Adopted
by Rachel Creager Ireland
Here’s a poem for all the adopted people and parents on Mothers’ Day.
Some families don’t look like each other.
Tall and short, different shapes,
long pointy noses and buttons,
olive complexion and fair with freckles.
Blue eyes and brown. All mixed together
dumped unceremoniously into one pot.
Stir, add heat, and call it a family.
We have no shared genetic memory,
our only history that which we claim,
that which we make together or make up.
A handful of heritages from which
we choose at will. This is adoption.
We are people so audacious as to
choose our family, by luck or by love or
being in the right place at the right time.
There may be times when we feel we don’t belong,
we’re in the wrong family. There may be times
we secretly long for the rich, kind, perfectly adoring
people we were meant to have,
who would buy us everything we want
and never make us do chores.
But we always know better: the real family
is the one you are with. Who needs
blood and DNA and shared cheekbones and skin,
who needs strangers to know by looking at us
who belongs to whom?
We are family by force of will.
Our existence is proof that we are.
Our existence is proof of the power of choice
and when we say mother and father
we are speaking verbs more than titles.
Don’t feel sorry for me, I am adopted and proud
and know the strength of family
in a way you blood relations never will.
Veronica's Garden 
Thanks for this one, Rachel. Having both an adopted brother and given up a son, this perspective fleshed out relationships for me. And it can be carried out further…my family by design, who i partner with, extended friends who are more family than those i was born into originally. Why i choose Who i choose, When i choose them or let them go. It is a good thing to claim the power. In one sense we are all adopted, or we are All related, things like Birth and Death merely trainstops for shifting associations with other parts of oueselves/Oneness. Miss you!!
Yes! You put it beautifully. And families have always been this way. There have always been people who were raised by others than their birth family, have always been people who chose or assembled family themselves rather than staying with the family they were born into. It’s not a trend or a sign of the breakdown of society. The “nuclear family” is a myth that was invented in the 20th century for propaganda purposes.
Fascinating! So much in this poem. After hearing a Native man talk about people, plants and animals, the earth, as “relatives” I now use that term in the same way. We can’t do without our relatives, including air and water. And also thinking about animal friends–the motherless baby hippo parented by an ancient turtle, the goat faithfully leading her horse friend who’s blind, etc. You’re right, the nuclear family is a myth: life choices, need, or coincidence push us toward whatever relatives reach out and we are bound to hold on.
Yes, we have a lot to learn by thinking of all creatures as our relatives.
This is beautiful. Although I was not adopted, looking back, I see how I was influenced in the right direction by several good teachers. I think they were more important shaping my behavior than my parents. I’ve felt uncomfortable reading about adopted children who want to find their “real” parents. I’ve always wanted to tell them, “These people who took care of you and loved you ARE your real parents!”
Yes. The biological connection is valuable, too, but not more real.