I was an adopted child, but not in the typical sense. My birth father left my mom and I when I was about one, then stopped seeing me altogether around four. He finally gave up his rights to me when I was about five and my “dad” adopted me. I never called my birth father “daddy”. I always knew I was adopted, but my family chose to keep it a secret from outsiders. Even my little brother didn’t know until I was fourteen and he was nine. I was the one who let it slip, and I got in big trouble for that.
I never really understood why we had to keep it a secret and honestly, it made me ashamed. I felt like I had this dirty secret that if anyone found out, they would think differently of me. Anytime I brought the subject up, as far as asking about my birth father or his family, my questions were quickly squelched. I knew my adoptive dad loved me more than anything, but I still wanted to know where I came from.
When I was eighteen, my birth father’s brother and wife contacted me and filled me in on details of my “other” family. I now have a distant relationship with that aunt and uncle and their children, but no contact with my birth father. That is my own choice.
So, all that said, I am of the opinion that adoptive parents should be open and honest about their child’s adoption. If the child has questions, the parents should honor him or her with answering those questions as best they can. Regardless of the adoption and the circumstances, that child is still a part of the parents who gave him or her away. Any attack on those parents or denial or changing subjects can make the child feel like he or she is being attacked personally. Or at least that’s how I felt. Although I knew my birth father didn’t want me, when he was belittled or my questions squelched, I felt personally attacked and disliked. I am a part of him… he left a bad taste in my mother’s mouth… therefore, I leave a bad taste in her mouth. In my kid brain, that’s how it worked.