I Was Adopted Into A White Family

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As a kid, I didn’t care that my adopted mom was a different race than me. But as I got older, race became more important.

It was during an event at the Oakland Zoo that I met my future mom for the first time.   This tall Caucasian woman walked up to me and offered me a slice of pizza. After several months of getting to know each other, she eventually adopted me. 

It wasn’t important to me that I was a Black kid with a White mom until people started staring at us every time we went out.

A kid asked me one, “Is that your mom?”

It was awkward. I said, “No, that’s my babysitter.”

A lot changed when I went to school with other Black kids. I started dating someone who related to everything I’ve gone through. I felt like I could finally open up to someone.

Overtime, I’ve learned to love my skin color. I’m proud that I was born African-American. I can now start to explain to my family–though they may never understand, Black lives matter, the way I do.

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