Day 59 of 100

“I guess I wasn’t important.”

I was 5 when my mom got remarried. I immediately didn’t like the fact that I had a different last name.

It didn’t help that my grandparents often weaponized my original last name telling my step-father and mom that “blood was thicker than water,” and that I would always be a Silver.

It didn’t help that my biological father wasn’t around and didn’t seem to want to make much effort to stay in touch. I heard from him on occasion, but usually through a birthday card.

It didn’t help that I felt separate from my family and I had to explain every time someone asked why my name was different.

“Rich could adopt you.” My mom, looked deep into my eyes with a probing stare that only mothers have. “Then your name would be the same.”

“Yes, please.”

I didn’t know it would take years. I didn’t know the effort my parents went through to make it happen, and I didn’t know my biological father would have to approve.

When I was seven he came to visit. The first memory was sitting at the beach and telling him that I wanted to be adopted so my last name would be Baldwin and him, with almost relief, saying “ok.”

Many years in the future I dealt with the anger that moment left me with. He wasn’t going to fight for me? He didn’t want me? I was seven for God’s sake, I just wanted to be loved by my father.

The second thing I remember is him telling me that he didn’t know when he would see me again. I remember crying and trying to give him all my stuffed animals to remember me by. I remember my mom pulling me away and holding me in her arms as I sobbed.

I am proud to be adopted. I know that I am a product of nature and nurture and the parts of me that I am most proud of were nurtured by a 24 year old man who gave a 5 year old boy, the one thing he wanted, a family.