What It Really Feels Like Finding Your Birth Family
It didn’t turn out quite like the TV show.
I have always known that I was adopted. My parents told me when I was very young. It didn’t really matter that much to me, mum was mum, dad was dad, and that was that. We were all a little different anyway, my older brother Michael is Māori and his dark skin is a stark contrast to my younger brother, Quintin’s pasty white skin. I’m in the middle, not as dark as Michael, but not as white as Quintin.
It never really bothered us kids, we loved each other regardless and the only time that I can remember it being an issue with Quintin didn’t end up so well for him. He wasn’t getting something that he wanted, something wasn’t going his way, so in retaliation, he screamed at me that ‘she wasn’t my real mother anyway’. He only said that once. The smack across the mouth that he received from my backhand, stopped any future idea of making such hurtful statements.
I knew where I was born, but not much else.
I knew I had been born in Auckland, New Zealand. My mum and dad adopted me when I was nine days old and they had told me that I was part Māori, but they didn’t know any more than that. They didn’t know from what part of New Zealand, no clue about tribe or people and I don’t think that my…
