“But what about your real parents?”

When I was young, other kids, upon finding out I was adopted, would wrinkle their noses and ask two questions: “How does it feel to be adopted?” and “Don’t you ever wonder about your real parents?” The first would send me into an agony of squirming until I figured I could ask them how it feels not to be adopted and watch them squirm. The second one generally made me cross my arms, growl “NO,” and maybe hit the asker. I was a smaller urchin, but plenty spiky.

When I grew up–and about the time adoption searches became “a thing”–the question changed. “Real parents” now, and always, refers to my adoptive parents. So here, for the record, is the Official Composition of all four of the Snurchin’s Parents:

First mother: Cardboard, small amounts of baling wire.

First father: Unknown, possible zombie, golem, robot, poppet, or one of dozens of deities known to have a taste for knocking up human women and disappearing.

Adoptive mother: Predominantly clay, with some “magazine slick” paper filler.

Adoptive father: Ash wood, leather.

If the first two aren’t real, then neither are the second two.

Guess who this makes feel unreal?

Snurchin: Yarn, copper wire, brass (see Gravatar).

What are you made of, anyway?


Leave a comment

Filed under Stop Saying That, What It's Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s