My mom and dad, birthfather, and two half brothers all crowded around a table at the Cadillac Café for breakfast recently. I sat nervously, glancing at the faces. The similarities between my half brothers and me were impossible to miss. I felt like I was looking into a mirror that was slightly skewed.

A cheery waitress broke the ice, asking for our orders. We went in a circle, which put me near the beginning. I told her my order and then listened to what everyone else wanted. This started the conversation, and we all began sharing stories and laughing.

It was the first time I had seen my birthfather and his family, which my dad describes as an “Oprah moment.”

I was openly adopted right after I was born in Portland at a hospital on Halloween night of 1997. Being openly adopted means that I have always known who my birth parents were, and with that knowledge, I’ve felt complete. My birthmother was in contact with my family before my birth and my adoption was arranged. I have stayed in contact with her and we plan get-togethers once in while.

I used to visit my birthmother’s house a couple of times a year. It was in the rural area of St. Helens, northwest of Portland. My family and hers would sit in the living room together, catching up on each other’s lives. I was usually planted in front of the fireplace playing with her dogs. It was never awkward and I think of it as a conversation with family friends.

Sometimes her dad, my birth-grandfather, would drive me around on his motorcycle, but that was the extent of our relationship. It wasn’t much, but it was something. It was always enough to give me a sense of where I came from.

I have always known that I was adopted and my parents never tried to keep it from me. There was never a crucial second, a defining moment, a time when I sat down and realized that I was different. Although I see my family as perfectly normal, there have been times that others have not.

I live with my mom and dad and brother, who are all white. I, however, am mixed race. We are a completely normal family and my adoption has no effect on the way I feel or am treated. I don’t see a difference between my family and anyone else’s.

When I was little, I went with my mom to pick up my older brother, Addison, from school. The teacher came over to us and asked: “Was Addison’s hair curly when he was little, too?”

At the time, I was too young to react or probably even understand the question, but when my mom told me this story I was surprised. My family, to others, doesn’t look like a “normal” family. Many times, people have wondered if I was an exchange student or family friend. Being a son is never the first guess.

Despite others’ views, I still don’t see myself as different at all. They are my parents, that is my brother, and we are a family.

When I was younger, my birthmother would come to my birthday parties. When she arrived, my mom would introduce her to people by saying, “This is Kari, Cassius’ birthmother.”

Being adopted openly is a part of who I am and it’s not a bad thing. There is nothing to hide and there are no secrets. Being a part of closed adoption can be far more challenging because there is a fuzzy area of what you know. And what you don’t know.

A friend of mine has a stepmother who was adopted through a closed adoption, which means she doesn’t know her birthparents. They have refused being a part of her life and because of that, she doesn’t feel at peace. Although this is not the case for me, I think it shows that knowing who your birthparents are and where you come from is really powerful.

I recently read an interview of a man who was openly adopted. His interview, along with many others, is posted on the open adoption website called Open Adopt. When asked what was special about his adoption, he responded by saying: “That’s like asking what was special about having parents. There is nothing special about it. I can’t imagine not knowing my birthparents or not knowing I was adopted.”

I couldn’t agree more. I know that if my parents were not open about my adoption with me, I wouldn’t feel content.

I am a normal high school sophomore who likes making movies and hanging out with my friends. If there was a story on me, it would definitely not be about how I was adopted and the hardships I’ve gone through dealing with the fact that the people I live with, my family, are not my blood – because, to me, they are. ♦

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