Well, kind of. I have a birthday, the day I was born, and I have an "anniversary," the day I started my life with my new adoptive family. When I was growing up, my family and I always celebrated my anniversary. I'm not sure why they called it that and I'm not sure it makes sense but I guess it works. We would all go out to dinner and my parents would give me a little gift. As a kid, it seemed like a great idea because who doesn't like a celebration in their honor? And I always chose to go to Bill Knapp's for dinner because their chocolate cake was fan-fucking-tastic. I apologize for the bad word but I cannot think of any other way to describe it. As an adult, it's no longer about celebrating with gifts and dinner. It's about remembering this life-changing event and being thankful for the family that I love so much and that has loved me and has never made me feel I wasn't one of their "real" kids.
Yesterday was my anniversary. I went out to dinner with a good friend to celebrate her birthday. It was so nice to catch up and laugh and eat yummy food, even though there was no cake. When I got home, I had a voicemail from my parents. They sang a happy anniversary song and said they love me. It was fan-fucking-tastic.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment