The theory that storks deliver babies isn’t as far off when you’re thinking about adoption. In my family, babies come on 747s, which is just a different type of bird – granted, it’s a giant metal bird filled with sophisticated computers, but, hey, it’s still a bird.

Sometime over the years, I lost track of my arrival day. I knew it was in September, but I’m embarrassed to say that I had to call my mother and ask the exact date. I felt a little better, because she had to look it up in my baby book to make sure she had the right day.

When I was little, Arrival Day was important. It was a day to be marked on the calendar and to wait for. It was different than a birthday – a birthday just meant that I was one year older and, when you are young, you want to be one year older. Arrival Day had nothing to do with age and it was something that I had that none of my friends had.

Just like I am doing for my son, my Arrival Day was never about getting more presents. It was a celebration of family, but primarily it was my day. I was the one that chose where we would go and I was in charge (within reason of course). Here was a day that it made sense for me to ask questions, to wonder about unknowns and to dream about possibilities. It was all about me…not my parents, not my schoolmates, not my cousins.

My strongest memory of an Arrival Day celebration is going to the Quaker Square in Akron, Ohio. I remember that they had trains. I’m not sure why that fascinated me so much because I was never a huge fan of trains, but for some reason it made a lasting memory. There was a huge model train track that went around the whole room and I was fascinated by the way the train would disappear into a tunnel that led to another room and then reappear a little later at a different spot (back from its trip to the room next door). It may have been the first working train model that I ever saw. Perhaps that is why I remember it so well.

Somewhere in my teens, other things became more important than my arrival day. Perhaps it was because I was content with the way my life was and didn’t need that reminder any longer. Perhaps it was my way of going forward, instead of looking backwards. Most likely, it was raging teenage hormones that were more concerned with school dances, make-up (which I was horrible at) and what felt like a never ending stack of homework. It was no longer cool to be seen with Mom and Dad on an outing.

No matter how it happened, I find that I am not very interested in reinstating it. When I told my husband that my arrival day was coming up, he asked me if I wanted to (because he’s sweet like that) and I realized that I didn’t want to. My center of focus has changed. My son’s arrival day has more meaning to me than my own. My friends have biological children and, on their child’s birthday, they often talk wistfully of the day their child was born – look how they’ve grown. To a child, birthdays primarily mean lots of colorfully wrapped presents and cake. How much of our child’s arrival day celebrations are for us so that we can remember that day in the airport or the day in Korea when you first held your child in your arms? I’m going to have to think about it, but I’m still going to celebrate my son’s arrival day next June – if not for him, then for me.

If you would like to comment, but not on this site, please e-mail me at adoptkoreablog@adoptionmail.com.