I always thought that Gepetto loved Pinocchio just as he was. I believe that the ending of the story, where Pinocchio becomes real, is more of a metaphor than anything else. I think Pinocchio became a real boy not because of the fairy but because he finally believed that he really was Gepetto's son. I stick to this version because if the ending really means that belief isn't what creates reality then the story invalidates my self-perception.
Bastard Moments have been very few in my life. My family never shied away from the topic, but even though being an adoptee had enormous impact on me emotionally, but it wasn't something we needed to constantly discuss. As my Dad often remarks, our family has a wrong kind of humor. We have been known to mess around with people who didn't realize my brother and I weren't our parents' biological spawn. We'd go to some event or family thing, some new person would remark on how much I looked like my parents and we'd start laughing like wild hyenas. Fun times.
Never have I felt like I was anything less than my parents' child. My brother and I were - are - loved just as deeply as any child has ever been.
I remember as clearly as if it were yesterday the sense of indignation and burning shame I felt when I realized that even though we weren't somehow less real in the eyes of our parents, we were decidedly so in the eyes of others. Mom had a copy of the Bardwell family genealogy book - a big hardbound monster of a thing - that listed all the Bardwell descendants, living or deceased. Right there in print next to my name and my brother's name: ADOPTED. I couldn't understand - then or now - why such a distinction even needed to be made. Whenever I read an obituary that pointedly refers to the deceased's surviving child as adopted I immediately assume the obituary's author is an asshole.