A majority of adoptions are rather depressing and heart-wrenching tales that are full of smoke screens and dreary details that can really affect the adoptee. When my mother told me that I was adopted, I knew, but I was still shocked to a degree. My family is a group of Southern Methodist, ultra-conservative, military, white individuals, who look the complete opposite of me. Not only am I just not a different shade of color, but also I am of a completely different race. My adoption from South Korea at the age of three was a blessing, but being comfortable about who I was, was the greatest challenge. In all family photos, I was the one that stood out, and it was not because of a goofy smile or a silly sweater. It was because I was simply a dark-haired, tan, South Korean against a white canvas. Starting school and trying to explain to people that my uber-athletic, short, white brother, Colsen, was in fact my brother, could have been part of the show “Punked” due to people’s reactions. Their mouths dropped, and always began with an awkward pause, and then the generic question, “Well you are adopted then right?” The question used to be the hardest one to answer because it was asked so many times and always ended with pity. The question itself depressed me because it made me feel as if I did not belong, and made me …show more content…
I never wanted to admit to people that I was native to a foreign land; I dreamt of scenarios where I would lie to people and tell them I was from a swell area, such as suburban San Diego or coastal Florida. The idea of having to say I was from Daegu, South Korea, and people responding in an utter tone, “Day who?” displeased me. I wished for a scenario where I could create a new character, a new me. People would always ask what my “asian name” was and I immediately responded with animosity that it was simply just, “Christoper Scott