What's in a Name- A Long Line of (Whoevers)

At every Miller Family Reunion, out come a sprawling collection of photos, articles, even memorabilia sometimes. (I'm not sure where they indefinitely continue coming up with new material.) The Millers take turns poring over history, reflecting and affirming the identities of more Millers and Crawfords and Roberts' in the archives. I peek over shoulders at the photos, enjoying seeing who-looks-like-whom. I instinctively understand the comfort and pleasure they are deriving in looking back. But I can't really immerse much. I both am, and am not, a Miller. I'm adopted.

My family don't see it this way. In fact it's puzzling to me how they imagine that I identify with their geneology. My dad is so proud to tell me about MY great-great-great grandfather. To me, the extended family whom I've known and had relationships with are indeed my aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents. But there it ends. In terms of history, I am a recent invention.

The "reminiscent" aspect of family reunions makes me ill at ease. I become haunted about being an interloper. I get flashes of apprehension sometimes, thinking, "I don't belong here." So I steer clear of the photos and focus on the here-and-now.Do you ever find yourself in situations that make you question your belongingness in your adoptive family?