Personal Narrative Essay About Being Different Than My Family

Being Different As a young child, I didn’t think myself to be any different than my family. I figured my mom was my biological mom and my dad was my biological dad. My parents acted like any other parents would have acted. They took care of me, fed me, bought me clothes, and told me that they loved me. Why would I ever question them to be different? Little did I know that my outlook on life was going to change, for I was a little different, I was adopted. Being a child I didn’t see my parents as any different. In fact I thought I looked like them. My father is Japanese and my mother is Jewish. So when I looked at myself, I suppose I saw a Japanese/Jewish person. I didn’t see that I was Mexican and brown, and didn’t look anything like my family. …show more content…
They began to explain how when I was a baby Child Protective Services found me abandoned in my biological mothers home. They told me how CPS took me into the foster care program and that my mother was in charge of taking care of me. She told me how she fell in love with me and wanted to adopt me. At the time my parents wanted to have a son, so I guess I showed up in their lives at the right time. They told me that just because I’ am adopted didn’t mean they loved me any less and that just because I look different doesn’t mean I …show more content…
Not only was I like every other teenager trying to find myself, but I had to figure out what this whole adoption thing meant and where I belong. My parents tried their best to assure me that nothing has changed and that I was still their little boy, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was different. I grew tired of having to tell every new friend I made that I was adopted, because they would always ask why I looked different than my family. I felt ashamed as if I didn’t quite fit in with the rest of my friends. Then, when I was about eighteen years old I met one of my closest friends to this day. He, unlike myself, wasn’t adopted but had abusive parents. His father was an alcoholic and his mother was never home. We never went over to his house to hangout and I guess I never really questioned why. One night he called me crying telling me how his father had gone too far. He asked me if we could talk and I accepted. I met him at one of our hangout spots. He had a black eye and swollen lip. Shocked I asked, “What happened!?” He told me how his dad got drunk and beat him. He told me how lucky I was to have loving