I waited for her to tell me to start packing. When she didn’t, I asked, “Aren’t you going to send me back？”
“I don’t like the way you’re behaving, ”she said, “but I’ll never send you back. We’re a f***ly, and f***lies don’t give up on each other.”
Then it hit me. This Mom was different; she wasn’t going to get rid of me. She really did love me. And I realized I loved her, too. I cried and hugged her.
In 1985, when Mom formally adopted me, our whole f***ly celebrated at a restaurant. It felt good belonging to someone. But I was still scared. Could a mom really love me forever？ My tantrums4 didn’t disappear immediately, but as months passed, they happened less often.
Today I’m 16. I have a 3.4 grade point average, a horse named Dagger’s Point, four cats, a dog, six doves and a bullfrog5 that lives in our backyard pond. And I have a dream: I want to be a veterinarian.
Mom and I like to do things together, like shopping and horseback riding. We smile when people say how much we look alike. They don’t believe she’s not my real mom.
I’m happier now than I ever imagined I could be. When I’m older, I’d like to get married and have kids, but if that doesn’t work out, I’ll adopt like Mom did. I’ll pick a scared and lonely kid and then never, ever give up on her. I’m so glad Mom didn’t give up on me.