My Adoption Story Part 8: I Have a Biological Brother?

In the midst of my journey writing my adoption story, I made a mistake. A MAJOR mistake. It’s almost funny to write about but also an important lesson for anyone going through their own adoption journey.

It was the week of March 9^th and as I was writing one of my previous blog entries, I got out all my adoption paperwork to take a picture for the blog. In doing so, I stumbled across various documents that I had seen before that were written in Spanish. Previously, I had dismissed these documents because I couldn’t read them. Yet, after my trip to Colombia, I had become really comfortable using the Google Translate app. One of the features of the app is the ability to scan a document written in a different language with the camera. Not thinking anything of it, I decided to get out my phone and try the app on these documents.

One of the documents, entitled, “Instituto Colombiano De Bienestar Familiar” was the first one for me to scan. As the app started to translate the document, nothing was really standing out. But then, I noticed a line I hadn’t seen in any other document that caught my attention very quickly. It stated the following:

“Tiene otro hijo de 7 añosde edad, el padre del niño la abandono al enerarse del embarazo de Abelardo.”

Translated, that says, “She has another 7-year-old son, the boy’s father abandoned her when she became pregnant with Abelardo.

I looked at the translation again. Wait, does that say she had a 7-year-old son at the time? Do I? no?!?! That couldn’t mean what I think it means. I looked at the translation again.

I then texted a girl I met in Colombia, asking if she could translate this document for me. She was sleeping so I had to wait until the following day for her to translate. That night, I kept wondering, could this be true???

The next morning, my friend translated the document and she confirmed what the Google Translate app had told me the night before, that I had a biological brother who was 7 years older than me.

I was shocked. I was excited. I was surprised. Many questions popped into my head. How was this not in any other document? Is he still alive? Did he have a different father? What does he look like? WHAT IS HIS NAME?!?!?

I texted my family, letting them know the information I found. I texted a couple of friends. I couldn’t believe it. If this document is accurate, I have a biological brother. A BIOLOGICAL BROTHER. What a moment.

Sadly, without knowing any other additional information, I am at a dead end. I don’t have his name. I don’t have his birth date. I don’t have any information other than that he is 7 years older than me.

Will I ever find this brother? I hope so. Will I ever meet this brother? Some day.

I’m a believer in fate. And when the time is right, I’ll be able to share a new blog entry with my biological brother.

My Adoption Story Part 7: What Now?

The streets of Cartagena after 2am

These past 5 months have been a whirlwind experience. I’ve received adoption papers I’d never seen before. I learned the name of my biological mother and why I was adopted. I finally got a glimpse into who my biological father was. I obtained my U.S. passport. I traveled back to Colombia. And I visited FANA, the adoption agency that took me in when my biological mother couldn’t care for me anymore. So, what now?

Well, to start, I’m still on the search for my biological mother. While in Colombia, I met a girl who ended up being able to give me a clue on where she might be. Similar to people in the U.S., Colombians have their equivalent of a social security number and I had my biological mother’s information. After giving this girl my biological mother’s number, she was able to look up her voter registration and it came up that she had registered to vote in Newark/Dover...in the U.S. Excited that there was a possibility she might be in the U.S., I had another friend see if he could dig into this and come up with anything, but he could not. So, the search for my biological mother continues.

Next, I’m more intrigued by the thought of taking an Ancestry DNA test. I’ve had a buddy recently share his personal story of what transpired when he took one and it was fascinating. I’ve also heard other interesting stories that made me want to try it. Most of all, I want to do it to see if I may have any biological siblings. None of my adoption papers make any mention of my biological mom having any other kids but maybe, just maybe, I might have a biological sibling. Can you imagine meeting a sibling for the first time when a quarter of your life is over?!?! I can’t.

From a family perspective, I want to learn more about my older sister and brother’s adoption. As I mentioned in a previous blog entry, growing up, we didn’t really talk about because we didn’t have (or know) much information. Or maybe they did but didn’t talk about it with me. Everyone’s adoption story is unique and different – including my siblings. I’d also want to pick my little sister’s brain to understand if and how our family dynamic ever impacted her in any way. She was the only biological child my parents had. We joke that she was the “oops” baby because she truly was one. So, for her, she grew up with 3 older siblings that looked nothing like her and all were adopted. Did that impact her? Did that bother her? Or did she just see us as her older siblings? Maybe I can get her to do a guest post!

Additionally, I have 4 cousins who were also adopted from FANA. Similar to my siblings, I’ve never really had a chance to sit down and hear their stories. I have no idea what information they know about their respective adoptions, if they have any interest in going back to Colombia, or if they’d rather not discuss the topic. Time will tell what comes of those conversations, but I look forward to at least starting the discussion.

Lastly, through all of this learning and reflection, it has re-affirmed my desire to one day adopt a child - from FANA. Hopefully my future wife agrees! It would mean so much to me, to bring this love and beauty of adoption full circle and know that I was able to make a difference in a child’s life.

I would be remiss if I didn’t say “thank you” to those of you who’ve followed along and read my adoption story blog entries. I don’t claim to be the best storyteller or writer, I just wanted to share my story. If I made you laugh, made you cry, or most of all, made you think, I’ll consider that a success.

If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask. I may even add a “part 8” blog if I get enough questions that elicit a unique or reflective response. Also, if my story inspired you in any way to reflect on your own story of adoption or upbringing, I’d love to hear it and encourage you to write a blog as well. There is something about reflecting on an experience and writing it down that’s rewarding. While it may not bring closure to the matter per say, it just might take some weight or burden off your shoulders.

Finally, I promise that if any new information comes in my adoption story, I will update you! Thanks again for reading and if you are looking to have a child, consider adoption.

My Adoption Story Part 6: Back to Where it all Started - FANA

Our appointment at FANA was set for 10am on Monday, Feb. 17^th, 2020. As we woke up that Monday morning, I was excited yet subdued, not knowing what to expect at FANA. You could say that my emotions were a little all over the place that morning.

As we got in our cab and the ride would be about 30-40 minutes, various thoughts flashed through my mind. What would FANA look like? Would they have any information on me there? Would they know anything about my biological parents? How many kids would be there?

I had learned more about FANA after finding a Facebook Group a few years prior to my visit to Colombia and in the group, it comprised various individuals who were adopted from FANA like me. There I’d see stories of people telling their own adoption information, inquiring about FANA, and asking how they could find their biological parents. There weren’t many pictures of the modern day FANA and there was very little information about people who had visited FANA. So even though I had a better understanding of FANA and had a connection with all these people in the Facebook Group, the building and experience of FANA itself was still an unknown.

We pulled up to the entrance right around 10am and as soon as we stepped out of the taxi, my emotions started to swirl. I was happy but I was emotional. Here it was, the place that it all began for me. Naturally, I wanted to document everything so the first thing we did was take a picture by the entrance. I then took a picture of the building from the outside.

As we entered the lobby, I went to the reception desk and informed them that I was here for a tour. The receptionist acknowledged our presence and invited us to wait as our tour guide would be with us shortly. As we waited, you would have thought I was a building inspector. I examined everything. Every image. Every plaque. Every nuisance. The building was 3 floors and well kept. I took pictures of everything.

While waiting, a group of 6 walked in, 4 adults and two teenagers, and I could sense immediately that they too were visitors. After watching them go to the reception desk, they also started to take pictures and examine everything.

After a little bit, I ended up saying hello to one of the group members and it turns out, one of the group members had been adopted from FANA as well. His name is Luis. Luis had flown in from Seattle, Washington with this adopted father, his two sisters and his two daughters.

Immediately drawn to one another, we gathered our families, stood in a circle and Luis and I explained our adoptions and what we knew. He showed me his adoption paperwork and my mom shared our family history of coming to FANA previously. As Luis talked, his eyes began to water, overcome with emotion that he was back to where it all began. My eyes too, began to water, knowing exactly what he was feeling. I’d never met Luis before, but in that moment, I had a strong sense of connection and brotherhood with him.

We waited for about 20 minutes exchanging stories and then our tour guide came and welcomed us to FANA. She invited us to follow her and the tour began.

We started on the 3^rd floor and as we walked through the facility, on every wall there were pictures of families and children that had been adopted. I’m talking, thousands of pictures. It was incredible. Being that I was one of 3 to be adopted and I have 4 cousins who were also adopted from FANA, I tried to inspect every picture, hoping to find one of us.

The tour guide would weave us through the building, explaining the current facility, sharing that there are currently 90 staff members that work there and 85 children up for adoption. She would share that roughly 4,000 children have been adopted from FANA to date and that they continue to make improvements to the facility to this day.

 She walked us through each of the children’s’ rooms, explaining that the kids were divided up based on age. As we walked through each room, Luis and I would snap pictures and glance over at one another smiling, overcome with emotion, knowing that at one point, we stayed in a room like this. At points, I’d catch him with tears rolling down his eyes and he probably caught tears coming down my face as well. Often times, I’d find myself not listening to what the tour guide was saying because I was so overcome with the emotion of being there. A surreal feeling to say the least.

We walked through more rooms and hallways and came to the point where we got to see the actual kids staying at FANA. The first stop, was the infant section where we saw these adorable babies, experiencing their first few months of life at FANA. More pictures. More tears.

While walking past the infant section, one of the nurses came out to say hello. Speaking only Spanish, she explained that she had been at FANA for over 35+ years. Meaning, she could have cared for me and my family members. She joked that she could have rocked me while I was crying as a baby. She was incredibly sweet and lovable. I gave her a hug and grabbed a picture with her. Thanking her for what she does.

We then ventured outside, on what turned out to be a beautiful day, to see a group of kids playing on various kid contraptions and with numerous toys. We’d stare at the kids. The kids would stare at us. I’d smile and wave and the kids would do the same. As we continued the tour, we’d walk by various kid classrooms and the kids would get so excited to see us walking by, they’d come screaming and yelling to the window to say hello.

One little girl in particular, who couldn’t have been older than 3 years old, came running to the window, with beautiful brown eyes, dark hair, and a big old stream of snot rushing out of her nose, to say hello to me. My heart melted knowing that she is waiting to be adopted. In that moment, I wanted to adopt her.

Room after room, more kids. One room in particular hit me hard emotionally as all the kids looked up at me from the floor they were sitting on. In that moment, it hit me hard that at one point that was me. At one point that was my cousins. At one point, that was my older brother and sister. We were those kids. Innocent. Loving. Adorable. All waiting for a family to adopt them and give them the love they deserve.

While on the tour, I wasn’t the only one with emotions. At times, I’d see my mom’s eyes water and Luis’s family get teary eyed, all recognizing what we were seeing and what we were experiencing.

As we went back into the building, we approached the final area of the tour. We walked into this room with various couches and the tour guide said softly, “This is the presentation room.” I asked what that meant and she went on to state that this is the room in which the adopted family is presented with the baby or child they are adopting. In that moment, it made so much sense because when you walked into the room, it had such a spiritual power to it. You felt the love. You felt the connection.

Each of us inspected every inch of the room, taking in the moment and as we did, the woman who runs FANA walked in to say hello. Her name is Elena, and it was her mother, Mercedes, who started FANA back in 1972.

Elena said hello to all of us and welcomed us to FANA. She stated that she was in a training with staff and couldn’t stay long but wanted to say hello to all of us. As she shook hands and gave hugs to Luis’s family, when she got to me, I extended my arms for a hug and in that moment, I lost it. I was so incredibly grateful for what her mother had started and what she has continued that I cried in her shoulders, overcome with emotion. Because of her family, I was able to be adopted. Because of her family, I was able to be blessed with the family I have now. Because of her family, thousands of abandoned children have been given a home and parents have been given a child to love.

Elena thanked me for being there and was so happy to hear I was doing well. As I wiped away my tears, I thanked her again and she said thank you and that I was welcomed anytime. She politely said goodbye to all of us and for the next 10 minutes, we all took pictures of one another and Luis and I got a picture together, both overcome with emotion, continuously wiping away tears.

Luis and I wiping away tears

Before we left the presentation room, I made sure to get various pictures with my mom. She was the one who was there when I was a baby. She has been the one to help raise me into the man I am today. She is the one that I am so incredibly grateful and proud to call my mother. SHE is my mom and will always be my mom. It was a special moment to be with her in that moment.

Mom and I in the presentation room

We concluded the tour by meeting and speaking with a woman named Maria Theresa. She has been with FANA for over 40+ years and handles all the legal adoption paperwork. Doing the quick math, that meant she definitely handled my adoption paperwork and thousands of others. She told us adoption stories and talked about the old FANA. She asked Luis and I our professions, where we lived, and was so happy to see us doing well. Her voice exuded kindness and care. You could sense she was a patient and loving woman. As we said our goodbyes, I gave her a big hug and thanked her for all she did. She told me that I was always welcome back and that she was so happy to have met me.

And just like that, the tour was over. I looked at my phone and 2 hours had gone by in a flash. I had finally returned to this mystic place called FANA where it had all began for me and my heart was full. A major piece of my life puzzle had been filled.

My mom and I said our goodbyes to Luis’s family and exchanged contact information. Luis and I hugged, both drained from emotion but so grateful to have experienced this moment together. An unspoken bond that only the two of us could understand. I wished him and his family well and they left. My mom and I waited for our taxi to arrive and as we got in the car, I looked at the FANA entrance one more time, saying to myself, I’d be back.

But what now? What’s next? That’s what I detail in my next blog entry simply titled, “What Now?”

My Adoption Story Part 5: Trip Back to the Homeland

On Dec. 17^th, 2019, it was official – I was going back to Colombia. My first trip back to the homeland. As I considered traveling back to Bogotá, I went back-and-forth as to whether I wanted to go alone and experience this trip by myself, or if I wanted to invite my family. After thinking about it more, I decided that I wanted to invite my family. So, I let all my family members know via text that I had booked my trip and that anyone who wanted to come could come. The one person who said “yes” right away? My mom.

Deep down, I wanted to go with my mom because she was there to get me since day 1. Her, along with my Grandmother, came to get me and pick me up in Colombia back in the early 80s. The height of the drug trade in Colombia and Pablo Escobar years. My mom would be able to provide historical context about how Bogotá had changed and evolved over time. She’d be able share the stories of the adoption agency as she remembered it. She’d be able to provide prospective and bring the trip full circle. I was happy that she’d be joining me. So, I booked her travel arrangements and it was settled, we were going to Bogotá. Another mother/son trip for the ages.

As we boarded our flight on Friday, Feb. 14^th, 2020 I was excited. Even as we got situated on the plane, I was looking around the plane, examining everyone thinking, “Most of these people are probably Colombian, know someone who is Colombian, or have been to Colombia.” I thought that was cool.

As the captain said, “Prepare for takeoff” reality set in. This was it. It was finally happening. 38 years of wondering what this unknown country and capital city of Bogotá would be like and questions I pondered throughout my life would finally be answered. As we began to lift off the ground, I looked at my mom and smiled, knowing that this was happening.

Approximately 4 hours later, we landed in Bogotá. Like a kid in a candy store, I took it all in. The sights. The smells. The people. As we walked through the El Dorado Airport, I couldn’t help but stare at other people, look at the shops, and gaze at the mountainous views we had outside. I was excited. We had made it. We just needed to get through the most difficult process - immigration.

 We got in a long line and I watched as approximately 300 people went through the immigration process. This was the one aspect of the trip I was nervous about. The reason being, because I was born in Colombia, I am technically a Colombian citizen. Because I am a Colombian citizen, I am supposed to have an updated Colombian passport but because I was raised in America my whole life, I only had my U.S. passport and my old Colombian passport when I was a baby. So, there was a chance they could pull me aside and make me get an updated Colombian passport. A process that could take a while and require paperwork I didn’t have with me.

As we got closer and closer to the front of the line, my hands began to sweat and I started to practice what I was going to say. I quizzed my mom as well, knowing that they could ask her questions about her reason for visiting, etc.

Finally, our time had come. We were next in line. As the agent waved us over, I got my passport out and slid mine and my mom’s over to him and said “hello.” As they reviewed my passport, the agent says, “Scott, where is your Colombian passport?” I hesitated and stated nervously I didn’t have an updated one. The agent then looked at me, looked at my passport again, and then called over his supervisor. This was it. My one and only nightmare coming to fruition.

The supervisor came over and the agent informed him of the situation in Spanish. The supervisor then asked me, “Scott, where is your Colombian passport?” I stated that I was adopted and only had the Colombian passport I had when I was born. He asked to see it and as I handed it to him, his eyes got all big – in a sense of surprise. He examined it front and back, as if he’d never seen one like that before. He chuckled and then showed the agent, who’s eyes also grew big, as if he’d never seen one like that before. Their laughter made me take a sigh of relief but then the supervisor started asking a few questions. “Where are you staying?” “How long are you staying for?” “What is the purpose of your visit?” Like a trained athlete, I was ready for these questions. So, I answered them without hesitation and with confidence. I wanted to express my confidence and excitement to show that I was just a visitor, looking to explore the beautiful country.

As I rattled off the answers, the supervisor smiled, and even acknowledged one of the places we were staying at as, “very nice.” He then smirked one more time as he looked at my passport, handed it back to the agent and said we were, “Good to go.” We were handed our passports back and just like that, we were walking through immigration and headed down to retrieve our bags. As we rode the escalator down to baggage claim, I couldn’t help but smile and shout, “WE MADE IT” to my mom as she smiled at me.

We retrieved our bags and jumped into a taxi, hoping that my broken Spanish and explanation of where we were staying would get us to the right hotel. For the next 25-30 minutes, we took in the sites, the sounds, and saw our lives flash before our eyes because if you’ve never been to Colombia, the traffic and driving is insane. I mean INSANE! My mom and I couldn’t help but laugh at how crazy it was but we figured, hey, we’re the foreigners and this is their city, so we just had to accept it. Sure enough, we made it our hotel safely and made it up to our room.

For the next few days, we’d venture out in what’s called the Parque 93 area, taking in everything. From how people dressed, to the types of candy they had in convenience stores, to how people interacted with one another. We’d learn how to decipher how many pesos we were spending and what the equivalent was in U.S. Dollars. It was awesome! I was in my homeland, in the city I was born, surrounded by Colombians.

We went up to Monserrate. We went on a graffiti tour. We shopped. We ate at amazing restaurants. We walked…a lot. We had more adventurous taxi rides. We spoke with locals as best we could. We ate street vendor food. It was everything I could have imagined, and it was fun. The weather was perfect and the people of Bogotá were welcoming and hospitable.

Me on the graffiti tour

It was the perfect setup to what I knew would be the most emotional part of the trip, our visit to FANA, the adoption agency that I was adopted from, which we had scheduled a tour on Monday, Feb. 17^th. I detail that experience in my next blog entry – Back to Where It All Started: FANA.

My Adoption Story Part 4: October 28, 2019

I was sitting on the couch in our family room when my mom came in and handed me a manila envelope. I asked her, “What’s this?” to which she replied, “Those are all your adoption papers.” Not really knowing what to expect, I anxiously opened up the envelope as if it were Christmas morning and began reading through the documents. Keep in mind, I’d NEVER seen these documents before.

The first three documents are all in Spanish. I skim them quickly, inspecting every word, looking for any unique information about me. I can’t decipher any so I put those documents aside.

I then find three different documents that look identical to the documents I just reviewed, but they are all in English! I begin to read through each document.

The first document – my medical history. I began reading and it states the following:

·       Name: Abelardo Rozo

·       Date of Birth: 1/15/82

·       Date of Entry into FANA: 1/21/82

·       Date of Discharge: 5/3/82

Immediately, I learn that I was 6 days old when I was given up to the adoption agency. A fact I didn’t know until that moment.

The next document I read has “Social History of Child” at the top and it outlines a description of me. I chuckle has they describe my hair as “Chestnut brown” and my eye color as “caramel.” My color of skin is described as “light” and for sex, they list me as “masculine.” Again, I chuckle, look at my dad and say, “See Dad, ever since I was born, I’ve been MASCULINE!”

I then grab the next document which has the title, “FANA” Foundation for the Adoption of Abandoned Children Juridical Solicitorship.”

As I read the first five paragraphs, my eyes begin to water, and tears start to flood down my cheeks. For the first time in my life, I learn the name of my biological mother – Mary Janneth Rozo Cañón.

In that moment, it felt as if time stopped. Sound disappeared. It was as if my life was flashing before my eyes. I read further and so many missing pieces of my figurative life puzzle were being discovered for the first time in my life.

The second paragraph states, “That the natural father of the child named abandoned me and my child before its birth and that I am the only person who has legal custody of my child.”

The third paragraph then states, “That my capabilities do not allow me to attend to the spiritual and material needs of my child.”

More tears stream down my face. I now understand why I was adopted. I now learn about my biological father. My body shaked. My hands trembled. I’d never felt this overwhelming sensation of emotion before in my life.

My mom looked at me and asked, “Why are you crying?” and all I could muster was, “I don’t know. It’s just a lot to take in.” I then murmured, “I finally know why I was adopted and who my biological mother is.” My parents understood the moment and just let me be as I continued to review the documents.

I flip to the next document and it has a title of “Office of Civil Registration.” I review the document and it gives me further insight to my biological mother. It tells me her age, 25, as well as her profession, Secretary. The document also notes my place of birth and the doctor who certified the birth.

Even as I type this, I get emotional because for the first time in my life, I can answer who my biological mother is. I can answer how old she was when I was adopted. I can answer what her profession was. I have a glimpse into what took place when I was born. While I may never know who my biological father is, I know the circumstance with which he was involved. All of this information, given to me at once, it was truly an emotional experience.

I look over the remaining documents and most of them are repetitive from the previous documents. I find additional little tidbits about my adoption as well as my family. I look in the envelope to make sure I have seen everything and I find my Colombian passport, my first time seeing that. I then placed everything back in the manila envelope and sat in silence. For the next few minutes, time stood still. So many thoughts. So many questions.

I asked my parents a few questions to close out the night and as we all headed to bed, I had one question on my mind – is my biological mother, Mary Janneth Rozo Cañón, alive? I jumped into my bed, got on my laptop and turned into an FBI agent. I searched her name on Facebook. On Instagram. On Google. On Twitter. On anything I could think of. Yet, nothing came up. I’d find variations of her name but not a solid hit. Based on my quick math, she would be in her early 60s, so maybe she wasn’t on social media. I scoured the internet, in the hopes of finding anything I could about this woman but with no success. I must have stayed up until 2am that night, thinking, wondering, pondering. It then became clear what I had to do next.

I had to get my passport and I had to go to Bogotá for my first true (I’ve been to Canada) international trip.

Once I got back to Florida, I set an appointment to visit the U.S. Passport Agency and on November 23, 2019, I received my passport.

Then, on December 17, 2019, I booked a flight to go to Bogotá that would leave on February 14^th, 2020. 4 days in Bogotá. 4 days in Cartagena. A trip that couldn’t come fast enough. A trip that I outline in the next blog entry – The Trip Back to the Homeland

My Adoption Story Part 3: The Passive Years

Mom pointing to me to signify she had picked me to adopt

At 11 years old, I was told I was adopted. At 18 years old, I found out I had a Colombian name. For the next 18-19 years, would this new knowledge have an impact on me?

One question I often get asked when my adoption comes up in conversation is, “Didn’t you have any desire to learn more about your heritage or find your biological parents as you got older?” To which I’d often reply, “Not really.”

You have to understand, I was adopted at 5 months old and grew up in a small town in Michigan. The demographics of my hometown was (and still is) probably 98% white and I was one of the few kids that were of a different ethnicity. I was part of a loving family and was very active in sports and outside activities. That was my reality. That was my world. I didn’t know anything else.

As I went through college, I was consumed with classes and being part of my Fraternity. The college I went to was predominately white and the Fraternity I was part of was predominately white, so I wasn’t sitting around and pondering my Colombian heritage and adoption. I was living my life.

I recall meeting my first ever Colombian, Laura, when our paths crossed in college. We’re still Facebook friends to this day. While I don’t remember our first interaction clearly, I do recall she was incredibly excited to find out I was Colombian. She couldn’t believe it! In our first few interactions, she would ask me a number of questions about being adopted from Colombia but I had little share. I’d tell her what I knew and that would be it.

After college, I’d travel for my Fraternity as a national consultant for 2 years and then pursue a career in Higher Education for a number of years. It wasn’t until I moved to Florida in the year 2010 that I started to want to learn more about my Colombian heritage.

In 2010, I lived in Orlando and started to meet more Colombians. Fast forward 3 years to when I moved to Miami and that’s when I really started to see a Colombian presence. Colombian people. Colombian festivals. Colombian restaurants. I’d never seen a Colombian restaurant before.

If I had to describe it, I’d say it was a passive excitement. I was so excited to see other Colombians. I was excited to go to a Colombian restaurant and have authentic Colombian food for the first time. But yet, I still didn’t have a true desire to learn more about the Colombian culture. I didn’t have a deep desire to go back to Colombia. I was simply excited to visually see a Colombian presence in the place I lived.

This is all a long-winded setup for what happened on October 28, 2019 because I want you to understand what my mindset was leading up to that day. It’s important to remind you that everyone’s adoption journey is different. Speaking candidly, I’ve never done this much reflection on my adoption journey, so it’s new for me. As I type this entry, I stop and wonder, “Am I sharing too much?” “Do they really care about what happened in college?” “Is this even making sense?” I guess you’ll tell me if it does or doesn’t, but if you’ve made it this far, thank you. Ok, back to the story.

After living in Miami for 3.5 years, I move around a bit and start to get the desire to travel abroad. I’ve had the great fortune of traveling all over the United States both for pleasure as well as for work but I’m getting to the point where I’m running out of places to visit.

So, after a brief stint in Michigan and Illinois, I move back to Florida in 2019 and I made it a goal to get my passport by the end of 2019. A simple thing to get done right? Not exactly.

Long story short, because I was adopted from Colombia, I needed to have my naturalization papers to get a passport. However, I didn’t have it. My mom claimed I did but I knew I didn’t. I believed she had it but simply misplaced it. So, in October 2019, when I had planned to come home to Michigan to see my family, I asked my parents to pull out any and all of my adoption papers. What did my mom find as she pulled out all my adoption papers? My naturalization papers! She texted me before I flew home and told me she had found it. I was ecstatic! A huge hurdle would be lifted for me to get my passport. Little did I know that when I got home and reviewed my adoption papers, I’d find out so much about my life. Which leads me to the next blog entry - October 28, 2019.

My Adoption Story Part 2: Who is Abelardo Rozo?

Scott Clark. For a majority of you reading this, this is who you know me as. For those of you that are reading this whom I’ve never met, hello! I’m Scott Clark! For 18 years, this was the only name I knew and the only name I identified with, until the day before my high school graduation party. That was the day I learned a new name – Abelardo Rozo.

I remember the day well. I was in the family room, working on putting together picture collages of myself to share with everyone who came to my graduation party the following day when my mom walked in and tossed a piece of paper onto the table.

I looked at her and asked, “What’s this?” To which she replied, “Open it.” Not thinking much of it, I opened the folded document up and at the top it read “Birth Certificate.” As my eyes skimmed the document, words started to appear that I’d never seen in one document before. Cundinamarca. Bogota. Colombia. Rozo. Abelardo.

Puzzled, I again looked at my mom and said, “Who’s is this? Is this Billy’s (my older brother) birth certificate?” She smiled and said, “No, that’s a copy of your original birth certificate.” I looked at the document again in bewilderment. What is Cundinamarca? Abelardo Rozo?

My mother, sensing my confusion, went on to say that as she was pulling out a few things for my graduation, she stumbled upon this copy of my birth certificate and wanted me to have it. I looked at her and asked, “And Abelardo Rozo?” To which she said, “That’s your Colombian birth name.” I mumbled, Abelardo Rozo probably 3-4 times, laughing because I wasn’t able (and am still not able) to roll my R’s in the sexy Hispanic way. I didn’t know I had a Colombian birth name.

My mother left the room and I sat there, looking at this birth certificate I’d never seen before, analyzing every aspect, continuing to vocalize this new name, Abelardo Rozo. ABElardo Rozo. ABELARDO ROZO! Abelardo Rrrrrozo!

For 18 years, I had only identified with one name – Scott Clark. And now, I had been given a new puzzle piece to my life that I didn’t know existed. But did it matter?

From purely a naming perspective, no, it didn’t matter. I was Scott Clark and I would continue to be Scott Clark. In college, I’d tell my fraternity brothers and a select few girlfriends about my Colombian name which would draw some questions and laughter but it wouldn’t change anything about me. I was, and still am, Scott Clark.

But, would this new knowledge have any impact on me for the next 10-15 years? You’ll have to find out in the next blog entry – The Passive Years.   

My Adoption Story Part 1: The Talk

Me as a baby. I won $50 in a cutest baby competition for this pic

There are some conversations you never forget. Whether it was your first “birds and the bees” chat with your mom or dad, the moment you heard your significant other say “I love you” for the first time, or saying “goodbye” to a loved one – you tend to recall those conversations fairly well. You may not remember every word, but you remember the moment. You remember your emotions in that moment.

The day I was told I was adopted, I don’t recall all the fine details of the conversation, but I remember the moment. I remember my emotions in that moment as I tried to wrap my head around what was being told to me. 

There I was, about 11 years old, hanging out at the house I’d grown up in my whole life when my older sister, Cristal, came up to me and asked if she could talk to me for a minute. It was just her and I in the house at the time. I recall my parents not being around and my older brother and little sister didn’t seem to be present in the house either.

As Cristal asked me to talk, I recall her tone was more subdued than normal. Cristal rarely has that kind of tone around me, so I knew this was an indication that something may have happened or that what she was going to say was serious.

I sat down on one of our living room couches and Cristal got down on the floor so she could look up at me, and said something along the lines of, “Scotty, I need to tell you something that you may not understand but I think it’s important you know.” Confused, I reply, “Ok” and then she proceeded to say, “Scotty, you’re adopted.” Again confused, I reply, “Ok, what does that mean?”

What Cristal said next is a blur to me. It’s as if I blacked out in the moment. I don’t remember what she said to be honest. However, I do recall my eyes tearing up and becoming emotional. I also remember asking her why mom and dad didn’t tell me this, to which she had no answer. Lastly, I remember hugging her, thanking her for telling me this news.

What happened next? Your guess is as good as mine. The thought of having other parents, and possibly other siblings was unimaginable. I was 11 years old. I’d only known one set of parents and my 3 siblings. I’d only known one household. I’d only lived in one house. I was a happy, active, attractive as hell kid!

But here’s the thing about “the talk.” There is no playbook on how to have it, or when to have it. If you search “How to give the adoption talk” on Google, you’ll find links that state, “5 Tips for Talking to Your Child About Adoption” or “How to Talk About Adoption Respectfully.” Similar to other difficult conversations, you don’t ever really know if the time is “right,” you can only hope what you say resonates with the person. I’m incredibly grateful for my older sister telling me I was adopted and that I was in the comforts of my own home.

Yet what people don’t realize is that when you are adopted, there are really two “talks.” The first talk is the one I just described. An incredibly eye opening and emotional reality that’s unexpected. It hits you like nothing you’ve experienced before. The second “talk” is the one you have to have with others as you start to embrace this new reality of your life. The second talk often feels odd and confusing because like a puzzle, there are pieces missing that you don’t even know how to find or in some cases, where to look.

The second talk usually goes something like this after meeting someone for the first time:

Person: “Nice to meet you! Where are you from?”

Me: “Well, I was born in Colombia but raised in Michigan”

Person: “So your parents are Colombian, that’s cool!”

Me: “No, I was adopted. My parents are tall and white.”

Person: “Ohh wow, that’s so cool! Why were you adopted?”

Me: [Insert sigh and awkward shrug]

The reality is, because so many people have never met someone who was adopted or known someone who is adopted, they often don’t consider the emotional triggers that may come from the conversation I just described.

I don’t know my biological parents. I don’t know if I have any biological siblings. I didn’t know why I was given up for adoption until three decades after I was born, of which, I learned in the past few months. I have no ill will towards my biological mother for giving me up for adoption because I grew up into an incredibly loving and caring family.

But not everyone adopted has the same experience as I did. Not everyone is told they are adopted in the same way I was. Not everyone is okay with the thought of being given up by the very being who brought them into this world. Not everyone likes the notion of being abandoned. Not everyone is okay with never truly knowing their biological parents and siblings.

The adoption talk is an incredibly personal conversation. One that I myself, am still trying to become more comfortable with because I’m still finding pieces to my own adoption puzzle to this day. But, through this blog entry and the next few entries, I am excited to share with you my story, so you can better understand my personal adoption journey…and to learn things about me most of you don’t know, such as what my real name is, which comes next in part 2 of my adoption story.