Today we celebrate Gotcha Day. It’s the anniversary of the day we took possession of Monkey Boy.
When I was growing up, every year on our birthdays, my mom would wake my sister and I up and tell us the story of when we were born. It was always a nice, sanitized version that ended with, “I went to the hospital, and three hours later there was you.” Then she would always say, “I’m so glad I had you.”
Particularly after her marriage to our dad had ended, this was a powerful statement to us. Despite the pain the end of that relationship caused them, both our parents continued to tell us, they were so glad we were born. We were never a mistake, never a burden, never unwanted.
Every year on his Gotcha Day, I tell Monkey Boy the story of how he became a member of our family. We look at his baby book and I show him pictures of his birth mom. I always end with, “I’m so glad we gotcha.” I want him to know that despite how some people in the world view adoption, he was never a mistake, never a burden, never unwanted. He has always been loved.
This year, he seemed to get it a little bit better. I think it’s starting to sink in a little. He was quiet for a minute. I asked him what he was thinking about. He looked at me with very serious eyes, “pickup trucks.”