Don and I watched
Adopted, The Movie the other night. It's a documentary with two tracks: 1) a Korean adoptee in her early 30s who is struggling with her identity, and 2) an American couple who is adopting a baby from China.
The Korean woman's story was heart-wrenching. Jenny was adopted by her white parents in the 1970s. South Korea was one of the first countries to establish an international adoption program. Most adoptive parents of that era listened to their hearts -- treating their children as if they were biological, avoiding the topic of adoption, and downplaying any differences. Unfortunately, it produced some adult adoptees, including Jenny, who feel resentful, insecure, and out-of-place, even in their own families.
Jenny is a successful college graduate (the first in her family) who, in all outward appearance, has her life together. Inside, though, she tries to come to grips with her story. She recounts the pain of growing up in a community where she was the only person of color and the victim of racist jokes. Wanting to be a good daughter, she held her feelings inside and took on a sunny, life-of-the-party, "pleaser" personality, masking her confusion and hurt. Even now, she speaks to her parents in baby talk.
Jenny finally reaches out to her adoptive parents for help and receives only defensiveness and anger. Although they did the best they knew how and she is only looking for some compassion and understanding, they can't seem to give it. To complicate matters, her mother is dying of brain cancer. It's painful to watch the story unfold, and the ending is anything but happy, although there is a glimmer of hope.
The film left me feeling somewhat selfish for adopting Sarah, which is ironic since many people think Don and I are some kind of saints for what we did. I'm not saying it was wrong to bring Sarah to the U.S. and give her a better life than she probably would have had in China; I'm just saying that it was not a selfless act and it will affect her both positively and negatively in years to come. Because of our actions, she may never feel as though she completely belongs to any cultural group. It's our responsibility to do what we can to help her come to peace with her mixed identity.
I can understand how easy it would be to raise Sarah as if she were white, because when I look at her, I see only my daughter. Most of the time, it doesn't cross my mind that she is of a different race. I've heard that it isn't until kids reach preschool age that they become aware of racial differences. Sarah already realizes that we have different colored eyes and hair, though. When we look at the ABC book I made her, she now pauses at "F," points to her foster mom, then points to me and says, "Mama." It's confusing for her, but I know she's starting to put together the pieces of her story.
I'm thankful for the Korean adoptees like Jenny who are speaking out about their experiences and what they wish their adoptive parents had done to help them feel more at home in their own skin. I can learn from them and try to do better by Sarah. We need to celebrate our differences and incorporate Sarah's native culture into our lives. She may be the only one who's Chinese, but we are a transracial family, and we all need to embrace her birth culture.
Thankfully, we live in an area with a substantial Asian population (mostly Hmong), so Sarah doesn't stand out as much as she might elsewhere. She certainly tends to draw attention, though, which, although it's been only positive so far, is not necessarily comfortable for her or me. Believe it or not, sometimes I'd rather people didn't make such a big deal of how cute she is, and I think she might feel the same way at some point (if she doesn't already). As any celebrity will tell you, going unnoticed has its merits. I'm thankful for the local Chinese association that has welcomed us so warmly. I think it's good for all three of us to spend time in situations where Caucasians are the minority.
The scenes of the couple adopting from China were mostly fun to watch, since they brought back happy memories of our journey to Sarah. I found a few comments concerning, though, especially when juxtaposed with the Korean adoptee's feelings. For example, "She attached to [my husband] within the first three days, but it took more than a week for her to attach to me." Attachment is a long process, requiring a year or more. She likely meant "bonded," which is a much weaker connection. Perhaps she's unclear on the distinction because she "got a few books on attachment -- read most of one and skimmed the others." It's alarming to see someone so unprepared in this day and age, when the importance of attachment is well-understood.
Seeing this film would be a great way to celebrate National Adoption Month (which happens to be November). It will open your eyes to the challenges transracial families face and the effects on the adoptee. I'm not saying the bad outweighs the good, just that it is there and should be acknowledged and addressed.
