My Adoption Story - Forgiveness

Last night I met a college student from Taiwan. She asked me this question I get often, in various forms. She chose to ask it this way: Do your children only speak English?

The underlying question is: Are you forsaking your ethnic culture? Sometimes it's asked in an accusatory tone; sometimes it's asked purely out of curiosity. But it inevitably comes up when I meet any Asian or Asian-American person.

My response was: yes, they only speak English, since that is the only language Hub and I speak fluently. The student also asked where I was from. Now, I know she's not looking for the "real" answer, which is: upstate New York. The answer she's looking for is: I was born in Korea and adopted as an infant. So, that's what I say. Then, I have to explain my hub's background: his parents are full Koreans, but he was born and raised in the States. I usually add that his family stopped speaking Korean to him and his sisters when he was four, so they would be ready for school, though his parents are both hard to understand when they speak in English!

I weakly tried to explain that I'm American, not Asian..but somehow the words just faded on my lips...the student gave a half-hearted nod, and we moved on to bigger and better topics, like the cuteness of my children, a fave topic of mine.

It's hard to explain, but if I'm Asian, then my next door neighbor is African!

Another Korean-American friend of mine explained to her mother that I was just "very Americanized". I had to correct her and say, I am not Americanized, I'm American! This, I believe, is the difference between the Korean-American and the Korean adoptee.

When asked on a questionnaire what ethnicity I am, I check the American/Caucasian block if it's a social/psychological-type survey; however, if it's a medical/physical survey, I check the Asian block.

And that is the extent of my Asian-ness.

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This morning I woke up extremely happy. It was spring-like outside; my hub had taken my kids to Dunkin' D's to pick up our traditional Sunday breakfast. They were due back any minute with the donuts, and I was just lying in bed, grateful for the sunshine streaming in my window.

I suddenly had a thought, brought on by the conversation I'd had with the student last night. It might have also stemmed from the World magazine articles I'd been reading lately about abortion. But I realized that my birthparents just might have loved me...They must have! Surely! I mean, I was the fourth girl, born into a culture that advocates 2 children, 3 max. (In fact, Hub's father told me half-jokingly, half-seriously that we couldn't have any more children!) But in Korea, it is customary to abort extra girl babies or any over the fourth child...I was both: the fourth girl. I had never thought about my birthparents in the light of love. My birthmother had to make the decision to go through with the pregnancy, probably with pressure from her parents and in-laws to abort. Korean parents pressure/harrass their children for many things. Hub's mom was harrassed by her in-laws for producing two girls and no boys. Good thing Hub was born shortly thereafter! The ironic thing, is, of course, that it's the man's contribution - the x or y chromosome - that determines the gender! But somehow it's the woman's fault!

Anyways, my birthmother decided to go through the labor and delivery, though she most likely knew she'd be giving me up immediately after. Maybe they were hoping for a boy? If I had been a boy, would they have kept me?

I met Hub in Korea (ironically enough; I'll share that story later). We married and got pregnant there, too! I had my ultrasound done at a Korean clinic and fully expected to find out the gender of our child, especially since our white American friends who had gone in right before us were told the gender of their baby. But the doctor refused to tell us the gender of ours. It's illegal to reveal the gender, she said, because so many parents abort girl babies. I started crying because I had to try to explain to her that Hub and I weren't Korean!!! You told our American friends!!! Why not us? She asked, semi-accusingly, why we would want to know. I don't remember how I answered; I just remember convincing her I was American and therefore had the right to know. She semi-relented and hinted at the baby being a boy.

I met a Korean woman at Bible study recently. Her family had moved to America when she was 16. She has 6 or 7 brothers; she's the only female born to the family. Her mom had been obsessive about having boys (from pressure from her mother) and resented her only daughter.

The gender issue is still very real in Korea.

But back to this morning:

I saw my birthparents in a new light. Though I may never meet them, I feel that I can forgive them.

Actually, a year or so ago, I prayed with Hub's sister, forgiving my birthparents. I believe at the moment, I let go. But I still have struggles, like last night, that will never stop popping up. Forgiveness is a one-time deal, in a sense, and in another sense, it's a recurring struggle, never to be fully resolved. Each time it recurs, I have to choose all over again. Either I will believe in the power of forgiveness and let go of bad thoughts or I will give in to sin and let bitterness grow in my heart toward my birthparents. It's tough and not cut-n-dried...

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Am I forsaking my ethnic culture?

No, it forsook me.

But maybe, just maybe, my birthparents didn't forsake me and did what they believed best for me, considering the pressures and contraints of the culture. (At any rate, I wouldn't have it any other way. I love the life God granted me!)

You know, I had never before separated my birthparents from my birth culture...another step toward forgiveness.