I had always known I was adopted. Although I always knew I was loved. Dad made it clear he loved me especially after mom died. He spent all of his free time with me. He would coach my little league team and spend his afternoons taking me places and playing with me. That was when I was ten or eleven. Now I'm sixteen. He and I are still close, but I have my friends and my golden retriever, Patriot.
My dad and I are a proud American family living in Houston Texas, but this is the story of how I met my biological father.
"Kenni," shouted my dad. I was hiding in my tree house with Patriot. I was pouting; I didn't want to move to England for a year. My dad had just gotten transferred to England for the summer that meant we had to move. "Kenni we are not done discussing this, this is a big opportunity for me."
"I don't want to have to learn a new language!"
"Kenni we speak English," he said.
I peeked out the window of the tree house, "Nope, I speak American!" Did I mention I'm a sassy sass queen?
"Kennedy Margret Fuller you get your ass down here now!" I stiffened, trying to ignore the order, but eventually years of obedience won out and I climbed down the stairs of the tree house with Patriot right behind me.
I crossed my arms and pouted, "I don't wanna move to stupid old England."
My dad did a face palm, "whoever said you were moving to England. As I was about to say you are going to stay with your Aunt Wilma in New York."
My eyes widened and my pout instantaneously turned into a grin, "New York? New York City, New York?"
"Yes."
I punched the air, "Whoo hooo!"