I wish I could ask my mom when I was born, what day of the week, what time.  A Christmas baby. That's what they used to call me since I was born 2 days after Christmas.  But that's all I know. I was adopted at 3 years old along with a Navajo Indian brother a few months older than me, and a Korean sister a couple years younger.

My auntie raised four kids in her lifetime that weren't her own.  Her body just wouldn't make baby's even though every fiber of her being ached with the longing of being a mother. But she raised us like we were her own.  She knew she was taking on quite a lot.  She was doing it for the right reasons, she had so much love to give, and Lord only knows, we had so much love to be needing.

"You aren't my mama!  I want my real mom!!"  I still remember how red hot my face felt when I hollered those words.  I didn't care.  I missed my real mama and in my four year old mind, tantrums had become a way of getting what I...