The Adopted Family

We’ve all been there, as young children, the moment we realized that we disliked our parents. And I’m sure parents have often wondered on various occasions why they didn’t use better birth control. But have you ever wondered how the adopted family interacts? Unless you yourself were adopted, you don’t realize the differences. When people discover I was adopted, I hear phrases like, “How lucky to have been chosen” or “So, God dropped you into love!” I think people assume adopted kids live off red lollipops and clouds of love and because we were “chosen” we were treated in a delicate manner with extra care; and maybe some do. But not adopted Mexicans.

Mom: Stop roller-skating through the house, I just waxed. And don’t torture the dog. She thinks you’re gonna run her down.
Nando: But I have to jump over Nina, like in Xanadu.
Mom: If you kill that dog, I swear I’m taking the wheels off your skates and throwing them away!

I was 9 years-old and it was my life’s mission to mimic Olivia Newton-John. And if it wasn’t for our poodle, Nina, I would have accomplished that goal. Instead, after seeing me, a chubby Mexican child, dashing towards her with neon-green wristbands, she ran out of the room…in fear.

As a child, I thought every family was like mine. Moms and dads yelled at one another and sisters plotted to kill you. All in a days work, right? It wasn’t until I started yapping about being adopted to outsiders that people’s ideas of how my parents must be treating me got me in trouble.

Nando: You can’t spank me, I’m adopted.
Dad: Who told you that crap?
Nando: The neighbor.
Dad: You have two options today, getting spanked for roller-skating over the dog and smashing her paw or packing up and going to live with the neighbor.

I had to think about this one. Our neighbor, Mrs. Yolanda had just been through a divorce and Gloria Gaynor’s I Will Survive echoed throughout her house the first 6 months after her husband left. It wouldn’t be a bad living situation, I thought, but we would have to expand her “broken-hearts” collection. Mrs. Yolanda wore skin-tight dresses with 8-inch heels, smoked fancy cigarettes and had a sexy black beauty mark she penciled in near her lips–clearly, she had class! It sure beat the matching purple polyester pant suit my mother wore. I informed my father that I’d like to move in with the neighbor. From the pulsating  vein in his forehead, I knew, he didn’t take it well, but it was the swinging of his belt wanting to hurt me that really gave it away.

Eventually, my roller-skating craze faded, just like Olivia’s career, and I was off to the next gay thing. But one thing remained, a strong family unit. From my experience, I had a normal existence with my family. My dad was a workaholic and my mom was always baking cupcakes for my school activities, while my sister’s plans to kill me got more elaborate. Ah, the memories. Just last week, my parents called wishing me a happy birthday and I could hear my mother pampering her new dog.

Mom: Your sister wants to wish you a happy birthday.

Nando: My human sister? Or the dog?

Mom: The dog.

Nando: Have her leave me a voice mail.

Mom: You know she can’t dial the phone!

Families…you can’t live with them and you can’t live without them. But in the end–they shape you into the person you are today, at least they did me. And for that, I’m truly blessed for my adopted family.