"Gotcha Day"

Language in the digital age has become a minefield. In an online forum of transracial adoptive families—a space supposedly rooted in “diversity” and mutual respect—I shared a simple sentiment: I don’t see what’s so wrong with using the term “Gotcha Day” for the anniversaries of our children’s adoptions.

The reaction was swift and visceral by one parent I’ll call “B.” She responded with a digital scream, “I HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE the term,” she wrote. “IT’S ABOUT KIDNAPPING, VIOLENCE AND IMPRISONMENT!” she bellowed through the screen.

I took a long pause. November 7th and November 24th—the days my children finally crossed the threshold of our door and their new lives. Both arrivals, ironically, occurred during National Adoption Month. For years, we celebrated these anniversaries with gifts to our children from their native countries, honoring the beauty and craftsmanship of their cultures. And yes, we said, “Happy Gotcha Day.”

The Anatomy of a Word

In the context of international adoption, gotcha feels less like a conquest and more like a conclusion to an arduous, global marathon. If we didn’t travel across the world to “get” them, what exactly did we do?

When we adopted our son from Vietnam, the birth country’s government officials called our adoption a “Giving and Receiving Ceremony.” They gave; we received. We brought him home to love, to nurture, and to protect.

The critics argued that “Gotcha” implies a predatory “taking.” They suggest it frames the parent as the hunter and the child as the prize. “It’s the day I took you away,” one member explained. My immediate, perhaps unrefined, response was: And?

What, exactly, did I take my son away from? Was it an abundance of family and resources? No. I took him away from a lack of medical care and proper nutrition, away from the very real threat of death—a fate that claimed four other babies in his orphanage who succumbed to the same bronchial infection he had. They didn’t have parents on the way to fund their care. He needed nebulizer treatments for nearly a year at home with us.

I took him away from a corrupt adoption hierarchy where our facilitator grew wealthy selling the defenseless before being arrested and convicted (our baby wasn’t among them).

To suggest that removing a child from those circumstances is violent feels like an exercise in extreme intellectual privilege.

The “Savior” Narrative and the Reality of Loss

In the heat of the forum debate, B accused me of having a “savior complex.” She labeled me a “first family blamer”—a term used to describe those who disparage biological parents.

These accusations are not only false; they are lazy. B didn’t know I hold a deep gratitude for my children’s biological parents and pray for them and their salvation.

I am aware of the heartbreak they must have endured.

I don’t see myself as a hero but rather a mother who answered a call. From the moment I saw my son’s picture, I felt a fierce, God-given responsibility to carry out the plan intended for both of our lives.

Some adult adoptees in the thread expressed that the day is a reminder of the loss of their “first families.” I hear that. I honor that. Adoption is born of loss, and no amount of celebration can or should erase that truth. But must we annihilate the celebration of the new family to acknowledge the loss of the old?

Tyranny of the Offended

What became most troubling wasn’t the disagreement over the word—it was the environment in which it happened. We live in a society that increasingly over-intellectualizes and scrutinizes every syllable until the act of speaking becomes a high-stakes risk.

In a group of thousands of members, a single, loud voice was permitted to dominate. B didn’t just share her perspective; she attempted to legislate mine. She sent knee jerk responses in all bold caps, telling me what I “can’t” say and what I “must” substitute. She declared that I was “stubbornly refusing” to convert to the group’s collective wisdom.

When did “diverse” come to mean “uniformity of thought”? When did a difference of opinion become a justification for character assassination?

It is a strange irony that those who claim the most sensitivity often are the quickest to show a total lack of it toward anyone who doesn’t use their approved vocabulary. I left that forum without regret. I have no interest in a “community” that encourages inflammatory responses while squashing any voice that dares to offer a counter-perspective.

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The Journey to the Doorstep

To understand why “Gotcha” felt fine to me, one must understand the hell and back journey many adoptive parents endure. Our story involved:

• A month in anxious limbo in Vietnam.

• The Vietnamese government’s fear of placing children with New York couples in the immediate aftermath of 9/11.

• Mistreatment by a facilitator who abandoned us on a cold, mosquito-laden beach at night, and spied on our emails (and was later imprisoned for baby selling).

• Three separate 14-hour van rides to an orphanage, expecting to bring our baby home, only to be told “not today.”

When we finally walked through our front door with our son—“Gotcha” captured the relief. It was the moment the red tape, the bureaucracy, the despair, and the hurdles finally fell away. We could finally breathe.

Out of the Mouths of Babes

Ultimately, the opinions that matter most aren’t found in a Facebook group. They are found in my living room.

I sat down with my children—both pre-adolescent—and asked them directly: Does the term “Gotcha Day” offend you? Do you want to change it? Do you feel like you were “captured”?

They didn’t see kidnapping or violence. They saw the start of their lives with us. My eleven-year-old daughter summed it up perfectly:

“No Mommy, because we gotcha too.”

That is the missing piece of the equation. “Gotcha Day” isn’t a one-way transaction of a parent seizing a child. It is a mutual “getting.” It is the day a child gets a family, and a family gets a child. It is a celebration of the fact that, against all odds, we found each other.

We can argue over semantics until we are blue in the face, but I will choose the wisdom of my daughter over the “wisdom” of an angry forum every time. We got each other, and for that, I will always be grateful.

Photo by Ivan Rudoy for Unsplash

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