Ever since I could remember my parents have engrained into my psyche that I was adopted and that I was Vietnamese. I was always labeled as such. I think that’s also one of the main reasons why I couldn’t identify myself with them for obvious reasons (both physical and the sense that they were driving that labeled mindset into my brain). I’m not like them. I’m not Caucasian. I’m Asian. I’m Vietnamese. To me, they were implying that I was different. They didn’t let me explore and be proud of who I was on a physical and cultural sense on my own.
When I looked in the mirror all I saw was a little asian girl with black hair, brown eyes and a flat nose. I knew I was different. And that I came from a war torn country where many children were orphaned. Many children at the time were offspring to both Vietnamese women and American fathers. My parents never told this to me. I was thinking I was pure Vietnamese. I didn’t think anything of the fact that possibly I was Amerasian. My mother being full blooded Vietnamese and my father an American G.I. or government worker. Maybe my parents were thinking I was too young to understand the complexities of war and my biological background. In either case, I was young and enjoying my new adopted family, getting accustomed to the American way of life. Life was already complicated enough for me in their eyes having being thrust from my birth country that was ensued in a civil war. Why add more fuel to the pot?
It wasn’t until last year that I decided it was time to dive into my past and learn more about my adoption. I discovered upon my research that I was told by a well known source that I wasn’t full Vietnamese. I didn’t look full Vietnamese when I briefly came to the orphanage. At first I was in denial. No, I couldn’t be part Vietnamese. It was a hard blow to my psyche. I thought all of my life that I was full blooded Vietnamese. And now for a stranger to tell me that I wasn’t was mind blowing. As I looked in the mirror for a very long time off and on, I did see differences. My skin wasn’t as dark as it use to be when I was a child. It got lighter in comparison as I got older. My eyes are more wider. It was just little things I started to notice here and there.
And then I got to thinking. Many children who were born and abandoned became orphans during the Viet Nam war. They were the biological offspring of many American soldiers and Vietnamese women during the war. These children were the Dust of Life. The Children of the Dust. The Throwaways. The majority of us were all looked upon within our birth country as not being full Vietnamese. We weren’t pure blooded. I’m a Child of the Dust. I’m what you would call a Dust Child. But in polite political terms, I’m Amerasian. I’m half Vietnamese and half American.
This father of mine. My true biological father. Was he a Marine or a Grunt? Or was he an American government worker? Did he know that my mother was pregnant with his unborn child? Did he want me? Is he alive or dead? I may never know. But when I look in the mirror, I now see a part of my mother and somehow a part of my father. So.. who is he?
April 26, 2008 at 12:33 pm
hi Khai,
It must be a shock to have to try to reidentify after all these years of feeling fully vietnamese and also adopted. I was just thinking of your comment about how your parents made you feel different by talking about you being adopted and vietnamese… this always made you feel ‘other’
I know from reading KAD blogs that one of the things that was hard was the fact that some parents did’t see color, or said things like ” you are american now” and maybe didn’t want to talk about their korean heritage etc.
We have a young daughter adopted from China. I struggle frequently with how to do things right! If I am being honest, She is my daughter and I sometimes forget that she is adopted and even though she is chinese, I just see HER. But I want her to be proud of her ethnicity and have positive self esteem, and honor her country, so we talk about China. Not too much actually but it is mentioned so she does not wake up one morning and get a huge shock when it dawns on her. I also want her to feel comfortable with the concept of adoption and whist adoption is something that we feel happened on the day that we adopted her, she is simply our daughter now. But to everyone else she will always be ‘Adopted’ so we want to get her used to the fact, but not negate her belonging in our family. If anything our whole family adore her, and I ger cross sometimes as they always call her “my girl” as in ‘how is my best girl in the whole world’etc etc. She is firmly in everyones hearts and they dont even think about adoption anymore.
It seems to me that what ever way you approach it , it may hurt. I remember talking to a Taiwanese adoptee in her 30’s from california who was giving a talk. She said to honor the birth heritage, but to put as much emphasis on her adoptee (new country ) heritage as to focus solely on her original heritage to the detriment of her current one is not good.
Thank you for your insightful posts, and hopefully maybe you will know your Father one day.
April 26, 2008 at 9:45 pm
Meadow,
Thank you for your insight and responding. Back then, these families who first adopted children out of Viet Nam were THE pioneers for todays adopted parents in a sense. There were no manuals on how to raise an adopted child. They just approached their child rearing views on the best they knew how. This was all they knew what to do. I was also Americanized from the get go. My first American meal was a McDonalds Happy Meal. Not good at all considering I wasn’t accustomed to heavy greasy American foods.
While I was stuffing my face with an American Mickey D’s meal off and on, they also threw the “You’re Adopted” and “You’re Vietnamese” in my face. But yet, they never celebrated Tet with me every year. I didn’t know what Tet was until I was 14. My mother brought me to some small festival in the city. This was big news to me. I wish we had celebrated some sort of celebration in regards to tet. And that was the extent of any cultural celebrations. Although they brought me to other adopted families with children from Viet Nam, that was the limit to knowing anyone from my culture. Okay, we’ll go visit these children that are from your country. And that was it. I think they wanted to let me know that it was okay to be different and wanted me to feel okay. And to validate my ethnicity, I was brought to these children’s homes to play with them. To feel that I wasn’t alone. But I wasn’t okay on the inside. I did feel alone. I don’t know why. But I did.
Yes, one day maybe I will know my father. I’m awaiting on possible news about my birth mother. Keep your fingers crossed.