‘Gotcha Day’ might be controversial for some families – but it’s important to me

What a fourth grader said about my ‘Gotcha Day’ still rings true, Amber Raiken writes

(Amber Raiken)

On 13 October this year, I received the annual texts in a group chat with my sister, mother, and father. The messages read: “Happy Gotcha Day!”, followed by a red heart and my father adding that it was “one of the best days of his life”.

These simple messages are a small representation of the immense love I have for and from my family, and appreciation for our unit of four. Others, however, are angered by the term, highlighting the negative connotations “gotcha” can hold. As someone who was adopted, I take no offense at the word itself, but the day raises conflicting feelings I used to harbour.

Every year, the anniversary of the day my parents adopted me from China as a baby falls two weeks before National Adoption Month, an observance which aims to bring awareness to adoption issues in the US. While receiving a text saying “gotcha” sounds like a joke, for us it celebrates the day my mother and father welcomed their second child – just like other parents texting their biological child on their birthday.

Over the years, there’s been some controversy about how we refer to the day someone was adopted. As noted by Merriam-Webster, the word “gotcha” has been described as “an unexpected usually disconcerting challenge” or “an attempt to embarrass, expose or disgrace someone”. With those definitions in mind, some parents have taken issue with the phrase, as one mother wrote in Adoptive Families magazine that “gotcha” is a “silly slang word” for when she squashes a bug or reaches for something on the top shelf in a store. She went on to express that using the word to describe adoption is not only “astonishing and offensive,” but “smacks of acquiring a possession, not welcoming a new person into your life”.

I know just how much love is behind those three simple words I have come to treasue, and my parents certainly don’t view me as something they “acquired” when they flew to the other side of the world. They never realised the controversy behind “gotcha”, and even if they had, I don’t think that’s something they’d want to tell their teenage daughter. How do you tell a child that the seemingly fun slang behind their celebratory day is problematic?

Growing up, I never made a big deal about my adoption day. The one yearly tradition I can remember is my parents giving me a different book from my favourite series, Nancy Drew. At the time, I didn’t understand or value the present. Why was I getting the book on a date that just felt like a normal day to me? My lack of excitement about the day probably came from the fact that only a few people in my life had their own gotcha days. I then had a fear in middle and elementary school that I was turning nothing into something by talking about my adoption day, especially as the only adopted student in my class. When I told a classmate what a Gotcha Day was for the first time, in fourth grade, his response was, “So what? It’s not your birthday.”

But his comment stung. He was right. The 13th of October was not my birthday, and I didn’t want it to be. I wasn’t bringing it up to attract attention to myself, despite this being exactly what the middle schoolers had assumed. When you’re standing in a room full of moody children – as a moody child yourself – getting questioned about what the “point” of an adoption day is, you start to ask yourself the same thing. As my efforts to explain seemed to fail, it became easier for me to keep that day to myself and my family.

Many years later, and what that fourth grader said still rings true. A Gotcha Day isn’t the time for people to reach out and celebrate you; I’d find it a bit inappropriate if they did. Most people who aren’t adopted don’t know what this day is, and after years of misconceptions, I’m more than okay with that. My circle of adoptee friends has gotten smaller as I’ve aged, with the group including only my sister and two female pals. Although I don’t have a large outlet of people who can relate to me, it’s made my Gotcha Day feel more significant to me, and something that is mine.

On my adoption day this year, I went about my normal work routine and got those texts from my family. The only thing I did to commemorate the occasion was share a photo of my parents and sister on my Instagram story. When I was younger, I never fully grasped the meaning of the day, a situation I’m sure other adopted children find themselves in. A piece of me still had lingering concerns just like in middle school: “If I post about my adoption day, will people think that I’m just trying to draw attention to myself? Will people understand that’s not my intention?”

I don’t have concrete answers to those questions, but the answers will never matter. I’ve come to the realisation that no one will understand the meaning of the day to the capacity that my family and I do, and that’s the entire point. While the innocuous post was hardly a celebration, it was an acknowledgment for the four of us. It reminded me that, for however long I wanted to, the 13th of October would be a day for me to be grateful for my privilege. It’s an occasion to remember how much my family has grown, both emotionally and physically, through the act of adoption.

While my parents ended the tradition of giving me Nancy Drew books when I was 14, that significance we still tie to my Gotcha Day means more to me now than my teenage self could have imagined.