Articles From August 2006

My Life As An Adopted Amerasian by Melissa Robison

Well let me just start off by saying that I'm adopted. I was born with an identity crisis. To top it off I'm from Ohio. Let's just put it this way there was only one other person with Asian blood in my whole school. Both of my adopted parents are Caucasian which shouldn't make a difference but somehow it did to me. Do you know how great it would be to have parents that actually resembled me? To have parents I could actually relate to? To have family that I could turn to when people would say racial slurs? I had no where to go to feel accepted.

I realize being adopted is a good thing. There are many people out there who live there whole childhood in foster homes. I was fortunate enough to get adopted at the age of one. I remember back when my parents told me I was adopted. My father being the comedian that he is told me that one day I just walked out of the woods so they kept me. I can also remember how I was viewed as a full Asian by my adopted family. I remember my dad would introduce me as his little Chinaman to his associates. Then tell me to talk Korean to his friends. I would reply by saying gong, gong, gong. Hmmm. My parents wonder why I never came to them when kids would torment me for being so called Chinese. You know how people think all Asians are Chinese. I was called everything from chink to Godzilla. The sad part is these people were White, my other half. I didn't know what to think. I thought to myself, "don't you realize I'm like you too?!" So basically at that point I just knew I was different and would never fit in.

I'm starting to not really care as much as I get older but we all know how important it is to fit in when we're kids. Here's the crazy part, I knew Whites didn't like me so I tried to associate with the few Asians that actually lived in Ohio. Can you believe they didn't want anything to do with a "White" girl? I was just an American in their eyes. I was once again judged before the sound of my voice was even heard. My daughter's father is Asian. One of the reasons he said he left us is because I'm White. So, here I am unaccepted with a White family. No where to turn to feel accepted. Cast out of the Asian and Caucasian cultures. Even my adopted family says racial slurs about Asians while I sit right next to them. It would just be nice to have a family to go home to that resembled me. It would be nice to just to have one place to go where I felt accepted.

The First Time I Was Called Chink by Frank Y Pak Agostinelli

Life was grand back in Long Beach. I was attending St. Barnabas from grades 1-3. It was arguably one of the best times of my life. I had so many friends. I used to sing in the choir. I used to be a straight A student. I used to have "girlfriends." I'd scrap like most kids my age but you would shake hands and go back to playing. The school was diversity Heaven. Blacks, Mexicans, Italians, Samoans, Irish, Chinese, Koreans, mixed kids, etc. If there was ever a picture of unity, my school was it. Then my parents got divorced in 1978 and my mother signed me over to my father in 1979. My life was never the same.

My father took me East to Rhode Island in 1979. Rhode Island was his place of birth. After the abuse I endured from my mother’s disdain for my father, I could care less if we took the space shuttle to orbit the moon. I "knew" I would make friends just like I did in California even though I would dearly miss my old friends back "home." I didn’t know how much I was going to miss them.

I was enrolled in another parochial school, Blessed Sacrament. I was looking forward to going to my new school and making new friends. What kid at the age of 9 would not feel this way? I was introduced to my 4th grade class. It was so nice. Taking in the scenery, the faces of the kids my age who would be my new friends . Recess came and my classmates were curious to who I was. They asked me what I was. I stated proudly, "I'm Korean, Irish and Italian!" Then it happened. "You’re a chink!" I didn’t know how to respond for the first time in my young life. I recall vaguely repeating, "No I’m Korean, Irish and Italian." The I heard "Chinese, Japanese, dirty knees, look at these" and "How can you be Italian when you look Chinese?" I think I went after the kid who called me chink first then I ended up getting my ass kicked by a couple of kids. Off to the principal's office. She was the principal as well as head nun. I recall being told that fighting would not be tolerated so I told her what happened. She assured me if I tell her if it happens again, it would be taken care of. It did happen again and I followed through on my end of our agreement. Well, I learned that day I couldn't trust an adult in a position of power.

My father, the citadel of knowledge he was came up with a simple solution, tell them you're also part Hawaiian or learn karate. Gee thanks for your help. Because I was in fights all the time, he was a regular at the school but nothing positive ever materialized. It seemed like the kids I brawled with were given the presidential pardon. I was the only one getting in trouble! To add insult to injury, I'd walk home after detention only to have these kids waiting for me. I decided to use the part Hawaiian angle. The attacks subsided a little but at the same time some kids started to like me because I was saying I was part Hawaiian. I learned at this time the shallowness of people, regardless if they were kids my age.

Grades 4-7 were best described as pure Hell. I was always on my guard and preparing for what would happen. It was only after I had returned from California in the summer of 1983, we moved to a new town, I enrolled into a new school, and I had acquired a bitter temperament. I was going to quell any confrontations quick, fast and in a hurry. Call it the dog marking its territory. I remember the first person I spoke to in 8th grade. I told him, "I just got back from Long Beach, don’t f*ck with me." This September, it will mark 23 years Anthony has been my best friend.

Most of us have had similar interactions growing up. Some more severe, some not so severe but they occurred. Our personal experiences are very important no matter how harsh it may sound to someone else. From our personal experiences it is up to the individual to turn a negative into a lifelong positive. I always reminisce about those 3 years. Part of me wish it never happened. Part of me is glad it did.

Hapa & Disability: The Arduous Merging of Three Separate Worlds by Alice Tea

As far as we Hapas are concerned, I'm sure most of us have been/are stared at, and barraged by THE question, "What are you?" and everything that goes with it. It can get a little old too, especially when it's followed up with 'well meaning but uninformed' comments like: "Are you smart, like the Japanese?" "Your kind is so beautiful!" or "So, you're not ASIAN, then!"

However, I am confronted with even more intrusive stares, questions and comments, because I also have a visible disability. I was born with Spina Bifida, which literally means 'open spine' or "a congenital defect in which the spinal column is imperfectly closed so that part of the meninges or spinal cord protrudes, often resulting in hydrocephalus and other neurological disorders." (Love the use of those words 'defect' and 'imperfectly.') Basically, it has caused partial paralysis from the hips down, therefore I use a wheelchair to get around. So, where do I even begin?

Well, I do get some very strange and often offensive remarks, such as (98% of time, in a very condescending tone): "How in the world did you get that door open?" "I bet you can go really fast in that scooter of yours!" Or my all time favorite: "But how were you able to have children?" No wait, this one is even better: "But how do you have intimate relations???" Uhhhh ... if you don't know that by now, I ain't gonna explain it to ya! I am usually quite light-hearted regarding these matters. Sometimes it's amusing, sometimes annoying, and once in awhile I get downright angry. Especially when these remarks come from perspective employers. But please don't let it ever stop you from asking me questions. If you can approach me intelligently, I will respect you for it, and will pretty much answer anything you want to know.

Beyond this ignorance though, is an even sadder realization that, as much as "American society" has a hard time dealing with people with disabilities (the ADA can be a major joke at times), many Asian cultures look at disability as something to be ashamed of, or even evil. These 'superstitions' cast an ominous light upon us, for we are seen as "deformed" therefore "hideous." Traditionally in the Philippines for example, the views on disability can carry quite a bit of embarrassment to the family. A cleft lip is seen as a punishment from God, or perhaps because the mother ate rice cake that had a cleft on top of it.

Within my own immediate family, growing up, my siblings treated me like any "little sister." My mom, with her Filipino/Catholic upbringing, felt it was her life's duty to take care of me, which was both wonderful and suffocating at the same time. I know it took a toll on her over the years, because unfortunately I became a convenient 'target' for her frustrations. My dad was in the service, and wasn't around much until I was already in my teens. I won't get into that relationship, except to say we didn't get along. Of course there were, and continue to be struggles ... There still are numerous times when I am 'left out' because it is 'too hard' to take me places. Other relatives, mostly the older ones, always looked at me with pity. I even overheard an aunt say to my cousin once, "She's so pretty, it's a shame she's handicapped."

Attending public school became an ongoing battle. I was refused entrance into kindergarten in Japan because of my disability. We moved to the States when I was in the first grade, and elementary school was somewhat of a nightmare. I did make one good friend, but in general, I was shunned by most of the kids. I came to be known as the "slanty-eyed cripple." I ended up missing a lot of school because of numerous hospital stays which, in a weird way was a blessing, since then I didn't have to continuously endure all the cruelty. Middle school wasn't so bad, sure I came across kids who made fun of me, but by that time I had "attitude"... learning karate from my brother didn't hurt either. High school was the best, as far as forming great friendships. My motley crew of buddies was the best anyone could ever hope for. I wasn't their 'half Asian friend in a wheelchair'... I was their friend. Period.

I've worked throughout most of my adult life. One place of employment did have quite an impact on me, and hopefully vice versa. I was an Administrative Technician for a multi-Asian counseling agency for seven years. The clients served have emotional and mental problems, so the disability is "unseen" for the most part. There is also a 'geriatric program.' A lot of the people who do come in for that program use canes or walkers, and are 'expected' to have certain conditions which warrant the use of such equipment. The clients who suffered from mental disorders seemed to be pretty much at ease with me, perhaps they felt we were in the same boat, so to speak. Dealing with the elderly folks was another story. For many years, a large percentage of them looked down at me with cold, distant stares. Some wouldn't even accept the fact they had to 'go through me' to get to their counselor. Eventually, with a ton of patience, and sincerity, I was able to gain their trust. Obviously I have many more stories to tell, but I'll cut it off here. To sum it up, I've learned to take the good with the bad. And every so often, someone's eyes DO open up and look beyond what they see with their eyes. It's what makes everything all worthwhile.