Heart, Mind and Seoul

The Dreams in Adoption

Recently my kids and I were having a discussion about possible job/career choices they thought they might enjoy in the future.  Artist, soldier, basketball player, veterinarian, police officer, restaurant server, teacher, custodian and cyclist were amongst their dream vocations.  More interesting than hearing their selections was listening to the rationale behind each one.  It made me happy to know that their choices truly reflected the interests and hobbies for which they have the most passion. 

After talking about why or why not they think it's important to enjoy what they do, my daughter all of a sudden became very absorbed in thought.  After a still moment, she raised her head, looked at me and softly said, "I think I know what I want to be most of all.  I think my best job that I could ever be is to be a mommy."

I have so many friends who have shared with me that it has always been a childhood dream of theirs to become a mother.  They just knew.  It was a non-negotiable.  Being a mom was something that they WOULD become one day.  And though I couldn't exactly relate, I could tell by the determination and conviction in both their eyes and in their voices that they truly believed that their every happiness hinged upon their future dream of becoming a mother.

And I understood.  Maybe I didn't understand their deep-seated desire to become a mother, but I understood what it felt like to have that kind of passion - to possess such an innate longing that absolutely nothing could stop your heart, your mind and your entire being from working toward its fulfillment.

When I think about dreams as they pertain to adoption, I can't help but notice how encouraging, accepting and affirming our society is of adoptive parents who make the conscious choice to fulfill their dream of becoming parents.  It's also not hard to miss how discouraging, dismissive and invalidating society's messages can be to adoptees and first parents who wish to actualize the dreams of their own.  The irony is that many times it is the fears, misconceptions and insecurities of those whose dreams are already fulfilled who remain the most threatened by the dreams of others - dreams that may or may not even exist.

From the age when I could start thinking in terms of who I wanted to be and what I wanted to become, my biggest dream was quite simple:  I wanted to be whole.  For so many years, with an intensity and insatiability that words cannot describe, I so badly wanted to find the pieces of me which I felt, but couldn't articulate, that were missing.  Admittedly, part of my search for identity was due to the natural developmental growth that occurs at different stages in one's life, but for me, it was much more than that.  I realize now that the longing stemmed from the need to find out who I was, where I came from, who I came from and who and what I was as my original self. . . apart from my (adoptive) family, outside of what I felt society, family and friends thought or said I should be.  

Often it was me who stood as the biggest obstacle to overcome in actualizing my dream.  At times I felt too afraid, too undeserving, too unsure, too ashamed and too ungrateful to believe that I had the right to search for myself.  I will own that part of my inability to forge ahead when perhaps I could or should have.  But I will also assert that it was because of some extraordinarily, deeply embedded discouraging (however unintentional) messages from family and society that factored into those feelings I described above.  The people who would cast their looks of disapproval if I mentioned that perhaps I'd like the chance to meet my Korean parents.  The ones whose hurt practically spilled out of their pores when I said I felt like I didn't belong or that I didn't feel "normal" in that place and time.  The ones who now write to tell me that they hope to God their kids don't go through what I did, because the pain and hurt as parents would be too great for them bear.

As an adoptive parent myself, I certainly know about and recognize the fears that many adoptive parents may have.  Based on conversations with my own parents, I know they, too, harbored fears of raising an adopted child.  But something that I am able to share with them now - something I wished I could have reassured them with back then - is that their dreams of being parents could never be undone.  Had I possessed the ability, language and awareness to express then what I am able to now, I would have shared with them in no uncertain terms this offering: 

Mom and Dad:

You will always be my parents.  I will love you always - no matter what - in the same unconditional way that you love me.  Please do not be afraid that my dreams may be different than your own.  I hope you know in your heart that my dreams can never, ever take me away from you.  No matter what happens, I will always be your daughter.

I know that my son's dreams are just that - my son's.  They are his.  His decision to do with them what he chooses.  His to discard, change, fulfill, conceal, nurture or share.  I cannot guarantee I will always know what his dreams are or that I will always agree with them or that I will even like them. But I can promise to do my very best to support them.  I view his dreams as an extension of himself; and just as I will always love and accept him no matter what, I vow always to do the same for his dreams. 

Halloween Angst

Presumably like most other homes in this country with young children in its residence, there has been a steady and ever increasing excitement percolating throughout our walls in anticipation for tomorrow's holiday.  Candy!  Classroom parties!  Candy!  Costumes!  Goody bags filled with edible, plastic and even monetary treats from grandparents!  Candy!  Carving pumpkins!  Corn mazes!  Oh, and I did I mention the candy?

I never LOVED Halloween, but I didn't dread or despise it either.  As a kid who never had regular access to sweets, I saw it more as an opportunity to get my hands on the goods that my parents would never dream of buying.  But something about the dressing up part just seemed a bit off to me.  And it didn't help matters when inevitably every year a classmate would remind me that it was too bad that I couldn't dress up in one of the "good" costumes such as Dorothy, Annie or Raggedy Ann because I didn't have the "right" skin color.  Even though I know my parents would have supported my decision to be any one of those characters, I believed my peers.  Who was I to challenge the famous image of a cultural icon or American heroine and suggest that it was okay to go as an Asian version?   Better to be a witch, a cat or an inanimate object.  As one of the few kids of color in my school, I already stood out enough as it was.  Why invite more negative attention to myself by trying to be something that clearly was NOT going to be accepted by most?

I didn't have the right words to describe it back then, but I know I had the feeling - something along the lines of noticing that there was a certain Halloween privilege that was extended to virtually every other kid, except myself.  I know it may sound odd to put it in these terms, but I do honestly remember feeling that Halloween was NOT an equal opportunity celebration.   Whether expressly stated or not, in my mind there were some very real restrictions and conditions on the choices available to me; terms that simply did not exist for my white friends and family members.

This post, written by Thea Lim over at Racialicious does such an effective job of describing the general discomfort that many people of color have about the last day of October.  Even now as a parent, I still have so much ambivalence about seeing my kids embrace this holiday.  I can't help but inwardly brace myself each year when they excitedly announce their costume requests.  Maybe I'm a bad parent that I secretly hope that my daughter won't ask to be a teen pop-singer (and maybe it's even worse that I wouldn't allow her to do it).  Yes, I get the whole appeal of dressing up and I can recognize and appreciate the creativity that goes into this holiday, but something about the whole notion of wanting to be something that you're not - even if only for a day - doesn't sit altogether well with me, particularly when it comes to kids.  Maybe because for me, my struggle in finding and accepting my own real identity - both as an adoptee as well as a person of color - seemed to be exacerbated around this time of year.  Halloween was a time when peers and other kids could CHOOSE to experiment by being different and have fun while enjoying standing out amongst a crowd - but without any of the emotional baggage that occurs when you don't have the option and innate ability to immediately revert back into complete normalcy (at least by society's standards) when the party comes to a close.

Yes, my kids like Halloween.  Yes, they are going trick or treating.  No, I don't think people who love Halloween having unresolved identity issues by any means.  It's not my favorite.  I suppose the holiday is viewed by some as a completely innocuous event all-around, but I guess I'm just still not convinced. 

Protecting My Environment

Who among us hasn't been - at one time or another - on the receiving end of someone else's constant criticisms, put-downs and insinuations that left us feeling that no matter what we did and no matter how hard we tried, that in their eyes, we still came up short.  The kind of person who has you thinking that even if heaven and earth could be moved in their honor, it still would not be enough.  In both my professional and personal lives, I have encountered this type of person and I'm willing to bet you have as well.  And truthfully, I know that in certain situations and with particular individuals, that I have been the offending party who has been all too quick to focus on a flaw and be drawn not to what was accomplished or attempted in earnest, but instead to what I felt could have or should have been done better. 

When I think of the individuals I've come across who seem to have an endless reservoir of nothing but callous critiques and unfavorable personal judgments, I think of how unfortunate it is that their tone and attitude so abruptly eclipses any sort of message they were attempting to convey.  It's unfortunate because any value that could have come from the exchange ceases to exist because of the harshness by which that content was dispensed.  And frankly, both sides end up losing.

As a teacher, I firmly believe that in order for meaningful and relevant learning to truly occur, a student first must feel safe - physically, emotionally and otherwise - in his or her environment.  The world's best lesson plan can be delivered by the most highly esteemed educator in the state, but it will be all for naught if the students do not feel a sense of safety and security in their surroundings.

I've seen this happen repeatedly on adoption blogs, forums and websites.  What first starts out as a civil and mature discussion with various points of views ends up disintegrating into a toxic bloodbath of personal attacks and criticisms that leaves no room for learning, no space to grow and no real chance to benefit from the experiences of others.  I mean how many times have you followed a particular thread or post only for it to end with the comment, "I'm beginning to feel that no matter what, I'm damned if I do, and damned if I don't.  I guess nothing I do or say will ever be good enough, so why even bother?"  More doors close and too often, so does the mind.

They say that it's never a good idea to discuss sex, politics or religion in a public space.  Some would argue that adoption - especially international adoption - could be added to that list of controversial subjects.  Depending on who you talk to, discussing the more complex issues within adoption can seem like an exercise in futility, because quite often it's not the issues that get end up getting hashed over, but rather it dissolves into actual people getting raked over.  And really, what good does this do any of us?  I absolutely understand how the intensely personal nature of adoption lends itself to equally intense emotions, but what use is it to tear one another down just for the sake of making a point or being right?  Is it right that the irreconcilable insecurities of some become the burden for the rest of us to bear? 

It's not that I wish to go around seeking like-minded individuals who have only positive affirmations for me and my beliefs.  In fact, it is in the differences of opinions where I often find the biggest opportunity for growth, which I honestly welcome wholeheartedly, at any time.  But it's next to impossible to truly learn from someone and hear what they are trying to say when their message becomes undermined by hostile and venomous methods of delivery.  Attacking someone is the surest way to get a person to stop listening and to eliminate the possibility of any potential learning for everyone involved. 

So at the risk of sounding uber-bossy, if being a part of civilized discussions on this blog doesn't sound like something you can get behind, then please - for all of our sakes - keep on clickin' that mouse 'til you find something that better suits your needs.  Comments are back on, but if you choose to write something that I couldn't say both to my kids and my 85 year-old grandmother, please don't be surprised or disappointed when you don't see it appear on the page.

Or, put much more succinctly by my 7 year-old daughter: "If you can't choose to play nice, then please don't choose to play at all." 

For The Right Reasons

Several years ago, one of my best girlfriends asked me how long I thought she should continue to date her (then) boyfriend.  She liked him well enough, but she just wasn't 100% sure if he was "the one". Given the history with this particular friend, I knew I could afford to be as honest and forthcoming as possible and that she would want and expect nothing less.  Without missing a beat, I responded to her inquiry by asking her a few questions of my own: "Is he bringing out the best in you?  Do you feel like a better person and more like yourself when you're with him?  Does being around him bring you up more than it weighs you down?  If you can't answer 'yes' to all of the above, then you need to ask yourself why."

Turns out they ended up taking a break.  A permanent one to be exact.  And though it may sound silly to compare a real live relationship to my feelings about this blog and its connection to the adoption blog-o-sphere, it's clear to me that my extended absence from writing was directly related to my inability to answer a resounding "yes" to the exact questions stated above.  No longer did I feel that this space was bringing out the very best in me - heck, I couldn't find the motivation or maintain my interest long enough to even visit my own blog, let alone write on it.   I've followed hundreds of blogs over the years to know the ebbs and flows that exist.  But finally I had to ask myself just what it was about this blog that made me look at it and think "I'm just not that into you."

Take my word for it - because to bore you with the details would be just plain cruel - I've conducted a thorough audit of just exactly what this blog means to me, what it has taught me, what it has granted me and how it has led to the kind of personal growth that I could have never envisioned when I first started writing almost 3 years ago.  I've pondered carefully what I genuinely believe to be the best for me and my family and have asked myself as honestly as possible just what it is that I truly seek from this space in which I write.

To that end, I just want to share that I have decided to give this blog another chance - at least for now.  So to my six remaining readers (okay; two if you count my family members) you're in luck!  :) 

Ultimately, I believe in the adoptee voice being represented, present and visible.  Mine is just one that hopes to rejoin the conversation. 

Best,

Paula

Unwanted Until Proven Good Enough To Have

A conversation I had a few days ago with one of my daughter's friends reminded me how far we still have to go in deconstructing the negative association that so many people have about kids who are adopted.  The recent conversation with this particular 10 year-old boy pretty much mirrored the several dozen other discussions I've had with children about adoption.  Sure, there is always a little variation on the words and how things are phrased, but the overall message is essentially the same.  First - a little background about the impetus of this particular conversation, just in case people are wondering if I go around grilling random kids about adoption.  My daughter's friend, let's call him Sam, knows that my son and I are both adopted, and he asked me some very pointed questions about my "real" mom and dad.  Before I addressed his questions, I first asked Sam for his definition of adoption.  I often do this whenever I'm talking to kids about adoption in an attempt to gauge where the child's level of understanding is about the concept.  Here was Sam's reply when I asked him what he thought it meant to be adopted:

"Well, being adopted is when the kids that nobody wants are put into an orphanage and then if the kid is really good, someone rich will pick them and buy them to have in their family."

Now, to be sure, whenever I hear someone talk about a child being bought, I cringe.  And yet Sam's understanding of adoption was so familiar to me - including the part of a child being available for purchase.   His succinct albeit limited understanding of adoption was wholly consistent with virtually every other conversation I've had with kids about adoption.  In fact, based on my own personal experiences, the recurring themes that that eventually emerge from just about any adoption conversation I've had with a child between the ages of 4-16 are the following:

Adopted Children:

1) Are unwanted

2) Can become more desirable when they exhibit good behavior, i.e. being the perfect child

3) Are thought of as a commodity; they are a good that is exchanged in a transaction typically received by someone considered rich or well-to-do

4) Are disposable; their permanence in their adoptive family is always conditional

5) Deserve pity, because they are the kids who no one wants

I realize the conversations that I've had with Sam and the many, many other kids I've talked to about adoption does not provide any scientific proof that all or even most kids feel the same way they do about children who are adopted.  But nonetheless, I still find it incredibly disturbing and hurtful that my young son and other young adoptees are still being perceived by so many of their peers as unwanted, unlovable and unworthy.  Too many adoptees from my own generation, including myself, have fought a relentless internal war against the societal messages that have had us second-guessing our self-worth.  It's one thing to take a critical look at adoption as a whole, but it's quite another to be so critical of the one who truly is without any power, choice or voice.  Sam and the other kids I've talked to don't just get their working definitions about adoption out of thin air; clearly they've been ingesting, processing and retaining messages from someone, somewhere and presumably from a multitude of sources.

And so the question I have is this: How can we talk about adoption in such a way that makes an unequivocal separation between the circumstances surrounding the act of adoption (regardless of what they are) and the perceived value of the adoptee?  How do we go about challenging - and thereby hopefully changing - the way we talk about adoption so that the word adoptee is no longer synonymous with unwanted, damaged goods and the leftovers that people are forced to take?  Now I realize that yes, there exists a contingent of children who tragically do fall into the true "unwanted" category, far more than my heart can comprehend, but I refuse to believe that all children available for adoption are deemed in their families' eyes as unwanted and easily disposable.

Let's compare the perception of children of a divorce versus children who are adopted.  From where I stand, a fair number of people do not conflate the decision that two adults make to get divorced with the value of the child(ren) affected by the divorce.  Regardless of the circumstances, I'm led to believe that many children of divorce as well as children who are adopted are quite susceptible to internalizing the same kinds of messages as a result of their life-altering events: that pervasive, internal soundtrack that rotates amongst the tracks of "If only I could have been better, this wouldn't have happened", "I know on some level that it's my fault for what took place", "If only I could have been more lovable, I might have prevented this", "I'll be perfect in every way so that I won't get left again", "If I can accomplish x, y or z, it will show them that I'm worthy enough of their love", "If I can just keep these walls up, I won't ever have to hurt like that again", or "Who needs them anyway?  I'll show them I'm strong enough to survive on my own."

I'm not trying to play the "Who suffers more" game between children of divorce and children who are adopted.  What I am trying to illustrate is that I bet if you asked a handful of kids to define divorce and then to define adoption, the former answer would emphasize the role of the parents (i.e., "Divorce is when two people don't want to be married anymore") versus the implied negative connotation against the child in the latter (i.e. "Adoption is when the unwanted kids get new families").  It seems that we as a society talk about divorce in a way that protects and keeps the children as they should be in this circumstance: innocent and absolved from any responsibility.  And yet, so many people talk about adoption as something that ends up implicating the child as the unwanted and burdensome toll that needs to be removed in order for the original parents to "move on" with their lives.

The suppressed yet omnipresent shame that many adoptees can feel at various times in their lives can manifest itself in emotionally and mentally exhaustive ways.  It's a shame that I can only describe as a war of Head v. Heart.  As I've said on this blog numerous times before, as a young child, teenager and young adult, intellectually my mind knew that I was not responsible for being in a position of having to be placed for adoption, but my heart was so inexplicably heavy with guilt, shame and a complete sense of responsibility that somehow, someway I must have been so unwanted and so much of a burden to my parents, because otherwise - how could they ever, ever let me go? 

I've come so far in processing my adoption and truly attaining a measure of peace and acceptance for who I am.  I like to think it would have been just a bit easier and a more expeditious journey of shedding those layers of shame if so many people hadn't harbored and communicated to me their interpretations of adoptees as unwanted, easily discarded goods for the unfortunate people who couldn't have children "of their own". 

Who knows if Sam will think any differently about adoption after our little talk.  I can't control what he or anyone else thinks about kids who are adopted, but I can continue to speak up on behalf of my son and myself and say with absolute certainty that no, we are not unwanted.

One Perspective on Parenting Through the Lens of an Adoptee, AP and Bio Parent

 

Thank you to my friend (you know who you are) who asked me to write this piece.  Without your request, it might have been another couple months before this blog got any action!  :) 

 

Though I feel I could say so much more about this topic, here is a short piece on some of my feelings about how parenting has affected my views towards my own adoption. . .

 

 

Though I’m not an overly sentimental person, at any given moment I can fondly and vividly recall each and every step of my first (and only) pregnancy with our oldest child some seven years ago.  I remember exactly how I felt the morning I charted my waking temperature and saw that it had stayed elevated; I sensed immediately that my body was somehow different.  Sure enough, six home pregnancy tests in the following weeks confirmed my hopes and suspicions:  I was indeed pregnant.

 

I know that for many adult adoptees, a pregnancy can elicit a broad range of feelings surrounding their own adoption, which makes perfect sense to me.  But in all honesty, I personally thought very little about my own adoption or my Korean parents while I was pregnant with my daughter.  In fact, the magnitude of the possibility that for the first time in my life I would actually know someone who was literally a part of me and I of them didn’t make its full impact until our daughter was well beyond the infant stage.

 

It wasn’t until my husband and I traveled to Korea to adopt our son that both my mind and body started to recognize, absorb and truly experience the full spectrum of emotions that I harbored about my own adoption.  Being back in the country of my birth, surrounded by people who appeared so familiar and yet so foreign, was an overwhelming and surreal experience.  So many times I caught myself staring into the faces of people in random restaurants, on the subways or in the streets of Namdaemun Market wondering, “Could you be my mother or father?” or “Do you know of a sibling that you might have who was sent to America over 30 years ago?”  And I couldn’t help but wonder as I wandered the congested but overwhelmingly silent streets of Seoul, “Was there anyone out there looking for me?  Did there happen to be even one person in this enormous city who was missing me after all these years?”

 

We arrived back in the States with our Korean-born son when he was almost nine months; he was just three months older than I was when I came to live with my American parents.  It wasn’t until after I became an adoptive parent that I realized how much my own adoption had affected and impacted my life.  I came to realize that my seemingly unaffected behavior while pregnant stemmed more from an inability to connect and relate to my own daughter’s beginnings.  Intentionally conceiving a child, carrying her for almost nine months, delivering her and having the privilege to parent and raise her was such a dramatically different story from my own history.  Yes, I was conceived, carried and delivered, but in what context I may never know.  And being raised and parented by the woman who birthed me was not like my daughter’s journey into this world.  My daughter has never experienced the gravity of being permanently separated from the woman who nourished and carried her for so many months.  Neither my son nor I can say the same about our respective Korean mothers.  Meeting my son for the first time in Seoul brought to life the fact that yes, I did have a full six months of life in Korea that not only existed but mattered greatly.  It not only mattered then, but it has continued to matter throughout my entire life. . . as it should.  And just as importantly, the significance of the nine months spent inside my Korean mother means just as much to me now as does the nine months that I carried my daughter. 

 

I have to admit that I cringe whenever I hear people say that bringing a child into the family through adoption is no different than giving birth.  To pretend that my son and daughter came into our family under equal and equitable conditions is not only untruthful, but also does a great disservice to each of them as individuals and to their respective beginnings.   And to suggest that our son’s entry into our family was somehow comparable to our daughter’s is laughable at best; at worst it blatantly diminishes and callously devalues the significance of our son’s Korean parents and his relationship with them.  I know that many people like to believe that an adopted child’s life begins when he or she is adopted and that their life prior to joining their “forever family” is not equal in measure or consequence.  In my experiences as both an adoptee and as an adoptive parent, I can assure you nothing is further from the truth. 

 

Being a parent to a child both by birth and through adoption has given me the opportunity to grant myself permission to question, challenge and fully explore the myriad of feelings, thoughts and emotions that I have about being adopted.  Though I am fully aware that my son’s adoption journey will be his and his alone, I see so many similarities in his own search towards identity, autonomy and insatiable need for permanence that I and so many other adoptees I know have experienced at one point throughout our lives.  Through honest and critical introspection, through pages and pages of documented research about adoptees and through first-hand experience as an adoptive parent, I have amassed such a clear understanding of the how’s, why’s, and what’s that I felt, thought and experienced as a child and young adult.  I realize now that being adopted is a life-long process with many challenges and continuous discoveries about oneself, not a one-time event that can be marked with finite parameters like the day an adoption becomes finalized and the child legally becomes someone else’s. 

 

Some may argue that the real meaning of parental love means treating each of your children exactly the same way at all times.  I personally believe that truly loving my children means giving each child whatever he or she needs in order to thrive, to feel safe, to feel empowered and to feel more like themselves.  In many cases, my son and daughter may receive the same from me, but often times they do not.  Yes, I see each of them as my children whom I love dearly, but first I try to see them in their full totality as individuals; individuals who came from dramatically different beginnings that cannot and should not be forgotten. 

Material Girl is Denied Lucky Star Treatment

"This is a triumph for the children of Malawi," said Mavuto Bamusi, the national coordinator of Malawi Human Rights Consultative Committee.

"Inter-country adoption is not the best way of providing protection to children ... they should grow up in familiar cultural and religious surroundings," Bamusi said, adding that "supporting children from outside our country only helps five of the 1.5 million orphans we have."

Read the full article here:

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I realize that this ruling is going to infuriate a huge number of people, namely adoptive parents and/or prospective adoptive parents.  I've already read through various comments about this story in different media outlets and the themes are oh-so familiar:  Why deprive this child from all of the opportunities she'd never get in her home country?  This rule (the residency requirement) is absurd.  All this judge is doing is hurting these kids' chances of having a real family.  What's the big deal anyway about having to leave your country of birth? 

My thoughts?  Why can't - or more importantly - why won't Madge fulfill the residency requirement?  I don't exactly believe it's because of a lack of funds or resources.  And wouldn't it be an incredible opportunity for her son David to emotionally and physically reconnect to his biological father and birth country in a way that no phone call, book, picture or video could ever could begin to provide? 

I suspect it's because it's too much of a burden, too much of an inconvenience to her lifestyle.  Of course I cannot say this as fact and unless M. herself chooses to reveal the real reason for not fulfilling the residency requirement, we'll never know the full truth. 

All I'm saying is that this situation (on the surface and from the details that have been given to the public thus far) appears to be yet another example in a long line of instances where the PAP chooses to put his/her own best interests ahead of the child's.  Why should the onus always land squarely on the child to be the one to adjust, uproot and incur the trauma of a sudden movement away from everything s/he has ever known, simply because it just doesn't fit nicely into the PAP's plans of how they think things should work out?

My husband and I are not above this criticism either.  Truth be told, my husband initially had reservations about traveling.  Our agency offered both a travel and an escort option and my husband was very seriously considering the latter.  After much discussion between the two of us, we both were of the same mind that traveling was really the only option, not because it would be a fun, cool trip and a chance for us to travel, but because at the end of the day, it was what we believed to be the absolute best for our son. 

When we ended up traveling, we stayed only a week in Seoul.  Part of me likes to think that if we were able to have physical custody of our son for an extended period of time before leaving the country, that we would have stayed in Korea longer to aid with his transition.  But I can tell you this, if Korea's rules had explicitly stated that we needed to live in the country for a specific amount of time before or after receiving our son and we could not do it - we certainly would not have asked for preferential treatment or special exceptions to be made simply because we couldn't  - or didn't want to - do it. 

Think about it.  When I was pregnant with our daughter, I spent several weeks on strict bed rest before her delivery.  Per doctor's orders, my bathroom breaks and shower combined could not exceed 45 minutes a day.   My doctor said that if I didn't think I could abide by this, that I'd be spending the next several weeks in a hospital bed.  So strict bed rest at home it was.  Yes, I lost out on that income from not being able to work.  Yes, it put additional duties and stress on my husband and our extended family to help me with the things I could no longer do.  Yes, it was a huge adjustment.  But you know what?  I did it because it was what was best for our daughter.  There wasn't even a choice in the matter.

And yet it when it comes to the overall welfare of an adopted child, the standards for "what is best" too often becomes, "what is good enough".  And too many times, the actions of APs/PAPs becomes justified by what this child is "getting in return".

How many times have we heard "Adopted children deserve to be treated just as well as bio children?"

If parents really mean it when they say, "I would do anything for my child", then hopefully this applies to adopted children as well. 

What Kids are Hearing When No One is Talking

During my first real job as an adult, I worked for a woman who had a theory about the people in our company who (for whatever reason) didn't pull their own weight.  She hypothesized that when it came right down to it, there are only ever two real reasons why someone won't do something.  She believed it was either because they didn't know how, or because they didn't want to know how.

I'm thinking this conjecture of hers could very well apply to many of the kids that I've encountered in the past five months while working as a substitute teacher when it comes to talking - really talking - about race.

I have taught in ten different schools within one particular school district.  I have met approximately one thousand students ranging in age from six years old to 18.   According to the 2000 U.S. Census Bureau, the city in which most of these students reside is 97% White. 

At some of the elementary schools where I have taught, I have been able to count the number of children of color on one hand. . .not in just one class, but in the entire school.  And of the hundreds of teachers I have met or seen in the various hallways of these schools, I remember meeting only 2 whom are of color.

Please don't misunderstand.  I am not suggesting that this is a "bad" school district simply because of its lack of diversity.  I am not asserting that all the students, staff and families that comprise the communities of these schools are all racist or that the majority of my substitute teaching experiences have been marred by racist acts or undertones.

What I am saying is, that based on my experiences with the hundreds of kids that I have encountered, I don't know how well equipped many of these students are with the appropriate language, skills and other necessary tools in order to have a relevant, meaningful and respectful dialogue about race.

I say that because there have been numerous racist incidents which I've had to address with several students, including incidents where I have been the target of the racist slur or insult.  I absolutely believe that a woeful lack of education and exposure - both at home at and at school - about how to talk about race and race consciousness manifests itself into the kinds of actions, words and behaviors that I have witnessed.

As I was explaining to my husband the other night, my motivation to raise an awareness about my experiences in these schools in no way stems from a desire to seek any kind of personal vindication.  I am a big girl.  I can, and have - to the best of my ability - fully addressed each and every incident that has taken place as well as reported it and documented it in full detail.  It's not about my feelings being affected when students have "ching-chonged" me or told me that I have funny looking eyes or pretending to eat with chopsticks with accompanying racist language when I walk by their desks.  It's about the kids - all of them - but especially the few ones of color, who are being told "You're not in Africa anymore, get over it - things are different here!" And it's about the young, first-grader who came up to me just two weeks ago in tears saying, "He doesn't want to be my partner because he says I'm black and that I don't match."  It's about the feelings of the many other kids of color who have been teased, put down, bullied or harassed.

My fear is not that so many of these incidents have taken place in my presence; instead my fear is reserved for the countless other acts that children are being subjected when no adult is around.  Because my gut tells me that if a student feels comfortable enough ching-chonging me - the adult teacher who happens to be a person of color - that they sure as heck are doing it to other kids, kids who are far more vulnerable and in a weaker position to defend themselves compared to myself.

Upon sharing a few of these experiences, I've had a couple people tell me "Get out then.  Just go to another district where you don't have to deal with that stuff.  It's not worth your time." 

And yet, for some inexplicable reason, this is where I feel like I need to be.  Perhaps it's because I see part of myself in the young Asian girl who represents almost her entire school's demographic of "racial diversity".  Perhaps it's because I know that I will thoroughly address and confront any racist act or comment that takes place in my presence; an occurrence (the acknowledgment of the act) that I'm not too confident takes place nearly often enough.  And most importantly, perhaps it's because I know in my heart that leaving this particular area won't make the ignorance or the intolerance go away simply because I'm not there to witness it.  I have taught and volunteered in more racially and ethnically diverse schools and I can tell you, racism and ignorance still very much exists in those classrooms as well.

I'm under no illusion that I am the one lone hope who needs to "save" any of these kids, or that I'm the only voice of reason who feels that she needs to "set this district straight".  This isn't about seeking revenge from the acts committed against me as a child when I was in school.  It's about raising an awareness and confronting the very real and all too frequent acts of racism, prejudice and discrimination that still take place in our children's schools today. 

Generally speaking as both a parent and a teacher, I believe that in order for real learning to occur, there needs to be a solid, working foundation as well as an existing, cohesive understanding of a single concept before you can successfully add another one.  We don't expect our children to run before they even know how to crawl or for our kids to attempt double digit multiplication before they even know how to add.  I think the same is true about conversations regarding race and race consciousness. 

Based on my life experiences, both inside and outside of the classroom, I have observed that too often people don't talk about race either because a) They have never really learned how and don't even know where or how to begin or b) It's just too uncomfortable and so they avoid it, tune our, feign disinterest or change the subject at all costs.  The former, in my opinion, needs to be addressed at it's most fundamental level in the early years when many kids are more apt to engage in a conversation and in many instances are more likely to be less inhibited about asking questions and expressing their own opinions.  I am not exaggerating when I tell you that as an adult, some of the most enlightening, honest and authentic conversations that I've ever had about race and race consciousness have been with people under the age of 12 years old.  Many kids have an innate way of putting themselves out there that is uncensored, raw and completely devoid of consideration for what other people might say or how they might react.  Moreover, I believe that their defenses aren't built up nearly as much as I've observed in adults. 

Young people are absolutely capable about talking about race and race consciousness.  They just need to be given the tools and a genuine opportunity to do so and the adults in their lives need to provide a safe and respectful setting for this to occur.  Talking about Rosa Parks and MLK, Jr. for one week in February is not enough.  Giving a kid one-hour detention for racial harassment without an honest conversation with both the student and his/her parent(s)/guardian(s) is not enough.  Telling our sons and daughters that "Kids are mean and that's just the way kids are, so rise above it" is not enough. 

But of course, the million dollar question is, how can we expect our kids to have honest, meaningful, respectful and relevant conversations about race when so many of us cannot or will not?

Regardless if it's because we don't know how to talk about race or because we don't want to know how to talk about race, the outcome is the same: kids, especially children of color, absorb the impact of what each person chooses to do.  The fallout from adults not talking about race landed squarely in my hands when I was a child some 30-years ago and I assure you that it's still happening to many kids today.  Heck, it's still happening to me today, as well as to many other friends of color in my life.  Not talking about race and not teaching kids how to talk about race doesn't mean racism doesn't exist.  And contrary to what many people believe, encouraging honest and open discussions about race is not promoting racism or keeping it alive.  

Talking about race and race consciousness doesn't need to dominate or become the sole focus in every school's curriculum.  I'm just asking that it be given the serious consideration it deserves to simply be on the agenda.  Not for my sake or the benefit of just my kids, but for all of our kids.

Kristi, Margaret & Me; Heck, We're Practically Triplets!

         

I met up with a couple of girlfriends for lunch yesterday and happened to be the first one to arrive at the restaurant.  As the hostess was walking me to the table, I casually noticed a few exaggerated stares but didn't read too much into it. 

About half way into my meal, I excused myself to use the restroom.  As I was walking back to our table, our server stopped me and said "My other customers have been waving me over and asking if you are Kristi Yamaguchi.  Now I've waited on her before and I know you're not her, but my gosh - you must get that ALL. THE. TIME.  You look exactly like her.  My customers really think you are her!" 

A brief conversation ensued but I have a feeling this woman wasn't really listening to anything that I was saying (including the part where I told her that I really didn't think we looked anything alike) as she was so intent on telling me how she thought that I looked "exactly like Kristi Yamaguchi."

It reminded me of the time when a group of guys came up to me at a movie premiere after-party in NYC (a well connected-friend scored us some tix) and gushed endlessly about how much they adored me, loved my show, loved my material and thought that I was the most amazing comic they had ever seen.  As soon as I heard the word "comic" I immediately thought to myself "Ohmygosh - they think that I'm Margaret Cho."  When I told them that I wasn't her, they just laughed it off and told me that it was okay to admit it.  They even insisted on getting my picture taken with them and asked for my autograph. 

Aside from the black hair, I think I resemble Kristi Yamaguchi and Margaret Cho about as much I resemble my adoptive parents.  It's not that I'm offended because I think I'm better looking than either one of them - quite the contrary.  It's offensive because in reality, I think we resemble each other so little that it tells me that those who state these opinions as virtual facts are not taking the time or making the effort to look at us as individuals, but rather see me and other Asians as a "you people all look the same" kind of mentality.  I'm Asian.  I'm in my thirties.  I have long black hair.  I wear make-up.  Yes - of course!  I must be Kristi Yamaguchi!!!  Silly me for not recognizing it sooner.

I can't help but think. . . if this same server (and her other customers) happened to see a sixty-something year-old White woman in a striking tailored pantsuit with perfectly coiffed hair, expensive looking shoes and a few wrinkles on her face, would she even consider going up to her and asking her if she was H1llary Rodh@m Clint0n?

Somehow I think not.

Name That Tune

The following is a conversation that took place in a fourth-grade classroom where I worked as a substitute teacher yesterday.  I have subbed for this teacher and in this particular school several times before and the kids know who I am. 

Student:  "Um, your name is Mrs. Yang, right?"

Me:  "No.  It's Mrs. (insert my last name here), but you can call me Mrs. O. if you'd like."

Student:  "Well, can I just call you Mrs. Yang instead?"

Me:  "No.  My name is Mrs. O."

Student:  "Oh.  Okay. I just thought your name was going to be Mrs. Yang."