I think I was about 8 years old the first time someone told me that there must be something wrong with her because she was adopted. I remember being upset. I remember getting angry.... I would never be that kid's friend again. I also remember secretly wondering whether or not they were right.

My parents love to tell the story. They described to my sister and me the two ways children could come into the family: through birth and through adoption. In the end, it was me, not Barbara, who burst into tearsÉthe adoption scenario had sounded so good.

I was 11 years old; Barbara had gotten into my stuff again. She makes me sooo mad. It is so unfair sometimes, having a 7-year-old sister. There she was with my broken doll; she said it was a stupid doll anyway. I had never been so angry with her. What could I say or do.... "You're not my real sister anyway. You don't even belong in this family."

I still feel guilty when I think that I said that, an 11-year-old's design for vengeance. I think the most painful part of that memory is that I was tearing at the fabric of my family, which ultimately left me terribly insecure. Growing up in a blended family has brought me a unique perspective on adoption and family building. I spent a lot of my life feeling the need to defend my sister against the questions and judgments of the uneducated. Please don't misunderstand: adoption was a normal and comfortable part of our family vocabulary. Two out of our three cousins were also adopted. The problem for me: I never allowed myself to ask or voice the secret questions and doubts that I couldn't help but learn from society. It was only much later in life that I was able to face my fears and come away with the answer that we were different and unconnected in ways that other siblings were not but yes, oh yes, we were absolutely family.

Society has such strong expectations for matching. I have always looked like a carbon copy of my father. People found it easy to say that Barbara looked like our mother. It used to be a family joke, because we knew it couldn't be true. My parents always loved to play games. As I grew up, I found I was good at it too. I could remember the cards that had already been played - that sort of thing. Just like our parents. Barbara doesn't play games too much anymore; it was much harder for her to fit this family pattern. I struggled for years with piano lessons, though I still try. I am barely able to bang out simple children's songs. Barbara can hear a tune and sit down to play it. Genetics!

I believe people need to understand and acknowledge that there are differences between biological and adopted siblings. To try to pretend otherwise is debilitating to both. When I hear parents say that it makes no difference to have one child adopted and another not, I cringe. I can't help thinking that even my own parents' occasional protestations of sameness must have had to do with their own fears about being different. How does it go? - "thou dost protest too much."

We adoptive families are in a minority.... There is strength in that only if we can stand up and be honest about that which makes us different. Blended families can work, but like any family that works, it takes honesty about who we are and are not. This I know: it was when my parents acknowledged the truth of our differences and uniqueness that Barbara and I were able to bask in the confidence of having a family that was a hundred percent behind us. When they tried to mold us into samenesses that might have worked in other families, we felt uncertain and insecure about our ability to fit.

In our 30s now, my sister and I are still just that - sisters. We can be the best of friends and the worst of enemies. We have been there for each other and let each other down. We are similar in certain ways and could not be more different in others. I love and cherish my sister. The bottom line - we are connected forever. You see, we are family.

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