MOVarazzi

Monday, June 18, 2012

799. I Was Adopted

I was adopted.  I don’t talk about it much.  You are the first person I’ve ever told.  Well, besides my mom I mean.   

“Mom, was I adopted?” I asked her in a quiet moment between ballet class and homework.  She furrowed her eyebrows in that same way I had seen reflected in the mirror the past 12 years. 
“Adopted?  Don’t be ridiculous.  Ha!  You were not adopted.”  She tucked a stray blond hair behind her right ear.    

It was a lie and she knew it.  Oh, sure, there were photos of her when she was supposedly “pregnant” (adult code for “fat”), but she was obviously hiding something. 
I tucked a stray blond hair behind my right ear.  “Come on, Mom, you can tell me.  Really.  It’s okay.  I can handle it.” 

“MOV, would you stop?  You were not adopted.  End of story.” 
She and I both knew it was actually the beginning of the story, because clearly I was Russian royalty.  Every night, after my fake mom would tuck me in bed, I would get out my special “I am adopted” journal and write letters to my birth parents.  I knew it was only a matter of time before their identities were revealed to me. 

My father, I decided, was a king.  Or at least archbishop or knight.  And married.  My birth mother, on the other hand, was most likely single.  And beautiful.  It was a classic case of them meeting at the wrong place at the wrong time, him already being married, and her finally finding her soul mate. 
They had no choice but to give me up. 

I often wondered when they would swoop in to get me.  Would today be the day that one of them would just show up at my seventh grade science class and say, MOV, pack your bags we’re going back to Russia? 

“You have your dad’s laugh, you know,” a new cousin would tell me once we had a big family reunion and they signed over the majority of their fortune to me, the only missing link in the Russian dynasty, “They never stopped looking for you, never stopped loving you.” 


We would sit around for hours catching up, my new mom telling me about her successful modeling career and my new dad telling me about political regimes he’d overthrown, while I would show them my latest algebra test (A-) and tell them how I was captain of the chess team. 

I’ll admit, after all these years it would be sad to have to say goodbye to my adoptive family and especially my younger sister and brother (whom my adoptive mother actually was miraculously pregnant with, because I remember both pregnancies), but it would be for the best.  I planned to send my (former) family a postcard from time to time, and possibly a (small) box of chocolates on Mother’s Day. 

I wondered how I would look in a tiara, and at what age my glamorous and wealthy-beyond-belief “real” family would let me wear it out of the house.  Even though my adoptive mother refused to let me get my ears pierced or wear lip gloss, I knew my birth mother would allow these things (did I mention she was a model?). 
For six months, I mentally prepared myself for the day that my birth parents would come to reclaim me. 

“MOV, help me with the dishes please,” said my adoptive mom.  I knew that royalty would never be asked to do such menial tasks.  “MOV, can you watch your brother for 10 minutes so I can take a shower?”  It was practically slave labor, something my birth family would be furious about as soon as I told them.  “MOV, it’s your turn to walk the dog.  Don’t forget to take a plastic bag with you.” 
It was unbearable. 

Then it happened.  My birth parents were killed in a plane crash.  Or murdered in a political coup.  One of those.  I cried every day for a week. 
I knew that now I would never get to meet the brave woman that had given me up for adoption in California* when I was mere days old (*yes, I know that California is far from Russia—I had not worked out those details of why she was giving me up in that location, but honestly it is irrelevant to the story).  I would never get to play chess* with my birth dad (*a game I was sure he excelled at).  But mostly, I would never know the love that was an inheritance of $50 million dollars that had been set aside for me in trust. 

My cruel adoptive mother had of course burnt all the official records, making it impossible to trace back my lineage with the solid proof that I so desperately craved.  It was pure selfish motivation on her part.  She did not want me exposing her crime of denying my royal heritage.    
I hadn’t thought about this smudged piece of my past for decades, until the other day.  Tall came home from school and asked, “Mom, was I adopted?” 

MOV

44 comments:

  1. LOL, that's pretty awesome. I remember asking my parents if I was adopted and they told me yes....but there was a twist. I was adopted, but not from a human family...from aliens. And one day those aliens would return for me. (Yes, we were a science fiction-loving family).

    I'm not adopted, just part of a geeky family.

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    1. hmmm..... alien family. that could explain some things.

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  2. I, too, thought sure I was adopted. I couldn't possibly look like everyone else in my family, could I? My hair was straight, theirs was curly. I had a small nose, they had large. But, it seems, I really am theirs.

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    1. maybe every kid goes thru this, but I am one of the few to bring it up?

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  3. LOL! Great post! I would often wish I was adopted ...especially in my teen years when Mom and I NEVER saw eye to eye...but I look so much like her that adoption was never really a thought that stayed for long. Thanks for the chuckle!
    Blessings, Joanne

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    1. thanks for reading, Joanne! your sweet comments always make my day. :)

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  4. My sister had me believing that the gypsys Had left me on the doorstep and Mom felt sorry for me and kept me. I am still waiting to have my big fat gypsy wedding.

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    1. oh, I WISH I had told Oakley that! ha! she might've believed me too..........

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  5. A really fun post! Thanks for the smiles! I'm glad that really wasn't you next to Anastasia. Er, they didn't make it.

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    1. thanks, Kittie! glad you liked it, this was super-fun to write, I had the idea in my head for a while.

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    1. thank you, Kelly! (and "Kelly" was my secret adopted name, you know, after Jacklyn Smith on Charlie's Angels).

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  7. HA! Love it. Every time I was annoyed with my family, I'd nurse that little spark of hope that maybe, just maybe, my *real* family was somewhere looking for me. I look just like my aunt though, so I've given up on that.

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    1. ha! it is that darn "resemblance" thing that keeps dashing any hope of the REAL family reappearing......

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  8. Nobody that's related has different eyes. That's how we all know we're adopted. They blink a lot too. That's because the memories of royalty bring on tears shed for the billions of dollars and Ruples and piles of gold, etc. waiting for us. You're royalty and I'm sure we're related...hehe.. we'll get proof yet.


    www.incomingbytes.blogspot.com

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    1. see? I knew someone would see my side of the story!!

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  9. I told my little sister that she was adopted. She believed me, too. (My parents were not happy.)

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  10. I was adopted, but I do not come from royalty. I was adopted by impoverished royalty. That is why I am The Queen of Grammar. I come from Great Wealth. Someday I shall find Great Wealth, and they will be thrilled to know they have a family member with a title.

    Love,
    Janie von Junebug

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    1. Queen of Grammar-- I like it! You can have tea with Queen Virgo (although she prefers her tea to taste exactly like coffee).

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  11. I never had to ask they told me when I was 8 yrs old that I could no longer call my mother mom she was now my aunt Susie and that my real parents were on a trip around the world so the landlord wouldn't kick them out for having 3 kids not 2 so yep I was the chosen one to now be outed from the family I was smacked in the middle sister was 5 yrs. older brother was 6 yrs. younger and people wondered why I ran away at 12 to never have returned to mom dad uncle aunt??
    But my children love to tell eachother they are adopted and it is even better when they could get a cry put of it silly kids I have graphic birth photos so after a few minutes of them crying I show their birth picture and calm returns to the house :}

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    1. this is crazy!!!!!!!!!!!!! Aunt Mom????

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  12. Bill Cosby told his brother, in the sketch, To Russell My Brother With Whom I Slept With, that the police were actually his parents and that if he lied they would come and take him back to jail. My brother's loved to tell me this, and even though I knew this wasn't true, I was terrified of the police. I even hid from my babysitter once for hours and when I heard her family, as she had called her family to come help look for me, say that they should call the police, I jumped out and said, "Here I am!" for surely that would be better than the police. Anything is better than the police.

    My Father-in-law is a cop…

    citygirlgoneranchmama.blogspot.com

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    1. oh, this is so perfect. Now we know where the fear of police comes from..........

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  13. I was not adopted, but I was switched at birth. I imagined by real parents were the Romanian couple that owned the liquor store across the street. It was better for me to stay with the fake parents.

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    1. Nellie, I am sure you are right. (and to think of all the free vodka you missed out on!!!)

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  14. My mother, who gave birth to me, never really said I was adopted, as that would have been impossible. However, she was thoroughly convinced I was a changeling. (Being of the British persuasion, in her mind it was not farfetched that fairies swapped me for her real child. Because obviously, her real child would be normal.)

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    1. kirby, this does explain some things.........

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  15. I used to think I was too until I demanded to see my birth certificate which my mom promptly showed me...to shut me up, o doubt. When the safety box didn't include my brother's, for some odd reason, I immediately let him know that he was. Gotta love a big sis!

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  16. I always swore I was adopted, too! I did some snooping and stumbled upon my parents original marriage license...where I discovered...that my brother was born before my parents got married! Oops! My parents were thinking of giving me UP for adoption when I dropped that bombshell on them all.

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  17. i didn't think I was adopted... however everyone we knew thought I was adopted. There were 6 kids in our family and I was nothing like any of the other kids, different build, different taste in clothes, music, friends, religious preferences, food, you name it - i was different. People (family, friends and strangers) always said "are you sure you aren't adopted?" When I was 13 I met my dad's mother - then all of a sudden I understood, no I wasn't adopted. I took after the paternal side and all the other kids took after the maternal side.
    it also explained why my mother didn't like me - i was and still am a cookie cutter image of her mother in law.

    how happy I am to be me!

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    1. sarah-- great story! sorry I did not reply sooner, your comment went in my spam folder (?). Must've been the words "mother-in-law" and "happy" that threw my computer off.

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  18. I love this! Actually, I always desperately hoped I was really adopted and had these great plans to go find them...guess I can't do that post now, but yours is so much better anyway!

    I thought my biological parents were astronauts. I'm still hoping...

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  19. I wonder if all children go through this "wondering" stage at some point as a part of development? Such a fun story! While I didn't ever think I was adopted, I was always fascinated with genealogy so I have worked for many, many years to trace our roots. No royalty, sadly.

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    1. trace further, couse. I know you're royalty!

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  20. i thought i was adopted too. I thought maybe my mother was Madonna or something....i'm guessing i'm wrong too.

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    1. ooooh, Madonna. that is possible.

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