How I found out I'm Adopted

My mom couldn’t have kids.


She told me that all she wanted was to “have eight kids and live on a farm and raise them.” But she couldn’t, so she adopted me and my brother, lived in Grand Prairie, Texas, and taught 7th grade.

My parents always told me I was adopted, so that was never a shock. I got the concept. Mom didn’t have a baby, so she went someplace to get a baby. I was from a baby store. Babies ‘R Us would be a good name for it, but it was already taken. It made sense to me. We got our groceries from a store, our TV from a store, why not me and my brother Matt?

I was fine with it until I was ten years old. We visited neighbors and a woman was breastfeeding. A BABY was DRINKING from this lady’s BOOBS. Boobs were never on the menu at our house. That’s super weird. I asked some questions and she explained that the baby was her daughter and came out of her and she was feeding it. WHAT THE HELL?!! I asked a few more questions, and she said I should ask my mom.


And that’s how I learned that NOT EVERYONE WAS ADOPTED!!! When I learned I was from a store, I assumed that's where all the babies come from. I knew they come from ladies, but I thought babies come out of ladies then go to stores where people get them. 

I didn’t mind being adopted until I found out it was basically just me. That’s messed up.

Being adopted isn’t the same for everyone. It bugs me. Who am I from, have I ever accidentally met her? Does she know but I don’t? Was it a neighbor, a teacher? Will I meet a woman and feel an intense bond? Will I just know? I’ve never looked into eyes that were my eyes. I have no idea whose cute nose I have.

I hate it because I feel alien, apart from my primal family unit.  I’ve never met a person I share DNA with. Muppets in Space is not a great movie, but when Gonzo’s people came down from his planet to get him, I cried and cried. And I just saw this movie last summer.

I feel a hole inside, a gap I’ve tried to fill. I have great parents, but I’m not like them, or my brother. My brother, for example, loves to hunt and fish, just like my dad.

They buy camouflage and guns together and spend long weekends in deer blinds drinking beer and shooting Bambi together.  I’m sober, hate bugs and the outdoors in general. I’m also an avid on-and-off-again sometimes vegetarian.  My mom was quiet and sweet. If you’re sick, she’ll make a pot of soup and bring it to your home. I’m a comedian. I’m literally a professional smartass. And for a short time I performed as a character named C*nty C*nterson.

So, we are not the same. And my brother, by the way, never asks about being adopted, couldn’t care less.

Me & my bruh.

Me & my bruh.

I’ve done so much to fill this void of adoption and food and abandonment. To feel fulfilled. I kept doing stuff that I thought would make me happy. I thought if I was happy, the weight would fall off. I thought if the weight fell off I’d be loved completely. I’ve been super religious and super slutty.

I starred in a TV show and wrote on tv shows and sold tv shows. I got married and divorced. I drank for 2 decades, and stopped for seven years. I meditated, went to India, learned the puja in Sanskrit, and taught meditation. I went to Bali, purified myself in a holy temple and became a raw food chef. I’ve had therapy and I got a dog.

Of all the stuff I’ve done to fill the hole, nothing’s worked. (The dog comes closest).



The hole was filled, for about two seconds. And, fine, maybe that’s the best I’ll get.

Maybe it just can’t be healed, and I’ll always feel a hole inside. An incompletion. Maybe I’m supposed to have a hole inside. Maybe it’s good and trying to fill it has propelled me through life and given me good experiences, too. It’s what sent me to Norway and India, and got me good grades and fat paychecks, and had me making out tons of guys...Maybe this hole is awesome.

And even though I’ll never feel whole, I can love my hole. Whoa. I can love my hole. I love my hole!!!