This Week's Column - In The Matter Of Cha Jung Hee

I'm reposting my column from this week because the Courier-Journal archives our work relatively quickly and truth be told I'm not always particularly proud of my writing but this one was okay... or at least the subject matter is important to me. So here you go...

Linda Park is a made up person. I don't mean that I'm not really Linda Park or that you're reading the column of some mythical "Linda Park, Korean in Kentucky." But, Linda Park was born from the imagination of an intake worker at City Baby Hospital in Seoul, Korea and perhaps the unimagination of my adoptive father who named me after his first love... a woman who is not my adoptive mother. Yes, I was off to a classy start but that's another story for another time.

I just finished watching the POV documentary In The Matter of Cha Jung Hee by Korean American adoptee Deann Borshay Liem. It tells the story of Liem, a child brought to America as a child with the name of another orphan that her adoptive parents had been sponsoring. This Cha Jung Hee had been claimed by her father over a year before the Borshay's decided to adopt her. However, unbeknownst to the Borshays. the social worker at the Sun Duck Orphanage continued to send them letters as if Cha Jung Hee was still there looking for her forever home.

In her place they sent Liem, switching her identity, so the girl who'd grown up thus far as Kang Ok Jin became Cha Jung Hee, wearing her shoes and carrying her name on a passport. Though she was told not to reveal her secret, she did try to explain to her new parents but they decided she must be confused.

At the heart of the film is Liem's inner identity crisis and the feeling that she was, perhaps, living someone else's life. Her case may have extreme elements, but I think that feeling of alienation is common amongst adoptees, especially those brought to a country where the culture is vastly different from that of their birth.

It is very easy to say, "Oh, you were saved!" or "You were chosen! You're special!" or any of the platitudes we adoptees hear from a very early age, but I was never exactly sure what I was saved from. If there's an Asian alive who thinks Plano, Texas is salvation, I would like to meet them.

My life is complicated and I think there's a loneliness in me that I may never escape. However, I suspect that's nature. I would love to know, if nothing else, the history of my birth family. Were they prone to depression, too, or did I get that from the circumstances of my childhood? Are they genius and full of wit just like me or did I develop that because you need some defense in this world? Okay, so maybe the genius part is a joke especially as I handily dispel the notion that Asians are fabulous at math and science with my inability to master long division and my refusal to dissect a frog in biology.

I don't like to think about what might have been because talk about your exercise in futility, but I think everyone has questions about who they are and for most the answers may be relatively simple. Sometimes I wish they were for me, but I accept my life and at a certain point you alone are responsible for who you are.

I'm also grateful. Flawed though my upbringing may have been, if I hadn't been through that adversity would I be here right now? Would I have a kickass husband, a nice house and awesome dogs? Cliché but true, there are no wrong steps in life because without the bad we don't get the good.

At the end of In The Matter of Cha Jung Hee we find both the filmmaker and the Cha Jung Hee she's found at peace with their lives. A chance intersection and forty years later, a journey complete.

Over 100,000 Koreans have been shipped from their homeland to points around the world. They say, "Home is where the heart is." My hope for all of us is to find home, wherever that may be.

The Fairness Campaign - Senate Bill 68

To Senate Bill 68 and those who would pass it, I say, "WHAT THE HELL? How does this evolve us?!! Who are we as people that discrimination like this is even an option?!!!" I would probably follow this statement with a lot of swear words and possibly some tears.

I'm glad Jim put it so much more kindly and eloquently. He really blows me away sometimes (a lot of times).

"Hello friends. Sadly, right now in Kentucky they are trying to pass some harmful legislation preventing same sex couples from adopting, etc and we are seeing more and more of this kind of hateful action all over the map... Needless to say it is so very important that we all try to look out for each other's basic human and civil rights... I believe that no human being should ever have to suffer discrimination... a loving person/couple should be allowed to marry whomever they choose to love as well as lovingly raise children that need and deserve to be adopted and taken care of. I think if more of us speak out together about these basic civil rights issues perhaps we can move the world towards a greater understanding of universal love, sweet love and treating others as you would wish to be treated. There cannot ever be enough love in this world... Let's make more and more of it any way we can. Please check out the Fairness Campaign website for more info on what you can do.

Thanks, Jim James"

On a personal note, I was raised by white, Christian heterosexuals, and I've touched briefly on how that did not go so well... So, from experience, I have to opine that no home is perfect but love, and just... consciousness... about raising kids goes a long, long way, right? To those who want to give it a go... LET THEM GO!

The argument that these kids will be stigmatized by being raised by gay parents really irks me, too. If people would stop stigmatizing it they wouldn't have anything to worry about, now would they?!!

I Find It Kind of Funny, I Find It Kind of Sad

Okay, so I thought this cretin lady was bad, but these idiots take the cake. Frankly, I'm so incensed by this that I can't even comment intelligently other than to say what is with our disposable society? Adopt a dog, don't like it, take it back. Adopt a kid, don't like it, take it back! And why not! In our self-obsessed world we must never be inconvenienced in any way! The only silver lining is that hopefully these kids can find parents who will give them a much better home than these freakin' morons did.

Speaking of parenting, I thought this article ("Are You Raising a Douchebag") on Details.com was interesting. I hope the pendulum gets its due shift back sometime soon and people realize that raising spoiled little mini me's maybe isn't the way to go. One thing I am grateful to my parents for is that I never mistook them for my best friend.

Taking a breath and moving on to my favorite subject of late, Mike Huckabee! He's just the gift that keeps on giving, isn't he? For whom, I'm not sure at this point. There's this, this, this, and finally, this (the Drudge Report's take on the Democratic response). Apparently wives need to submit to the servant leadership of their husbands (I hope T doesn't agree with this). Also, it turns out that the death penalty is okay because, uh, Jesus didn't get himself off the cross. What's scary is that I can sort of see how the Evangelicals come up with this sort of... interesting logic.

Some day God and the horsemen and all that rigamarole are going to storm down from the heavens and prove me wrong, I'm sure, but until that day I plan to hang onto reason, thanks. That said, I do believe in aliens... and think it entirely reasonable. Tee hee.

And finally, Michael Vick was sentenced to 23 months in prison for his illegal dogfighting business. Don't even get me started on hero worship in regard to sports stars (or celebrities). While I wish it could be 23 years, I almost feel sorry for Vick. What on earth happened to that man that led to him hanging and electrocuting dogs? That is some crazy, sociopathic poo. In honor of his sentencing, I'm re-linking to this cartoon because it was fitting and funny.

I'm watching (I bet you can guess) Law & Order: SVU while I write. It's the episode where the lunatic white trash keep the kids in cages. Crikey.

I promise I'll be all, like, butterflies and light tomorrow,
Ms. P

Hodge Podge

I've gotten really positive responses to my adoption piece from my new fellow Asian American adoptee pals. What a splendid weekend I had connecting to all these cool ladies who share a bit of history with me. I plan to revisit this subject one more time during National Adoption Awareness Month so stay tuned for that.

I'm off to New York for the third time this year on Wednesday. Reports on art, theatre, shopping, and cupcakes are headed your way! Tom's in the studio so I'm going to give thanks with him and spend the rest of the time visiting every H&M in the city. Sounds like things are going well up there, although the other night he went to the VHS or Beta after party and Craig and co. hadn't arrived so the people who ran the bar thought MMJ were VHS and Tom said they sat at a table with a bunch of free alcohol while "everyone dancing was staring and dancing at us all night." Way to set the night on fire, lads.

I watched the documentary Photographers at Work on Ovation last night. I don't know how I've never seen Gregory Crewdson's photographs before, but consider me inspired. Now I have someone else to admire besides Andreas Gursky and Todd Hido. Speaking of photography, someone recently sent me to the Shorpy site and it's quickly becoming a new favorite. I love this shot of the dog funeral from 1922. It's fascinating to see how graceful and well-lit these old pictures are.

Apologies for the sleepy post but it's a gray Monday and Fred Thompson is having a valium-like effect on me as I catch up on yesteday's This Week. Does that guy ever actually say anything specific? He's a master of generalities. I notice they've been running Die Hard 2 on one of the movie channels recently. His finest moment, perhaps.

I feel a nap coming on,
Ms. P

Serious Saturday - Adoption Edition

November is National Adoption Awareness Month. It's embarrassing, but I didn't know such a thing existed.

I spent the morning reading the New York Times blog series on "Adoption and the American Family" and the entries range from the thoughtful (teenager Adam Wolfington) to the excellent (AKA's Hollee McGinnis) to the ridiculous (author Tama Janowitz).

The backlash against Janowitz's post (mostly because of the line "Like I say to Willow: 'Well, you know, if you were still in China you would be working in a factory for 14 hours a day with only limited bathroom breaks!'") is interesting. I don't want to turn this into Konichiwa pt 2 - Revenge of the Asian-American Adoptees but I'm struck by the commonality of our feelings and the deep hurt that's felt when our differences are turned into jokes.

Yes, humor is a great way to heal and get through life, but when you're a kid and you lack the ability to understand the distinctions, it can be rough.

I've mentioned before that I am adopted. I was raised by white people from New Jersey in whiter than white Plano, Texas (at least it was back in the 70s. On our side of the tracks, anyway).

I was born (supposedly) Park Don Na. Then I became Linda Owen. Then Linda Fulkerson. And now (through the magic of divorce) I'm Linda Park. I say "supposedly" because Park Don Na is most likely not my birth name. It's a name an employee of City Baby Hospital in Seoul issued to give me an identity. My mother always told me I was abandoned with a note that had my name and birth date, the proverbial baby in the basket, but when I investigated with Holt (our adoption agency), I was told no, that's the happy lie you get (although the woman put it rather more nicely). This didn't upset me at all, though. I'd rather know the truth. Unfortunately, I was also told that due to the circumstances of my dropoff (dumped at the police station) there's not much hope of finding my birth parents. I almost felt relief at this as the stories I've read about adoptees reconnecting with their Korean families don't really sound too rosy (not that I begrudge anyone else with the strength or interest to make the effort). I have enough family issues here in the states. Like I need the same on another continent?! With people I can't communicate with? I used to write stories about them, though. And that is the happy lie I'm fine living with.

When I read articles about different Korean traits, I often wonder about nature vs nurture. I have a hard time identifying with my family (but probably have way more in common with them than I'll admit - you should see my mother's closet and mine - it's eerie), but I went through so much that it's hard to pinpoint what gifts and curses might be from my biological parents. I guess that's one thing I'd want to know - that and a medical history. That'd be handy even though my current reality saves me time filling out forms at the doctor's office!

Apparently the Holt Adoption Manual (of old, I'm assuming) urged parents to discourage the use of Korean and try to assimilate the adopted child as quickly as possible. By the time my mother put me in a Hanbok and took me to a Korean event in Dallas, all I wanted to be was WHITE WHITE WHITE! AS AMERICAN AS APPLE PIE! JUST LIKE ALL MY PALS!

For years I didn't really understand that I looked different than my friends. On a superficial level, I remember being frustrated that I couldn't copy the eyeshadow looks in Seventeen magazine because I have no crease in my eyelid. Let's not even discuss the Merle Norman makeover I got at age 13 where I ended up looking like a child prostitute (I guess no one told those ladies that bright green frosted eyeshadow does NOT flatter little Korean girls)! On a deeper level, there were more subtle discriminations and, of course, a slew of ignorant questions (are you a boat person? etc etc).

Couple this with my crazy parental units and maybe you can understand why I don't look back on life and think, "Oh, what a picnic that was!" Mom, the model Evangelical, wouldn't let me watch Bewitched, threw away my skeleton earrings and freaked out about Sigue Sigue Sputnik. Dad, I can't really talk about because as navel gazing as this is, there are limits. Let's just say we haven't talked in 16 years and it's for a good reason.

However, as I get older and move away from the angry young woman mold I cast myself in, I realize it's okay that my mother wasn't perfect, that it would have been nice if she could have saved me from my father but what's done is done, and even though I got picked on (fish faced gook, anyone?!) and never dated an Asian guy because "well-meaning" people were always trying to fix me up with the only other one in Plano, if I had to trade any of those experiences, I wouldn't be here now. And here is good. Here is the best.

So I celebrate my life as a Korean American adoptee with all the baggage - good and bad - that comes along with it. I spent eight years living in Los Angeles basking in the anonymity of being just another Asian. I'm learning Tae Kwon Do now. I'm trying to find my own ways of honoring a culture I barely know and not be too embarrassed by the one I grew up in (I'm sorry, but with GW as prez, it's a bit hard not to feel the shame). It's an easier road now that I have Tom, the greatest husband on earth.

To my mother, thanks for not giving up on me. I think you're pretty cool despite, you know, that religion thing. To my birth mother, thanks for giving up on me. I can only assume it was the best choice you could make.

Anyong-hi jumuseyo,
Ms. P