My heart, like so many others around the world, is breaking with the news of Julia's passing.
Her courageous, beautiful and honest words have impacted the lives of so many, and will continue to touch countless others.
For all who knew and loved her, I am keeping you close in thought and in prayer. I am so very sorry for your loss.
Julia, you will be missed so very much.
The first time I ever remember hearing a favorable comment about my physical appearance from someone who was not related to me was when I was nine years old. I remember it so clearly because up until that very moment, I had never been - or remember being - within earshot of a positive sentiment expressed about my physical self.
The woman who spoke those first words to me, Mrs. B., was a neighbor, a family friend as well as my first piano teacher. It happened in the summer during a neighborhood pool party. I was wearing swimming goggles and took them off when I exited the water. Mrs. B. was standing next to me as I hopped onto the ledge; I saw her and said hello as I removed my goggles. She smiled warmly at me and in the kindest and most gentle voice proceeded to say, "Paula, you have such beautiful brown eyes."
My eyes?, I asked myself. These chinky, slitty, ching-chong, barely noticeable, "Are you sure you're able to see anything out of those things!" eyes? Not my descriptions mind you, but ones that I had heard on the playground, in assorted restaurants, religious education class and on numerous visits to the mall. My eyes?, I questioned once again. These very ones that other kids and even some adults try to imitate by pulling back the corner of their own eyes as taut as can be just so they can let me know just how deformed they really are? Surely Mrs. B. must have been playing a joke on me. My eyes are small. They are brown. The eyelashes that I do have are barely worth mentioning and I possess the distinctive epicanthic fold, not the desired, natural crease which happened to adorn the eyelids of every other girl that I knew. In my estimation, my eyes were without question about as far from beautiful as any set of eyes could ever be.
When I was in sixth grade, our class studied topographic maps as part of a social studies unit. A fellow classmate of mine, Gina, announced that she had the perfect visual aide for a plateau. Our teacher seemed intrigued. "What is it, Gina?" he asked. "It's Paula! She's a perfect plateau!!" The class erupted in laughter. I smiled, too, trying to actually feign a few giggles in a feeble attempt to deflect attention from my crimson face. And just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, once the chuckles subsided, a boy named Robbie remarked, "She's a plateau alright, and not just in the face." Oh boy, this comment garnered even bigger and louder roars from the desks which surrounded me. And the humiliation set in even deeper. Not only were the kids laughing at my flat face and lack of any noticeable profile, but now they could find additional humor in the fact that I had no chest either. Soon after that particular lesson plan, a few kids started to refer to me by my new nicknames (all in good fun, of course); alternating between Paula Plateau and Paula Pancake. Good times were had in class that day. . .good times.
A few weeks ago, while waiting in line to pay for my purchases at a nearby grocery/retail store, I perused the magazine covers by the check-out lane. Amanda Peet, Rachel Ray, Kate Hudson, Carrie Underwood, Jennifer Garner, Helen Hunt, Tina Fey and two young blonde girls from a cable reality TV show adorned the covers which stared back at me. The message was not lost on me, just as it wasn't 30-some years ago when I was a young girl. White is the most beautiful. White is the most desirable and accepted without question. White is the epitome of perfection and the ultimate beauty standard against which all others are measured.
I grew up watching shows including Little House on the Prairie, Happy Days, Charlie's Angels, The Love Boat, The Brady Bunch and The Facts of Life. As I got older, the most sought after women on the most popular TV shows were overwhelmingly white. Alyssa Milano, the young women from Beverly Hills 90210, Heather Locklear, the women from Three's Company, Justine Bateman, Cybil Shepard, Pamela Anderson, all of the women from any daytime or prime-time soap, ala Dallas, Falcon Crest and Melrose Place. In fact, come to think of it, I don't think I've ever even seen an Asian person on a soap opera.
And how about the movies from my era? Christie Brinkley in National Lampoon's Vacation. The women including Demi Moore in St. Elmo's Fire. Elizabeth Shue in The Karate Kid. Kelly LeBrock in Weird Science. Kelly McGillis in Top Gun. Lea Thompson in Back to the Future. Mia Sara in Ferris Bueller's Day Off. The scantily clad women in Fast Times at Ridgemont High. The list goes on and on. Beautiful meant blonde (save a few brunettes), usually big chested, skinny waisted, long legged and of course, white. This was the message conveyed on virtually every advertisement, nearly every cover of any major fashion magazine and the majority of all television shows as well as on the big screen. Many would argue that it is the same message that continues to dominate our culture and society to this very day. White = attractive. White = normal. White = right. And the opposite of those equations is what I felt many times throughout my childhood, adolescence and young adulthood: Unattractive and abnormal; the wrong kind of person.
I have known only two women in my entire lifetime who have genuinely appeared completely unaffected by the barrage of not so subtle messages that the media, marketing and advertising throw mercilessly at us regarding what defines beautiful, desirable and attractive. How many women do you know who haven't once complained or wished they could do something about their weight, their skin, their hair, their butt, their stomach, their thighs, their hips, their lips, their calves, their arms, their back, their neck, their breasts, their noses, their chins, their smile, their nails, their eyes or their whatever it may be. How many women do you know who haven't felt the pressure to look a certain way simply because we've been repeatedly conditioned to idolize a certain image of what the perfect woman is supposed to look like?
Now multiply that by any number you wish and it might give you an idea of how some girls and women of color may feel about never being able to measure up to the ultimate in idealized beauty and overall acceptance in this society.
Many, many times in my life I felt that my appearance: my skin, my hair, my body and and my face was wrong. Wrong, dirty and ugly. Sure my parents affirmed my looks on a regular basis, but even kids know that that's what a parent is supposed to say to his/her child. Besides, what did my white mother and my white father know about being Korean? Surely they never had to contend with racist slurs and hateful remarks because of the color of their skin.
I realize there may be many adoptive parents reading this and thinking "What is she talking about? My Korean/Chinese/Vietnamese child is beautiful. Anyone who has eyes can see that!"
And I don't doubt for a minute that your child is beautiful - just the way he or she is. But I also don't doubt for a minute that your child will encounter people in his/her life whose definition of beautiful - and even acceptable - only extends to those who happen to be white.
Just yesterday morning I was in a store with my son. Standing in front of me was a friend, who is white, and her two young daughters. An elderly gentleman stopped my friend to swoon over her little girls, who are in fact very cute. He took out his wallet and showed my friend a picture, presumably of his own grandchild(ren). After their brief conversation, he started walking and met eyes with me and then my son. I am not exaggerating when I say this man gave both me and my 3 1/2 year old son a look of utter disgust and obvious disapproval. I refused to avert my eyes and back down from his stare. He was not amused; he simply scoffed at me, sneered at my son and walked away. What do incidents like these teach my son? That a fair skinned, strawberry blonde little girl is worth taking the time to acknowledge, while a brown skinned, black haired little boy isn't worth the time of day? Or even worse - that an Asian child and his mother are so damn revolting that a grown adult needs to express his blatant contempt upon the sight of them?
When I was younger, I often wondered what it would have been like to grow up in the country of my birth. Surely the kids in Korea wouldn't call me "chink" and the adults in Korea would know better than to "compliment" me by calling me China doll or telling me that I had the face of a geisha girl. Surely the men wouldn't give me lewd and suggestive stares and ask me if I knew any "ancient Chinese secrets" in the bedroom. In Korea, I might have just been seen as me, whereas here in the States I feel I am almost always defined first and foremost by my race and ethnicity and the accompanying stereotypes.
Several weeks ago, I decided to post a picture of myself on the front page of my blog. I had long been reluctant to do so, mainly because of privacy concerns. But part of me - a big part of me - wanted to be seen. Not in the vain, Please look at me! I just can't get enough of myself and I know you can't either! kind of way, but rather to be visible to other Asian-Americans, especially adopted Asian-Americans who might happen to stumble across my blog. A small, but personal way for me to say, "I am a Korean-American woman and I am proud of who I am. I am proud of what I look like and I am proud of where I came from."
As a parent, I fully acknowledge that which I can and cannot control in my children's lives. Yes, my husband and I can monitor and exert our authority over what literature, television programming and advertising comes into our home. But our kids don't exist in a bubble. The minute they walk out the door, they too are constantly bombarded with the onslaught of intensely crafted, very deliberate messages telling them what and who is beautiful, worthy, most valued and unconditionally accepted. Our son and daughter may have parents who will engage in discussions of what true beauty entails, but I know full well that some of their peers - and even their peer's parents - may have a completely different interpretation of what constitutes being acceptable in the looks department, and no doubt my children will fail the test of some simply because of the color of their skin.
I'm not trying to say that I wished I had had a lifetime of excessive experiences where people told me that I was beautiful. Instead, I wish my experiences of being told by some that my physical appearance was wrong, dirty, abnormal and different weren't as plentiful as they were. I don't buy for a minute that children are born automatically believing that white is right and that everyone else is wrong. I cannot control what others might think about me or my children simply because of our race and ethnicity, but that doesn't mean I won't stop having conversations with my own kids about the pride and true beauty that resides and radiates from within by being the best person that they can be.
Not any less than because they aren't white. And not any better than because they aren't white. But beautiful, acceptable, worthy and utterly fabulous because they have the capacity as well as the right to be comfortable, proud and free in the skin they're in.
A few years ago, friends of ours lost their pup after she wandered away from home and was struck by a car. Their youngest son, S., who was five at the time, told me about the fatal accident the next time I saw him and his family in person. "Oh, S., honey," I said. "I'm so sorry." His blue eyes looked back at me bewildered and distraught. "Why are you sorry?" he said innocently, yet ever so inquisitively. "Are you the one who killed my dog?"
The words "I'm sorry". They're such little words that can mean so much. The very phrase holds such potential to transform, influence and affect - both for the one delivering the words as well as the recipient. Many may think it to be rather odd - or even downright ridiculous - that I suggest that the phrase should be present in the dialogue when talking to our children about their adoption. Perhaps some are sensitive to the possibility that uttering those words may cause their child to misinterpret the expression as an admission of guilt or wrong-doing on their part, not unlike how S. initially perceived my expression of condolences on the loss of his puppy. Certainly no parent wants to be blamed for adopting their child, they think.
Others may strongly contend that there is nothing about their child's adoption that warrants saying "I'm sorry" because in adoption, there is nothing to be sorry about. They may reason that we adoptive parents have been granted arguably one of the biggest blessings in our lives through adoption - how could anyone feel sorry, or be sorry for that?
To be clear, I am certainly not insinuating that we say to our children, "Gee, I'm really sorry that I adopted you" or "I'm so sorry that you had to be adopted into our family".
What I'm trying to convey is that I feel strongly that there needs to be more of an acknowledgment about the losses in adoption - certainly by society as a whole - but especially by us, the adoptive parents, that imparts the message to our children that it is perfectly normal, absolutely acceptable and well within their rights to be sad, hurt, confused, angry or feel any other emotion that an adopted child may experience about his or her adoption. . .to let our kids know that we know that adoption is not entirely the win-win situation that some would like us to believe.
I think it's a natural tendency for many adoptive parents to focus on the actions and the verbiage that supports the mantra "Celebrate Adoption". We enthusiastically share the journey with our little one of how he came to be part of his new family. We pour over pictures, life books and adoption mementos with unbridled joy, immeasurable pride and overwhelming gratitude. We plan parties to mark significant days in the adoption process. We gush onward to our friends, family, colleagues and even complete strangers about how happy, how fulfilled, how joyous, how complete our lives are now that our child has joined our families. As we should. Our children deserve to know from us - often and sincerely - how much they are loved and how happy and grateful we are that we have the honor of being their parents. I'm definitely not saying that focusing on the positives or gains in adoption is wrong, evil or something that we ought not to do. What I am saying is that I believe there needs to be some balance in our representation of adoption in the form of honest, genuine acknowledgment from us that not all aspects of adoption are to be celebrated, heralded and promoted as a blessing and miracle for everyone involved.
Based on the many personal interactions I have had with other adoptive parents, both in person and via email, as well from my observations and readings on a multitude of adoption blogs and forums, I feel confident in saying that one area that I've noticed that many APs feel especially vulnerable and ill-equipped in is their ability to have truly honest, heart-to-heart conversations with their children about the losses in adoption. Yes, these parents realize their children have incurred great loss, and they are able to acknowledge these losses with other adults, but several of them are downright uncomfortable and even scared of having to talk to their child about the truthful and often times painful circumstances surrounding their son or daughter's placement for adoption.
As an adoptee, I'm heartened to know that so many APs do have the capacity to recognize and acknowledge the losses in adoption, because unfortunately, I still encounter my fair share of people who refuse to concede that there are any tangible or significant losses in adoption and that adoption is an act that serves only the best interests of first parents, adoptees and adoptive parents alike.
And as an adoptive parent, I can relate to the trepidation and anxiety these parents feel about having to talk to their children about the losses in adoption. As a mother, I can honestly say that there is no greater question that has brought me to my knees more quickly in both pain and sadness than to hear our son say, "Mommy, why can't my Korean mommy be with me, too?"
And just because our son hasn't yet verbally expressed such questions as "Doesn't my Korean mommy love me? Did I do something to make her leave? Why couldn't she keep me?" doesn't mean he isn't thinking about them or might think about them one day in the future. And though responses such as "Don't worry about that, sweetie; what matters now is that your with your forever family" or "Let's just focus on the fact that you're here with us now, right where you should be" and "Don't concern yourself with the past - just remember how much we love you and how we were meant to be together" (all of which I have heard other APs say) are certainly easier to deliver, they may also inadvertently relay the message of "If you can't think of only positive things about your adoption, then don't think anything at all".
Loss is inherent in adoption. It just is. Not talking about it doesn't mean our children don't recognize it or feel it. . . on some level. . . at some point in their lives.
As I've mentioned before here on this blog, I grew up throughout my entire childhood, adolescence and young adulthood really knowing only but one "right" way to think about adoption. My parents no doubt loved me with everything they had and they made it abundantly clear just how wonderful, positive and miraculous adoption really was. Adoption brought them their first child, their only daughter and the baby they so desperately wanted. To them, adoption was a miracle; adoption brought them me. And though they spoke of my Korean parents with the highest regard and utmost respect, I cannot recall having any specific conversations about the losses in adoption - mine or those of my first parents. And by not talking about the losses and with no one formally acknowledging that there were parts within adoption that were truly sad, painful and unfair, it did little to help me feel that my sadness, pain, hurt, rejection, grief and shame about adoption was normal or acceptable. And so I just held it in and kept it to myself - and when that was not physically or emotionally possible, the feelings would manifest themselves into various behaviors that provided an outlet for me to outwardly grieve or express whatever emotion needed to come out.
Recently, I had a heart-to-heart with my mom about some of my inner-most feelings about adoption, including the losses I believe many adoptees experience. I felt she understood where I was coming from as she immediately recognized and validated the losses of which I spoke. And then it dawned on me: Perhaps one of the reasons she and my dad never spoke about the losses in my life was because I never brought them up or displayed any indication that I wanted to discuss them. And yet, one of the reasons why I never felt comfortable speaking about my feelings of loss was because they never brought them up or displayed any indication that they wanted to discuss them. Possibly they were seeking to follow my lead, and I, theirs. And as a result, we never took the walk down that road together.
As I've stated several times before, I truly believe that the over-arching attitudes and portrayals of adoption in our society and by our media does a tremendous disservice for allowing all voices in adoption to be heard in their totality, namely the full range of truths of adoptees. So conditioned is our society to associate adoption with only happy, loving and positive emotions and expressions that I think often times this results in many, many adoptees (myself included) questioning the legitimacy of any feelings that happen to run in direct opposition to these predominantly held notions. In the absence of any recognition or validation for the vast feelings an adoptee can possess, she can be rendered not only silent and reticent from expressing her true emotions, but also can be left feeling as if she is wrong, not trying hard enough, guilt-ridden, deficient or even feeling like a bad person for holding these sentiments in the first place.
I have made a conscious effort to have age-appropriate conversations with our son about how it's okay to sometimes feel sad, upset, angry, lonely, rejected, confused and hurt about adoption. I have the same conversations with our daughter about adoption in hopes that she can better understand and validate the breadth of his feelings that may result from the losses and trauma in his life. Both of our children know that my husband and I are grateful to have the family that we have, made possible through adoption, but I also let each of them know that I'm sad and that I'm sorry for the losses that our son has incurred and for the losses that his Korean parents have experienced as well.
I believe that it is okay for children to have feelings other than gratitude and happiness about their adoption. I think it's okay to recognize their losses and to give them the language, the opportunity, a safe place and most importantly, the permission to express every emotion they may have about each step in their life story. I believe it's okay to say, "I'm so sorry for your loss" and "I'm sorry for your first parent's losses", too.
Indeed my life is filled with numerous blessings and reasons to celebrate. The unconditional love and support of my family and friends as well as my health and the health of my loved ones are all things for which I am truly thankful. I have always recognized and been able to easily express those thoughts which speak positively to the result of my adoption, not only because I genuinely believe them, but also because I have been encouraged and commended when I do. And yet I have at times struggled greatly to allow myself to feel and fully express the feelings of loss that accompanied my status as an adoptee; not because my feelings are not authentic, but because for so long, I just did not have the words and even when I did, it hasn't always been readily apparent to me that the feelings pertaining to loss would be accepted or well-received.
I hope to never presume how our son is feeling about his own adoption or tell him what he should or shouldn't believe. But I do hope that by acknowledging and validating the losses in his life that he feels comfortable owning, expressing and accepting all of the feelings about his adoption - at any given stage in his life and in any varying degree. Certainly not for my sake. . .but for his.
A little over a week ago, I received a phone call from a woman who happens to work with my mom. This woman, K., is only a few years older than I am and has three children; her youngest child is in the same grade (Kindergarten) as our daughter.
Apparently, my mom has been doing some grandmotherly boasting about her granddaughter, which led to various conversations between my mom and K. about the school where K's children attend. It's a relatively small preparatory academy that is highly regarded by several fellow educators and parents that I know. Before our daughter started Kindergarten, I actually did a fair amount of research on this school and though I strongly believe that its academic rigor would have been well suited for our daughter, I ultimately was looking for a more diverse student body than this school had to offer. (According to the school's website, almost 93% of the student body identifies themselves as White.)
One of the reasons K. called was to tell me more about the school in case I was interested in applying for the next academic school year. I told her that my main concern was the lack of racial and ethnic diversity amongst the student body.
"Well, it's true that most of the students are White, but we do have some diversity. Our school has plenty of Orientals," she said proudly.
I literally cringed, grateful that she couldn't see my face. I don't think I've heard the "O" word to describe Asians since my grandmother's 90 year-old friend referred to me as such. And even that was over 10 years ago. And the way she talked about the school "having plenty of Orientals" was unsettling to me. It was as if she was noting how many Bunsen burners each science class had in its possession.
"If you don't mind me asking, how many Asians would you say there are in each grade level?" I asked. I knew immediately that her interpretation of "plenty" and my own definition of the word would vary greatly.
"Let's see," she said. "There are about 35 students in each grade level and probably two Orientals in each grade. Some grades might have as many as three."
She went on.
"One of the things I love about the school is how they expose the kids to different cultures. My son learned about Kuonzie (I'm fairly certain that she meant Kwanzaa, but it came out phonetically as Koo-On-Zee) and my other son did a special project for Chinese New Year."
I know she meant well. I know she was trying to share some of her children's experiences in hopes that I would see how culturally diverse the curriculum was, even if the student body wasn't. It wasn't that my concerns about the school held any more merit than her thoughts about all of its positive attributes. But I just couldn't help get the feeling that if our children were to attend that school, that she might be the mom to proudly announce to other White parents, "Great news, everyone! I just recruited two more Orientals for our kids to be around!"
Not so long ago, I followed a thread on an adoption forum where many APs (mostly White) expressed no hesitation whatsoever about sending their children (adopted transracially) off to a school that had little to no racial or ethnic diversity. Moving just wasn't an option, some said. Driving to a school that had a larger ethnic and racial demographic was just too time consuming or too inconvenient, said others. Still others proclaimed that a racially and ethnically diverse student body wouldn't necessarily have any positive impact on their child, so why not just keep them in a school where they are the diversity? Someone has to be the pioneer, they said. Why should it not be their child?
Sometimes it makes me wonder. . .for every person that has told me that I'm making too big of deal of race in the classroom and that it shouldn't matter if more than 90% of the student body is White, would those same people be willing to send their kids to a school where more than 90% of the student body identifies as non-White? What about even 50%?
Why not? Their answers might be telling. They may reveal some insights about their own discomfort about being amongst the minority, even if just as a parent.
So why would our kids feel any differently? More importantly, why aren't more of us listening?
As a child, many - if not most - of my worst tantrums happened in the evening. Right before bedtime to be exact. There was something very unsettling about the prospect of being alone for several hours, not knowing when I'd fall asleep and not knowing when I would wake. I can remember so many different bedtime scenarios and stall tactics that I'd use to put off the inevitable. Asking for one more glass of water. One more book. One more kiss. Wait - did I hear something? Better go get mom or dad from the other room. Talking to myself for hours, just to hear the sound of someone's voice. Crying so hard until I would choke and nearly throw up the contents of that night's dinner.
It wasn't like I didn't feel physically safe in our home. And it wasn't as if I didn't have an ample enough transition into bedtime. My parents kept my brothers and me on a very consistent and predictable schedule which included nightly baths, plenty of bedtime stories and quiet time with each parent before the lights eventually went out.
And still, even with all of my parent's genuine, patient and frequent reassurances, there was something about having to go to bed, and I think more specifically, having to be alone, that was so unnerving. . .so frightening and so daunting.
As I reflect back on this stage in my childhood, it's as if I can see so clearly now just why I had such a hard time succumbing to the sleep that my body so desperately needed: the total and complete lack of absolute control that night time and sleep represented frightened me to my very core.
Control. It's a concept that I've been giving considerable thought to lately in how it pertains to my own experiences as an adoptee and one that I see manifesting itself in certain behaviors and actions of our three year-old son, who is also adopted.
As I look back on the trajectory of my behavior as a child, I recognize now just how much of it was dictated by the sense of control which I felt I had in any given situation.
If only my older self could have been there to tell my younger self during those times when I felt so vulnerable, so invisible, so threatened.
"It's okay, Paula. It's perfectly natural to feel that you need to have a sense of control over things. Your need to exert your own level of control and authority in a situation is understandable. Your beginnings are rooted in the unknown, and that can feel scary. It must have been so frightening, confusing and alarming to have been separated from your Korean parents with seemingly no notice whatsoever and not know why. To wonder when they were coming back, only to realize that they're not, and never will. The same goes for your foster parents. And for the escort on the plane. It's not your fault that you don't trust yourself well enough yet to know that you don't need to create situations where you feel that you'll have some modicum of control, even if just for the simple reason to know that you exist and that you do matter. It will get better, I promise. Just don't be too hard on yourself."
Based on both private and public feedback I have received since starting this blog, I think it's easy for some to minimize and dismiss the potential impact that the separation from one's parents can have and how it can manifest itself into various areas in one's life. Yes, I grew up in an incredibly nurturing, loving and accepting family. No amount of words can express the love and appreciation that I have for my parents. Throughout my life they have been my strongest advocates and my fiercest supporters. (And hopefully one day, perhaps when our son and his adopted peers are old enough to start writing their own stories, it won't be necessary for adoptees to feel they need to state their feelings about their parents for fear of being judged or vilified for being ungrateful, bitter or angry for everything that they did or did not get from their parents.)
But what I'm trying to convey in this particular message is that for me personally, there were often opposing messages that my mind and body fought hard to reconcile. My mind knew that I had two parents who loved me, cared for me and would do virtually anything for me. But my body knew that feeling out of control left me feeling too exposed and unsafe. Going to bed was one of those times. Though logically I knew the likelihood of me waking up somewhere else other than my own bed in my family's home was infinitesimal, looking back, I don't think my body felt it to be that much of an irrational thought. It had happened to me on at least two occasions before for reasons I did not know or understand, who was to give me a certifiable guarantee that something wouldn't or couldn't happen to me or my parents once again?
I'm not a psychologist by any means. But it really does make a great deal of sense to me that someone who has had little to no sensation of control in the very beginning in her life would seek out various concrete acts or habits that give her some semblance of control. Yes, one's inherent personality, temperament and environment no doubt all play a role in how adoption may affect someone. I'm not here to say that adoption affects each person the same way. But I strongly believe that because adoptees have incurred a very unnatural act (separation from one's parents) that was beyond their control, that we'd be wise to at least consider the possibility that some adoptees, especially adopted children, may seek out their own ways of attempting to reclaim control in their own lives for reasons that may not always make sense - even to themselves.
Perhaps it's just me - but as a parent of a biracial daughter and an Asian son - it's far from my dream as their mother to have either of them enter into their adulthood thinking, believing, announcing and celebrating that they are white (or have our daughter claiming a white-only status).
As I've spoken to in previous posts, as a person of color who grew up in virtually all white surroundings, there were many times I identified myself as white. Not literally of course, but in every other possible way. I acted, sounded, dressed, wrote and behaved pretty much like any other classmate, peer or friend I knew, practically all of whom were white. I mean, all that was standing between me and my white girlfriends was my hair, my eyes and my skin. Surely if I could overlook those minuscule details about myself, everyone else could too, right?
Were there times in my past where I wished that I was white? Absolutely. Were there times in my past where I thought of myself as practically white given the context of my upbringing and lack of exposure to people of color, including other Asians? You bet. Were there times in my past where I felt that many elevated me to white-like status because of my family, socio-economic standing, education or because I happened to meet or exceed certain criteria that some associate only with whites? Most definitely. But did I ever truly believe, honestly think and proudly proclaim that I was a white person? Never once.
I know there are other transracial adoptees who are immensely proud of the fact that they consider themselves white. They embrace being white like their parents and siblings and don't distinguish themselves as being anything but "one of them" in every way. It's certainly not my place to stand in judgment of anyone who may adhere to those beliefs; each of us is entitled to claiming our own truths.
But for me, my truth - personally and literally - is that I am not white. I will never be white. And after all of these years I can finally say that I don't want to be anyone else but me - who I was born to be. And I am a Korean-American woman who identifies herself as Asian. Not white.
I once heard a fellow KAD speak about her reaction to seeing another Asian person when she was younger. Like me, she had grown up in an extremely homogeneous setting and was often the only person of color in every circle that she and her family traveled. Her reaction to seeing another Asian was jarring, uncomfortable and hit a little too close to home. As a person who saw herself as white like her family, seeing another Asian was a glaring reminder that if she happened to view this fellow Asian as an outsider, as an "other" and as one who was different in every possible way, it was all too likely that she herself was being seen in the exact same way by others. She described a huge disconnect pertaining to her identity that I could easily relate to as I navigated the choppy waters of my own search for "Who Am I?"
I truly believe that the signficance for the physical affirmation of oneself to be reflected in the media and to be present as meaningful, personal role models as well existing in authentic, supportive relationships, cannot be overstated in helping promote a positive self-identity. Going back to my recent post about white privilege, it is a fact that most adoptive parents have only ever known a time when their physical likeness was represented in every possible medium, where their elected officials - most notably all of the leaders of this country - shared the same color skin as theirs, where people in positions of power, influence or high visibility were most likely to be of the same race as theirs. To live in world that continually validates and corroborates your existence through repeated images, overt and subtle messages, long standing institutions and systems is a powerful message indeed. No doubt that some transracial adoptees may find it easier to presume themselves white than to live as a person of color in this country.
As a mother, I want my children to hold absolutely no shame in declaring and owning their racial and ethnic identities. I don't want the messages to be internalized as "White is right and therefore I am wrong" or "White is best and therefore I am less". I don't want them to think that their self-worth, happiness or value as a human being hinges upon their ability to be perceived as a white person or believing themselves to be a white person. I want our daughter and son to love themselves for exactly who they are and to be proud to recognize themselves for the people they were born as and have become: a Korean-Irish-American female and a Korean-American male.
Regarding personal identity, I believe the question shouldn't be "What can I do to make sure my child doesn't feel any different?" but rather, "What tangible measures can I take right now to make sure my child feels most like him or herself?"
On numerous occasions in the past, I've been fairly unsuccessful in trying to convey how many times I've felt that the messages and attitudes perpetuated by our society about adoption often leads me to feel that I am reduced down to nothing more than a commodity. . .a tangible item that people with the right kind of credentials and qualifications can pick out and pick up. . .a product that in theory, shouldn't be available for return, but in fact, sadly is. . .an object that is believed to come from some other place, manufactured by another country instead of being born to two living, breathing human beings.
And time and time again, I'm told that somehow along the way I must have lost my sense of humor or the ability to empathize or that I should really try harder see other people's points of view. After all, they probably had good intentions behind whatever it was they said or did.
So I'm trying to find the humor and the good intentions behind these t-shirts. But I have to be honest; I keep coming up with nothin'.
I don't think any of us would be especially pleased to hear our child referred to as an "it", an object, an import or a scrap. And yet, I don't see how these t-shirts aren't committing the exact same offense.
I get that parents are excited and proud of their children and their families. I understand that many of the messages in our society about adoption infer that adoptive families somehow aren't as worthy or as "real" as those who claim a biological connection only. But I don't see how these kinds of t-shirts and the scores of others like these do anything but undermine the legitimacy of their own family and especially the dignity of their child. Do people really feel that they need to slap a t-shirt on their child to proclaim to the world that their kid, too, is indeed an American? Seems to me that those confident enough in their own skin as adoptive parents wouldn't feel the need to use their child as a moving billboard to announce any such kind of message.
So I'm trying to locate my sense of humor about these t-shirts and I'm trying to see the perspective from the other person's point of view. But from where I'm standing as both an adoptive parent and as an adoptee, I find no redeeming qualities in either of these shirts. I know there are plenty of people who will see these t-shirts as completely innocuous - as a fun and light-hearted way to take pride in their family. And of course they will continue to be purchased, along with the others that bear the slogans:
and the numerous others that I feel only feed into the existing inaccurate, misunderstood and negative perceptions about adoption in our society which ultimately and - most importantly - do nothing to advocate for the voices, the realities, the losses and lived experiences of many, many, many adoptees and first parents.
Yes, it's just a t-shirt. And Gotcha Day is just a phrase. And "China doll" is just a term of endearment. But it doesn't mean they each don't exist without impact and without consequences. . .maybe not to the people who employ them, but perhaps to someone else. Why shouldn't their feelings matter, too?
Sure, one might think it'd be oh so witty, cute and harmless enough to create and sell a shirt that reads:
"Adoption. It's not just for infertiles anymore. Just ask Angelina."
and put it on themselves or their child. But somehow I don't think they'd go over nearly as well as the other witty, cute and harmless ones available for purchase. Something tells me I don't think they'd even be allowed to be sold in the same place as the other witty, cute and harmless ones.
I think it's important to stop and ask ourselves why. Could it be because the impact would be felt by the the group in adoption whose feelings are often the most protected and taken into the greatest consideration; the voices of those who are most always first and foremost represented when it comes to how society thinks, acts and talks about adoption?
Contrary to what others may think, I really do make a very earnest attempt to look at things from the other point of view; to contemplate how my words could potentially impact another person's feelings, regardless of how cute, funny or fitting it is for me personally. Regardless of how good my intentions might be.
In the case of these t-shirts and others like it, it'd be refreshing if those making and buying them could take a moment and think of how they could potentially impact another person's feelings too. Regardless of how good their intentions might be.
* * *
EDITED TO ADD on 3-13-08: Shortly after this post was published, I received an email from a waiting adoptive parent who designed one of the t-shirt slogans listed in text portion of the post (not either of the actual t-shirt images). With her permission, here is an excerpt from the email she sent to me:
"While I might not always feel comfortable reading your blog, I think that's a good thing. When I first designed the shirt, I hadn't yet thought of how my child might see it one day. . . at that point, I hadn't fully processed the necessary tragedy that would occur for me to have a chance at this joy."
She went on to say that she hadn't realized how offensive they might be to her future child or other adoptees and has since removed her design from the location where the other t-shirts are sold.
I was deeply moved by her email, and I let her know. I told her that I know of course that not all adoptees share the same thoughts and opinions that I do, but that I was truly appreciative of the fact that she was willing to hear the voices of adult adoptees, including my own. She said in a subsequent email that she reads the stories of adoptees and first parents because she wants to learn. Based on our email exchanges, I truly believe that she approaches her future role as an adoptive parent with an open heart, open mind and a great deal of humility - all of which I believe are necessary characteristics for every adoptive parent.
So, thank you, Ms. "X" for your email and for taking the voices and experiences of adoptees and first parents to heart. I have received other emails from prospective adoptive parents and adoptive parents alike who share your sentiments and I am both heartened and encouraged by the future dialogue and changes to come that will help ensure that all voices in adoption are heard.
"If a white person claims there is no such thing as white privilege and everyone around him agrees that he speaks the truth, does it mean that white privilege does not exist?"
I have read Peggy McIntosh's essay "White Privilege: Unpacking the Invisible Knapsack" at least a dozen times and each time I am struck by the magnitude and profoundness of virtually every sentence that comprises the article. This particular piece of Ms. McIntosh's writing has inspired me to initiate many conversations about race and race consciousness - conversations that I have had with both people of color and people who are white.
A few months ago I had a conversation about this very article with a friend of a friend - a white male who is in his early forties. He had not yet read the essay and I did my humble best to summarize as many of Ms. McIntosh's salient points that my memory would allow, including several which I personally believed had the greatest impact on me, a woman of color. He listened in earnest and I genuinely felt that he was truly interested in hearing my honest thoughts and reflections about this article.
He paused and said very thoughtfully to me, "You know, I respect what you're saying and I can see how you would interpret the concept of white privilege in the manner you described, but I have to say, I completely disagree. As a white man in this country today, I feel that I'm the least protected and have access to the least amount of privileges and advantages available, especially in the workplace. With all of the hype over embracing diversity and being ultra PC, I can guarantee you that every white colleague of mine would agree with me on this - we know that we'd be the first in line to get fired because everyone knows you wouldn't be able to fire a person of color without getting sued. People see what they want to see. What people don't realize now is that as a white male in this country today, I am the least protected by any kind of special privileges or benefits." He went on to assert that my status as an Asian female had far more opportunies to offer than he had as a white male because of all the "positive attributes" (read: stereotypes) that I have attached to my identity.
A respectful conversation ensued and eventually we just had to agree to disagree. Neither one of us was willing to concede that our own beliefs and assertions were not without merit.
And about a month after that particular exchange, I happened into another discussion with a white male who my husband and I know, who echoed virtually the exact same sentiments as the ones described from the man in the first conversation.
So all of this recent talk I've had about white privilege has got me to thinking. Surely, there must be many other white people - males and females alike - who agree with what the previously mentioned men have said. People who are entitled to their own opinion and people who have their own life experiences which in no doubt have shaped their feelings on the subject, just as I have.
Based on the history of comments I have received on this blog, I strongly believe that many readers here do very much believe in white privilege. But what about those who do not, and happen to be parents? And what about those in that group who happen to be adoptive parents of children who are of a different race?
I said in a recent comment on this blog that I believe one of the greatest luxuries afforded by white privilege is to be able to say, "I don't need to worry/discuss/be concerned/be educated about race because I am white. I just concern myself with one race: the human race." But how do you go about explaining to someone who doesn't even believe in white privilege that that very thought is indeed the pinnacle of white privilege (at least in my opinion)? I have heard and read these very statements by parents of children who are adopted transracially and I think about the messages that are being sent to and internalized by their kids.
So I guess the question I've been thinking about lately is this: How does one work toward raising an awareness and an acknowledgment that white privilege even exists for someone who feels that white privilege is "nothing more than a vast left-wing conspiracy theory against the white man"? (Yes, this was indeed said to me by a different white male who didn't think too highly of my suggestion that he read Ms. McIntosh's essay in its entirety.)
I realize this post is all over the place and not really adhering to any one cohesive thought. But that's how my brain has been operating lately when I think about white privilege and especially how it pertains to transracial adoption.
The more thoughts I have, the more questions I have no working answers for. . .
Dear Kimchi Mama N:
You and LN have been in my thoughts and my prayers for so long now. . .I know that you've endured more than your share and that certain situations have been unnecessarily complicated even more by the people who should be stepping up as your number one advocates and best supporters.
Please know that many, many of us are here to help shoulder the heaviness of what you're going through - I'm sending you and LN big hugs, lots of love, many prayers and positive energy in hopes that you will know and remember what a strong, beautiful, amazing and incredible woman and mother you are.
You WILL persevere and you and LN deserve all the very best that life has to offer. My prayer is that your journey toward your new beginning will be as smooth as possible and that we all can support you in the best way we can.
I hope to see you and LN again real soon. :)
Big hugs to you, MN. I'm so proud to know you.
Love,
Paula
Let's say you and your young child decide to go on a picnic at a park that happens to be within walking distance from where you live. You carefully pack up all of the necessary items that you require for your outing and you decide to leave the stroller at home so that your child can stretch her legs in earnest. Soon enough, you and your child come up to an intersection, and though it's not a heavily trafficked area, there certainly are enough cars that do frequent the road - some of which travel at a pace that could be considered downright dangerous. You immediately recognize the opportunity for a teaching moment to introduce your child to the importance of road safety. You quickly weigh your options in how to best convey the most effective message about keeping your child safe around moving automobiles.
After evaluating your options on how to proceed, you eventually decide to take an unconventional approach and let your child cross the street by herself, just to see what happens. Sure, you know it's probably not the smartest thing to do, but you feel fairly comfortable in your assumption that most drivers will be responsible enough in looking for kids in the crosswalk. Besides, it just takes so much time to have to teach a child about ALL of the different case scenarios in road safety. And who wants to talk about a topic that be downright depressing and even uncomfortable, you know, having to talk about fatalities, accidents and such. And after all, your hunch is that your child probably wouldn't be too receptive to it anyway, so why bother in the first place?
And inevitably, as your child wanders aimlessly into the road, completely oblivious to her environment, she does unfortunately happen to get into an accident. Well, you think, she'll just have to learn to do a better job of watching where she's going or develop a thicker skin. After all, who's to say that the driver wasn't just having a bad day or that his speeding wasn't as serious as it appeared, I mean it's not like there's verifiable proof that the driver was intentionally trying to hit your child. Drivers will be drivers, you tell your kid. No need to be so sensitive, especially if it's not a full-blown, overt and obvious kind of impact to your child. Getting hit by a car is just a normal part of growing up; there's no good reason to make it a bigger deal than it needs to be. Bottom line: There will always be bad drivers out there regardless of what you do or say. It's best just to accept it, bandage up your wounds and move on.
Of course it's ridiculous to think that any parent would ever send their child out into a street without any kind of preparation, any kind of guidance, any kind of modeling or any kind of instruction that would help protect their children's physical safety. But what about the kind of preparation, guidance, modeling and instruction that helps protect and defend our children's emotional and psychological safety when it comes to confronting and addressing the impacts of racism, prejudice and discrimination?
In a comment I left on Jae Ran's recent post over at Harlow's Monkey, I referred to a message I read that was written by a parent of a child who is adopted transracially. The parent talked about hoping that her daughter would never get teased, feel "that" out of place or be the target of racism, discrimination or prejudice and would try to do everything possible to prevent any racist or discriminatory act from ever happening to her little girl.
With all due respect to that parent and others who may hold the same sentiments, I personally feel that any energies expended in sheer "hoping" could be better utilized by actively working towards giving their children the language to recognize, address and validate what I believe are the inevitable acts of racism, discrimination and prejudice that their children will face one day. And trying to implement every last precautionary measure to successfully prevent any kind of exposure to racism, discrimination and prejudice is, in my opinion, an impossible feat at best and nothing more than an exercise in futility. To me, it's akin to saying that you're going to do everything possible to prevent your child from growing up.
This is a topic I am quite passionate about simply because I hear all too often from a number of parents - some whose children are already in grade school - that talking about race, racism, discrimination and prejudice is just too difficult, too uncomfortable, too awkward and too time consuming. And I can't help but think how the attitudes those parents hold toward race will impact, and have already impacted, their children. Some white parents have expressed that they feel too inadequate or under-qualified to talk about such topics with their children of color. A small (okay, very, very small) part of me can understand where they're coming from - parenting is hard work - and there certainly are additional and complex layers present in transracial parenting. And everyone's lives seem so busy these days that there hardly exists enough time in the day just to take a deep breath, let alone talk about any of the heavy issues. But you know what? Tough. We're the parents. We signed up for this. We need to do the hard, uncomfortable and awkward stuff like talk to our kids about race, racism, discrimination and prejudice and how it will affect them. The onus is ours and to me that duty is non-optional.
Because when no one is talking, guess who absorbs and retains 100% of the impact when - not if - a child finds themselves on the receiving end of a racist remark or discriminatory act? Guess who ends up having a greater propensity for feeling guilty, responsible, abnormal, confused, isolated, hurt, angry, crazy, ashamed, dirty, blame worthy, inferior and completely lost when no one is talking?
I truly believe that in the absence of honest and straightforward dialogue with children about matters pertaining to race, a message is still being delivered loud and clear. The message that tells children that this is their burden to carry, their problem to deal with by themselves and their responsibility to make the best of it, alone and as quietly as possible. Bottom line: that their feelings, their thoughts, their experiences and their voices don't matter, nor do they count.
I know there are plenty of parents who take a very active role and approach towards educating themselves and their children about the complexities of race and race consciousness in this country. And yet, one does not need to look far to find scores of other parents who write or talk about how shocked, surprised and ill-prepared they feel about a racist statement or discriminatory act that happened to their family or to their child. Inevitably, accompanying commentary includes remarks such as: "Who knew that my family would have to deal with racism in this day in age?! Thank goodness my child was too young to understand what that ignorant person was saying. I can't imagine if she was actually old enough to realize what was being said - hopefully she'll never have to hear words like that again. I just want her to stay innocent forever! Why do people have to be so mean? I never dreamt that we'd encounter anything other than positive experiences from being a transracial family. I sure do hope and pray that this is our first and last incident with such ignorant people." Though I'm empathetic to a degree as a fellow parent who obviously doesn't want to see his or her child get hurt, each time I read or hear about a similar situation I can't help but be a bit surprised that the parent is so surprised that these kinds of occurrences do indeed take place. Yes, even in this day in age.
Please don't misunderstand. I don't think any level-headed parent makes a conscious decision to throw their child into a situation where their son or daughter is rendered completely and utterly defenseless and unprepared to protect him or herself. But one's intentions don't count for much when a child finds himself being called a racist slur, or is told that his "kind" aren't allowed, or that "foreigners like him" is what is ruining this country. It's one thing to be somewhat prepared, informed and aware about the potential existing dangers pertaining to racism and quite another to feel as if you've been blindsided by an 18-wheeler without so much as even a seat belt or an airbag to help mitigate the impact.
Perhaps one reason some parents don't "go there" with candid and open conversations about race is because there is a case of mistaken identity on the part of the parent. That because the parent does not see or "remember" (yes, I hear this from parents quite often) that his or her child is a person of color, the parent may feel that others do not discern any noticeable difference in their child either. Or that because their child never talks about race, and has never reported being teased, harassed or bullied because of his/her race or ethnicity that it must mean that their child has never experienced anything negative associated with his or her racial or ethnic identity. And quite possibly, there could be white privilege at play here as well. By that I mean if a parent who is white has had little or no experience with being a direct target of racism or discrimination, the very act itself could potentially be minimized or even negated entirely by the parent who thinks their child is overreacting and being overly sensitive or that their child just simply misunderstood what the other person was saying or doing.
Our son and daughter, ages 3 and almost 6 years old respectively, are old enough to know exactly what topics, interests, values, morals and ideals are important to our family simply by the amount of time and energy that we invest and expend talking about them. Subject matter like adoption, racism, stereotypes, sexism, poverty, equality, discrimination and other topics that some may deem as too "heavy" for children are spoken about in an age appropriate manner with our kids and are integrated into as much of our regular family conversations as is appropriate given the context in that particular moment. Admittedly, much of the content is still beyond our son's comprehension, but our daughter is already very astute to many of the social, racial, ethnic and economic distinctions that are present in her classroom and in her school.
Frequent and honest conversations about race and race consciousness hopefully conveys the message to our children that words like racism and discrimination aren't scary or taboo words that they need to be protected from. Most importantly, as their mother, I want my children to know that their experiences, their voices, their thoughts and their feelings are worthy of being validated, believed and heard, especially in matters pertaining to racial and ethnic identity. I feel I can help advance those goals by giving them a safe forum to express themselves, on their terms and at their individual comfort levels.
Sending a kid out into the street to fend for himself without any guidance, any information, any background knowledge, any language, any practice, any concrete examples of how to best protect himself and to best navigate the traffic so that he can retain at least some level of control, confidence, dignity and personal safety is unfathomable to virtually every parent.
I feel the same way about sending a child out into a setting where he is just as vulnerable simply because of the color of his skin.
I believe it is in the best interest of a child to do our level best to give her the guidance, the information, the background knowledge, the language, the practice, and concrete examples that she can use to best defend herself and to best navigate the racially charged environment in which we live so that she can retain at least some level of control, confidence, dignity and personal safety.
In my opinion, both scenarios are unsafe and unwise for a child to enter into ill-prepared, naive and unaware. And in my opinion, it's high time they both deserve to be recognized as such.
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