Stop asking me if I’m adopted

In family photos, I stick out like a sore thumb. My family is Italian (ciao, our last name is Pelosi, which is just about as Italian as gelato or pasta), which means everyone has dark hair, tan skin and dark eyes. Except me.

My coloring trends more towards the “Hitler Youth” spectrum

Growing up, I was convinced I was adopted. I always felt like the ugly duckling; different and strange compared to my swarthy younger sister and parents.

My sister Sophie: a real charmer

When we would go out as a family, my parents would get asked about where I was adopted from, or make jokes about who my real father must have been. I would stand awkwardly to the side and laugh, but it hurt. I told myself that my parents were lying, that I was adopted, that they would tell me the truth about my real family when I was old enough.

Obviously this was idiotic since there are photos of me literally seconds after my birth, but I created a fantasy that I had another family of blonde-haired, blue-eyed people out there waiting for me.

Me, displaying my princess-like qualities early on. My sister doing her best impersonation of a strawberry

When I reached fifth grade and realized that this couldn’t possibly be true, I began to change my thinking. I started to see looking differently from my parents and sister as something cool, something that set me apart. While many of my classmates were essentially mini copies of their parents, I was something completely other.

And since I was a bit of a pathological liar at this point in my life, I invented all kinds of insane stories to entertain my peers.

Duck, duck, goose

As I got older, I figured out where my coloring did come from. My grandfather, Louis Sr., had the same white-blonde hair, fair skin and blue eyes that I did. So did my cousin Andrew, and my cousin Nick.

Noticing these shared traits made me feel closer to my family, and now that my Papa has passed away, I feel proud to see a little of him every time I look in the mirror.

Me feat. cousins

I am even beginning to see similarities between my sister and I as she gets older. Considering I think she’s literally the most beautiful person in the world, that makes me feel pretty good.

Easter ridiculousness

While embracing my uniqueness was not an easy journey, I feel that it has been worth it. Looking differently from my family still causes some confusion for outsiders meeting us for the first time, and Sophie and I still get all kinds of remarks about how we look so different, but in all honesty, I don’t care. Knowing that I love my family and they love me no matter what I look like is enough. Plus, I still have plenty of fun making up stories about how I’m a Russian princess abandoned on the doorstep of a Palo Altan couple.