All I have ever been called is the Child of the River. No one ever called me by a name, because I didn’t have one. When I was just a baby, I floated in a river to a town called Cherrybrook. The people in charge of the orphanage didn’t name me. Apparently it was “wrong” to name someone else’s child. So I was stuck with a stupid title. It followed me everywhere. All anyone saw when they looked at me was the Child of the River. Not my talents, hopes, abilities or achievements. Just Child of the River. Pretty much everyone in Cherrybrook knows about me because I’m the only orphan here who didn’t know who her parents are. Thanks a lot, Mom and Dad.

People always pity me for being abandoned, but I don’t really care. In fact, I don’t want my parents to claim me if they were fine waiting thirteen long years. I just despise them for not abandoning me the “right” way. I’m not a powerful Moses who can speak to God. I could have very easily drowned when they sent me along the river in a blanket and basket. Or I could have not been seen by anyone and just kept drifting away until I starved to death. My parents didn’t even leave any note with me explaining where I was from or who I am. So I was stuck being Child of the River.

Staring into the mirror, I tried to decide what I should call myself. Every morning I set a timer and spent one minute trying to find a name for myself. I’m not a Sally, a Jane, or any other name I could think of. And even though I called myself Cot R., which everyone else refused to call me, it’s still a version of the title I hate. I didn’t think it represented me. When I complained to a teacher about it, they told me that the name Child of the River represented my most important journey. I nodded and left, deciding not to point out that my “journey” was just an abandonment.

This was the day. I had decided that during my free time, I would find my parents. I was going to hunt. Them. Down. An incident at school a few days before made me decide that I needed to be named. I was done spending my life without an identity.

I grabbed my laptop and went to the lounge room. I browsed the Internet for DNA tests until one of the orphanage supervisors walked up to me. “What do you think you are doing, Child of the River?” the supervisor asked me. Shutting my laptop closed, I mumbled, “Nothing, Miss Hailey.”

“I saw those DNA tests you were looking at, and I must say, I really thought we made it clear that you are not permitted to look into things like that,” Miss Hailey said sternly.
“DNA tests? Um, Miss Hailey, I was just looking into colleges. You know I value my education.” I thought I pulled it off, until my laptop was no longer in my hands.
“Child of the River, I must confiscate this until further notice.”
I was then stuck searching the old fashioned way: asking around and looking for old newspapers. Great. “Miss Hailey? May I spend my day outside? I would like to walk around town a bit,” I asked. If I could just get out of this orphanage, I could ask people around town for information.
“You are thirteen, aren’t you?” Miss Hailey asked. I nodded. “Old enough to go alone. You have two hours. Go.”

I went house to house, asking if anyone knew anything about my past. My arrival to Cherrybrook was big news, so most people know about me. Unfortunately, no one knew or cared who my parents were. Some thought I was being ungrateful because the orphanage treated me well and I “shouldn’t want more.” But was it really too much to ask to know who my parents are?

When I returned from my unsuccessful trip, I used the library computer to look up old newspapers from when I arrived in Cherrybrook. There were a few articles on me, and every time they called me Child of the River, it made me want to rip up every existing copy of that newspaper. I had lunch and then dinner, and then came lights-out. I laid on my back in bed, wishing things were different. I was deprived of a happy childhood. Deprived of a family. Deprived of a name.

I woke up to sunlight streaming through the dorm windows. I got dressed, brushed my teeth, and went to the mirror. As I pulled out my timer, I took a second to look at myself without the burden of being nameless blocking me. My auburn hair spilled onto my shoulders. My green eyes sparkled. My delicate features gave me a loving look. Normally, I would wonder which parent each feature of mine came from. But today was different. I didn’t know what changed, but I saw myself in a whole new light. My eyes weren’t my mother’s or father’s. They belonged to me. And that was when I realized, I didn’t need my parents to help define who I am. I decided who I got to be.

Maybe my teacher was right, after all. Maybe that “journey” of mine actually is an important part of me. After all, I wouldn’t be the same person I am today if I had my parents. My “journey” made me who I am. I learned how to be independent, for I didn’t have a mommy or daddy to run to. I supported myself. Now that I had thought about it, I realized that my favorite activities all required strength, perseverance, and dedication. Maybe not having my parents by my side wasn’t so bad after all.

And if that was part of who I am, I knew exactly what my name would be:

Cot R.