I hesitated before starting this entry about my adoption. I’ve always answered people’s questions about my adoption without blinking and I don’t particularly find it intrusive. During my teen years and early twenties, it seemed to dominate my life. How could it not, there was just SO MUCH DRAMA! But now I’m so far removed from my adopted family, I sometimes forget about them completely. There was once anger, but now there is indifference.
Most adopted children don’t remember their birth parents. If they do, it is often a vague and unclear image. I remember exactly how my mom looked and how her voice sounded. I remember the look she used to give me when I did something bad. I remember the last thing she told me before I boarded the plane from Seoul to Minnesota, “Be a good girl and study hard so you can go to college”. This was her big dream for me --- college. In order to understand my mother’s decision, let me share a brief biography of myself.
I was born in Louisiana in 1976; only 4 months after my mother married my father in Ohio. My father was an American soldier based in South Korea when he met my mother. This is an all too familiar story. The difference was that my father married my mother. Then later, he went back to South Korea for another tour, while his wife and two children stayed in the States. I don’t have the details of what happened next except that my mother found out about my father’s affair with another Korean woman. So, my mother packed up her things and her two small children, two and one-year-old, and left for Korea in order to confront my father. All my mother would tell me was that they promptly got a divorce and separated the two children. My brother went with my father and I stayed with my mother. For the next nine years, my mother struggled to support us. I was often left with my grandmother or aunt, so my mother could work. When I started school, she somehow found a way to pay for the expensive private school. Apparently, US citizens could not go to the Korean public schools. Her only option was to give up my US citizenship or spend money on expensive private school. So I spent my early education with other American children, whose parents were based at Camp Casey. But my tuition proved to be too expensive and I often miss school.
By the summer of 1987, I had already missed an entire year of school. Then on August 27, 1987, day after my eleventh birthday she told me that she was sending me away. She asked how I would feel about going back to America without her. I didn’t understand why I would go anywhere without her. Then she explained that an American family would adopt me. Parents always say things they don’t actually mean---I just thought this was one of those instances. When I realized that she wasn’t joking, I begged her not to send me away and I promised to do whatever she wanted. I promised to be a good girl. After hours of crying and begging, she promised not to bring up the subject again. I had won.
Then six months later, my mom’s friend came for a visit with her 5-year-old daughter, Sunni. While the two friends went out to catch up, I stayed and played with Sunni. We stayed up watching T.V and eating watermelons. Sunni still remembers that night. The next day, my world was turned upside down. People from St Vincent Orphanage came for both Sunni and myself. I don’t remember protesting at this point. I was just shocked and accepted my new fate.
I was at St. Vincent for less than four months. During that time, my mother visited me with gifts and money. Each time, she told me that it would only be temporary. She would find a way to get to the States to reclaim me, but it was important for me to be apart of a new family. I had to be a good girl and study hard. I was told that my mother and Sunni’s mother had requested for us to be placed into the same family. So, the five-year-old girl I had just met would soon be my sister. I don’t know why they thought it would help. My guess is that they just wanted us to be with someone we knew however brief. Our age difference was too great at that time for us to truly bond. My time at the orphanage was pleasant enough. We had English classes during the day in order to prepare for our new lives in the States. Most of the time, I was bored out of my mind. I had been bilingual my whole life and I was learning how to say, “Hello, my name is Angie”. After classes, I played with my friends and helped the cook with various chores. I made some good friends, whom I’ve kept in touch with after I arrived in Minnesota (though for just a short time).
On my eighteenth birthday, my adopted mother told me that my biological mother had called. She said it was up to me to do whatever I wanted. Naturally, I was in shock. This was the second time that my world had turned upside down. The first emotion was anger. Although my adopted mother had a different interruption for my anger, it was still a genuine emotion. I won’t go into the boring details of my reunion with my birth mother. It started off with a letter and eventually I was ready to visit her. I met my stepfather and my two sisters. I also found out that my mom met my stepfather just months after my adoption. My stepfather tracked down and contacted my adopted family less than two years after my adoption. But he was told he had to wait until I turned eighteen. My stepfather is truly amazing and very prompt! My mom and I spent years trying to repair our broken relationship. We even had a conversation about finding my brother. When she passed away in 2004 from cancer, we were on the verge of being back to where we were twenty some years ago.
I won’t go into the details of my life with my adoptive family. But I am longer in contact with any of them. Sunni and I were placed into the same family and we kept in touch on and off until a few years ago. We were always very different and I had left the family long ago. I have no reasons to rehash our childhood or talk about all the problems we faced. I moved on with my life.
I don’t wonder what it would have been like if I had stayed with my mom in Korea. But I do wonder what our relationship would have been like if my adopted mother allowed us to have contact before my eighteenth birthday. Seven years after my mother’s death, none of it matters. Perhaps, I should find my brother.
I don’t think my adoption experience defines who I am. But it is apart of me. I don’t hold a strong opinion for or against adoption. I think there are many different circumstances beyond our imaginations. I believe that people in general don’t make adoption decisions lightly. I believe there are good adopted parents just as there are horrible ones. There are good and bad biological parents, those who cherish their children just as much as they abuse. There are adoption agencies that make a profit, while others do not. We are given what we are given. We must accept the past, live in the moment, and look forward to the future. I don’t have any words of wisdom anymore than the next person. But I will say this: I don’t feel inferior to others because of my adoption. There is no shame in being adopted. I am defined by the decisions and choices I make in life, not by my circumstances. We will all have different opinions and experiences, but what makes us human is our compassion. This is the one lesson I hold close to my heart.
