On to the Next House, the Next Family, & I Wondered if They Would Keep Me

I am sharing the story of my life from the earliest I have a record of and can personally remember. As a KAD, I have suppressed this story for decades, telling these details to only the people closest to me. But, as a KAD and former foster youth, I know it is important to share my story, to create more visibility for all of us in the Asian American?diaspora, and show we are not just what you see in Hollywood or read in a book from the NYT best-sellers. Our stories are rarely, if ever, featured or celebrated in such ways.

This is part 3 of my journey as a transracial adoptee and former foster youth. Thank you for following my story.

"You are going to love your new family", Donna said.

Donna was my social worker. She was driving me to my new family. I remember her older, maroon/rust colored car. I remember her kind eyes, her warm smile, but there was a sadness too. Now I know that sadness was her feeling sorry for me, perhaps pity?

The day I left my first American family, it was a whirlwind. I remember nothing about the packing, but I know I didn't take much because it all fit into her truck. It makes sense as all my things were not really my things, and this family i was leaving was no longer my family.

"We are sorry", I remember the dad saying. They did hug me in front of Donna, and I still wonder if those were real hugs or if it was for show for Donna, or if it was because it was the script and choreography they knew they were supposed to perform. I remember my arms feeling very heavy as I attempted to hug them back. I don't remember crying. I don't remember seeing them cry.

Their two oldest kids were not there, but I do remember the youngest brother, Evan, and his face that was mixed with sadness and distance. We had grown close, until recently. He was the only one of their biological kids that still lived with them, and he and I had been best buds when I first joined the family. Most of my photos I have of them are with him. When I had "turned bad" and this family had started implementing punishments for my bad behavior, they also used Evan to enforce them. At first, it had upset him, and he would cry or refuse. But eventually, it became the norm, and he became more of an enforcer than a brother. Seeing his face like that made me incredibly sad I remember. It still hurts my heart to think about it today.

As I said the last goodbye, this family handed me a photo album with select photos of our time together. It's a mixture of all the normal family things, and then a few photos that show their upper-middle class status like their sailboat and the fancy block parties. I wonder all the time what my life would have been like if I had stayed with them. The photos made it look so inviting, so warm, happy, and filled with joy. It was nostalgia in one single album. They were affluent, they had a seemingly normal family with their oldest son who played football in college, their daughter who was grown up and beautiful, their youngest son who was a typical goofy and silly 11-year-old, and then me. I would have been their youngest, a cute little Korean girl with a sweet smile. I would have probably experienced a very typical middle American childhood and then gone to a great school, become a doctor or professor or something similar, and have been ingrained more into the Asian American society and culture. I still wonder about this because I married a white man from an upper-middle class family, and we now have a mixed-race daughter and I see my growing family now reflect pieces of this family. It shakes me sometimes to realize this.

Questions I still think about today: Do they regret it? Do they miss me? Do they wonder how I turned out? Do they feel guilt or remorse? Did they adopt another child, or was I their only attempt at adoption? Did they end up educating themselves about adoptees and the trauma and emotional distress and mental health disorders orphaned/abandoned/adopted children go through? Do they even care about that part of their life?

I do remember asking the mom if she would ever adopt another child. She told me, "You were too hard. This was too hard. I don't think we will do this again". Reflecting on this now, I realize how messed up this was to say to a 7-year-old innocent child who was collateral damage to the life decisions you were making on her behalf. They completely uprooted me from my culture and homeland, they forced me to assimilate into their family and behave in the way they wanted me to behave and did not take the time to learn about my needs as a traumatized child who went through serious life-altering experiences by the time she was 5-years-old. They did not consider how this experience of them giving me up would impact me for the rest of my life, and that her last words to me, "you were too hard", would impact my self esteem and wellbeing, and those words would stay with me forever.

I climbed into the car. I remember looking out the back window as their figures became smaller and smaller. I remember my emotions simply shutting down. I felt nothing. I was leaving, and that was that. I had no choice, I had no power, I had no rights to any decisions made on my behalf, and I had no say in where I was going next. But I shut down because I was being abandoned again and rejected again. I was losing a family again and I didn't know what to do. But I do remember thinking that I could not be a "bad kid" in this next place. I could not do anything that would make them want to give me up. I wanted them to keep me. I knew that I needed to pretend to be that perfect kid, so I shut down inside. I vowed to never go through that again, I could not trust the next family to keep me if they saw the real me. So, I put up walls and blocked anyone from trying to find that person.

"Grace, do you have questions?" Donna asked me in the car. We were on our way to my new home, new family, with the last one now gone from my line of sight.

I remember her telling me I would love this new family, that I would have fun because they had so many kids, all adopted and also foster kids, and she said it would be a great environment for me. I remember her saying that they really wanted another kid to be a playmate for their youngest son, who they thought would be a great match for me. I remember feeling my heart sink. I missed Evan. It was strange that I was going to this new family for what seemed like the same reason. I was scared.

"Will they keep me?" I asked Donna in response to her question. I remember seeing her look back at me in the rearview mirror. "Everything is going to be ok" she said. I didn't believe her, but I had no choice. I didn't say another word for the rest of the ride.

In Part 4, I will share my journey meeting and transitioning into my foster family. Thank you for following my journey and for your support as I elevate the transracial adoptee and former foster youth experiences from my unique perspective.

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