I first saw my real dad when I was 12. He showed up across the street at a corner store from where I was living with my adopted mom and dad. He had my name tattooed on his neck and my little brother’s name on the back part of his neck. I believed him when he said he was my real dad, but I still ran back across the street to my mom. He gave me his number and said to call anytime. I was in shock and scared as a little girl while not understanding what was going on. When I got back to my mom, she ripped the number up and said, “Don’t worry about that.” I didn’t say anything else, went back outside to my friends on the corner, and went about my day. But in the back of my mind, all I could think was ‘What is going on here?’
After being adopted at 2 years old by my foster parents, the child welfare system didn’t care about us. The child welfare system didn’t make her do anything like they did before we were adopted. They never really came to check on us after we were adopted to make sure we were rooted within our culture. It seemed like my adopted mom could do whatever now since she owned us at that point. She changed our last name to hers so we would never really think we were not hers originally.
Growing up, I didn’t know anything about my heritage of being Cuban or Native American. My adopted mom is white, and my adopted dad is Black. I always thought I could be Black or white. We grew up around Black and Mexican kids primarily. I thought I was maybe Mexican because me and my brother always loved Mexican food and were the only ones in the house that ate it. I don’t remember any powwows, ceremonies, music, or anything about being Native or Cuban.
I met a lot of different people and different cultures, not knowing where I would fit in and just kept trying. I fit in everywhere, but still, something was always missing. Even when I would attend holidays with my adopted mom’s family, me and my brother never felt a part of the family. We felt like outsiders all the time.
I was the darkest one in the family besides my adopted dad. I think that might have been the reason why I was always attached to him more than anyone else. This has caused me a lot of cultural identity confusion in my life. It caused a lot of social anxiety, depression, and hurt in my life. Even now, I still feel excluded from my culture because Native people have looked at me differently because I was darker. They thought I was lying about who I was until it was proven. Sometimes, I just feel excluded because I don’t know anything until someone who understands me steps up and invites me to a powwow. That’s why a lot of those who are adopted or in foster care, and didn’t grow up with the teachings or on the reservation, never learn about their culture or just stay to themselves.
It’s not ok that the child welfare system didn’t make sure that I knew what my identity was or made sure I had the resources I needed to find out when I was old enough. Growing up, I never received any services as a Native American. My biological mom is from White Earth and is an enrolled member of that tribe. I know that ICWA was involved when we were in foster care. But when we were adopted, they didn’t have to be in our life anymore. I believe if the system would have made that a requirement for a Native child when they are adopted as well, I would have known I was adopted and known that I was Native without having to find out on my own.
There should be guidelines that potential adoptive parents have to obey when adopting us in the system, stating that kids should be rooted in their culture. I believe if this was something we could put into law, just like the law for Native foster kids, the lives of adopted Native children would be changed. It hurts having to grow up not knowing who you are and where you come from, especially with all the services and laws out there for Native Americans and knowing we are protected federally by the tribe. They shouldn’t forget about the adopted kids just because we have a family that took us in.
