What’s my name

My mother sat down in front of me. Her eyes were sad and worried. “Troyboy, how would you feel if your step-dad adopted you?

What about Dad?

Well, since you aren’t talking to him he said he doesn’t want to pay child support and wants Rick to adopt you.

So he is giving us up for adoption?

That’s what he said.

So what does that mean?

Just that Rick would legally be your Dad. You would take his name.

So I wouldn’t be Troy White anymore?

No.

I sat and tried to process this. At eight years old I really didn’t know what to make of it. Even though he was mean sometimes, I thought he loved me. How could he just give me away like that? Like I was a dog that he no longer wanted.

Sure, I guess.

Are you OK Troyboy?

Yeah, I’m fine.

I started thinking of myself with another last name. It sounded weird. I kept saying it to myself over and over so I could get used to it. The more I said it, the more I started becoming ok with it. It hurt that my Dad could just give me away, but not surprised. I didn’t feel I had a right to be angry though. My father’s voice played over and over in my head, “You are nothing but a spoiled little brat. You don’t know how good you have it.” I felt to blame.

They began having the papers drawn up to start the adoption process. At the last minute, my father changed his mind. I remember not knowing how to feel. I was angry because he had put us through this for nothing. But, to be honest, I was mostly relieved. I loved my Father.

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