family.
I was adopted. My brother was adopted. My sister was adopted, cousins and more…Adopted. My mother, the one who adopted me was adopted herself.
Now then, my sister is my real sister and she was adopted my mother’s sister. Aunt Clara May and Uncle Horace had 2 boys of their own and wanted a girl. My mother and father had already adopted 1 boy and wanted another.
So, there wasn’t a day that I didn’t know I was adopted and not a single day that I didn’t know that my sister, whose parents were my aunt and uncle, was my real sister.
This arrangement, of course, made my sisters 2 brothers my cousins and it also made my brother and sister cousins to each other and it wasn’t until I was 6 or 7 years old that I realized…Not everybody’s family was set up in this manner. To us…It seemed normal.