been teased to that extent before and I didn’t think looking
like my mom would be an issue. Instead of crying to my
mother, I decided to take the situation in my own hands
and observe the problem myself. I had become more aware
of the physical appearances of my mother and my findings
were astonishing.
Everyone was right. She was nothing like me, and I was
nothing like her; however, I continued to compare myself.
Stopping was something over which I had no control.
Beginning with our skin tones, hers shone gold while mine
remained an ordinary brown. Her eyes were squared at the
corner, mine rounded. I watched her every day from my
second grade perspective as others constantly questioned,
criticized and teased me for not looking like my mother.
The difference in appearance wasn’t serious to me at first,
but then I started to question myself and the self-criticism
overwhelmed me. Jabria looked like her mom, Keron
looked exactly like his dad, but I didn’t look like anyone. My
looking turned into gazing, from gazing to staring, and from
staring to pure scrutinizing, but one day she caught me!
“Why in the world are you giving me those killer eyes?”
laughed mom. I leaned to the left, nodded questionably,
cocked my head slightly, and then nodded some more. “Ma,
why I don’t look like you?” I asked in my most angelic voice.
All she could give me was this look. It was a look of
curiosity, a look of shock . . . a blank look. To this day, I still
don’t know if the look was due to my grammar or my
question. After six seconds of silence, I started to watch the
clock numbers flip. It took my mom twenty-three seconds
to respond to my question. Finally, words came out of her
mouth as she managed to stop stuttering and crying. At
last, she told me an abridged version of my life-story. It
seems I was abandoned, abused, and neglected, but all I
could remember from her account was, “I’m not your real
mom, I didn’t birth you, and you’re adopted.”
Whoever knew such a few simple words could have a life
changing effect? At that age, I couldn’t look at her anymore,
and I most definitely couldn’t call her “Mom” anymore. A lot
of stuff had finally made sense to me. No wonder I didn’t
have pictures of me as a new born and no wonder we
looked nothing alike. I thought of her as a complete
stranger, and I looked away, telling her I no longer loved
her. She didn't bother to become move emotional over my
senseless comment, but she made one remark I will always
remember. "Birthing someone only makes her a mom;
doing whatever you can, caring, protecting and loving their
RISE | 25
child is what truly makes her a mother.”
I was utterly stunned by her words and had no response. I
glanced away with a look of defeat on my face, because I
knew she was right. That statement gave me a more
positive outlook on the new relationship between her and
continued to remind me that she was, indeed, my real
mother. I never looked like my mom and will never look
like her, but I loved her. Being teased for that was truly fine
by me.