What MLK Day Means to an Adopted Asian American
I sat on this post for quite some time because I wanted to get it just right.
I felt like it was my duty to portray with accuracy and clarity how I felt; in fact, I felt like it was simply an honor that I, being a middle-class adopted asian american male, could even communicate my feelings publicly.
So, with fingers to the keyboard, I began to type.
Growing up as an adopted asian american was interesting; I obviously found a lot of common ground with the rest of my caucasian suburbanite friends. I also found the asian culture relevant, attractive, familiar (in a strange sort of way), and mystifying as had competing (yet equal?) love for ramen noodles and hotdogs. I even mixed them together and ate them at the same time.
This was altogether mysterious because I felt like I should have to choose between the two, and although both were equally satisfying I felt like one should be better. I’m not sure why I felt that way but I did.
I also am a twin, so the level of confusion in terms of my identity was quite large. I had an everlasting connection to a past that didn’t exist. And I liked it at times and other times I detested it. If there was a “typical” process of self-discovery this surely wasn’t it.
And finally, I grew up in Jersey. New Jersey as I call it (and still do) although apparently it’s cooler now to call it just Jersey; I hope it’s not due to degenerate programs like Jersey Shore and their host of misfits with names like “The Situation,” “Snooki” and “Pauly D;” but that’s probably what it’s come down to.
But I digress.
The elementary schools that I attended were definitely not something that anyone could accuse of being un-multicultural. There was a healthy mix of all types of asians, african americans, and hispanics; my best friends were filipino, black, mexican, and chinese.
I complemented all of them by being the “whitest-asian” they knew. I fit in, or at least I thought I did.
But it was during my 2nd grade class (a “team” class, do they have those anymore?) that I was awoken to a number of things: Recycling was big that year, HIV/AIDs was just as important, “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up!” campaigns were the “joke” of the year, realizing that not all asians are super-smart (me), and then there was Martin Luther King.
The poster was huge. My teacher hung it on the wall opposite my desk so I had the opportunity to stare at his large face for a whole month (I tried to find a copy of this picture through Google but was unsuccessful). I remember a very wistful look that was oftentimes hard to see since my teacher, not having an ounce of interior design skills, placed it right under a light and the lamination over Dr. King produced a tear-producing reflection.
That month we talked about how the “bad white men” didn’t like “black men” and how Harriet Tubman was a superhuman tunneling machine. And although those things were interesting I came upon the realization that we are, as people, extremely different, and I didn’t really fit very well.
You see, I felt an extreme sense of guilt and shame: Although I didn’t look “white” I felt white, and although I wasn’t “black” I looked more black than white. I didn’t like being caught between two sides of an argument; I felt trapped because I couldn’t answer, with authority, my position. I wasn’t responsible, historically, for dishing out hate but neither was I on the receiving end: I was in a position of passive “observer” and I felt useless.
And, with clarity, as we read together as a class his “I Have a Dream” speech more than 2 decades ago, I remember thinking one thing:
Thanks Mr. King.
For whatever reason I remember giving thanks to a man who had both irreversibly confused me and who had set me irrevocably free. It would take many more years for me to fully appreciate this young awakening, but it happened that day and it happens every year.
Because for me, as confused as an individual as I may be, Mr. King (I suppose I should say “Dr.”) did what I could never do, gave me a framework of dreaming the impossible, and created a culture that accepted different people as they should have been all a long; I never felt anything remotely close to racism and hate like he did and I probably never will.
As an adopted asian american male I feel tremendously blessed to know that whatever cultural, relational, and societal struggles that I may have are nothing in comparison with what it could have been.
The extent of which I do not struggle with racial inequality is equal, no, overshadowed, by the blood, sweat, and tears shed by Dr. King and the incomparable work of the thousands who rallied with him.
I cannot fathom the cost associated with the freedom in which I now daily live.
And live I do. I live in a gap that’s been filled; a gap I rarely ever acknowledge nor perceive. So whenever I can I take occasion and pause to reflect on the work of men that I can never personally thank but who have made my life (and my daughter’s) a little bit brighter.
Thank you Dr. King for your work, your dream, and your hope for a future that you never saw. Oh, and if you’re listening, it worked.
I love, love, love this post. You and I have tweeted in the past about being adopted and asian so as you know I can relate on many levels (you can read my adoption story here: http://www.nicolewick.com/my-adoption-story/ ). Thank you for taking the time to write this… it was very well done.
I wrote a MLK post today as well. Check it out if you have a second
My recent post The Dream
thanks nicole! love your story.!
John, thanks for sharing your personal experiences! I share some of the same thoughts as an adopted Asian-American, yet your environment of diversity growing up was quite different from my rural, caucasian community. I almost posted a similarly themed blog post, but mine would not have been as tidy as yours and therefore probably not received too well. Maybe some things are better left unsaid, but in your case I am glad you shared your story with us
My recent post Be Not Defeated By The Rain
dude, thanks for sharing your story as well. that's awesome. life isn't tidy… (although I try).
Beautiful John.
Thank you for all that you do.
My recent post Remembering My Hero – Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.
thanks charles.
you're exceptionally busy these days… a new conference, right? !deation or somethiing?
beautifully put. great stuff.
thanks kevin. it took a while, but i got it all out.
Very well said, John. I appreciate your honest sharing of experience. The courage of those who have stood against tremendous obstacles to fight for that which is right and good inspires all of us to take the stand wherever we are against the oppression that threatens us. We must not only be thankful, we must also be active to…love, protect and defend. Thanks for sharing.
Great stuff, John. Really enjoyed reading this.
thanks man.
Randy,Thanks for stopping by.Yes, tremendous courage. I can't even imagine it.
This is probably my favorite post you have done – LOVE LOVE love it
Thanks for sharing your heart.
MLK day has meant a lot to me too and yesterday I took the morning to personally celebrate it and to celebrate MLK on my blog too – I listen to the I have a dream speech about once a year … http://jennyrain.wordpress.com/2010/01/18/two-dif...
Thanks for being so authentic!
My recent post Two different Experiences
Jenny,
Thanks! i've got a lot of bum posts then…!
( just kidding ).
goign to check out your post in a sec…
John, thanks for opening up another world to myself.
Growing up in the suburbs as a white middle class kid it is easy for me to take guys like MLK and others for granted.
Thanks for writing this and showing the influence he had on your life and many others.
sure thing dude.
i don't get to share stuff like this too often.
Outstanding John. I deeply appreciate your honesty. This was a great read and a beautiful tribute. God bless always, brother.
My recent post leading worship with awesome hair :: God, humility… and lasers
thanks for your article. Keep it up.
I loved the article… Didn't know you were from Jersey (and yes I call it 'Jersey' despite the horrors of the "Jersey Shore"). So that official makes you my "home boy." Hehehe!