National Adoption Awareness Month

In honor of this, I will be telling my entire life story. Some have heard it, some have not, some in detail, some not. So this will be the time for everyone to catch up on My Life and how I came to be. I got this idea from my friend, Mary, also an adoptee. You can read her blog, Candidly Speaking from the link on this page.

I need to clarify that what is written here is from my very own point of view, how I viewed my life from when I could first remember things. How I viewed life is my very own, no one can take it away from me, just like how I view life today, no one can take away from me.

So daily, if I remember, I will write about my life so stay tuned if you are interested.

I began my life journey on September 2, 1971 as I made my very long trip from S. Korea to Minnesota, USA. Here is my passport picture:

I was 4 1/2 years old. I don't remember this trip at all. Truthfully, I don't remember too much of this first year with my new family. But, the parts I do remember, not pleasant at all.

I was the adoption agency's worst case scenario, I was being physically abused, I guess by the mother. My social worker knew about this abuse, the neighbors knew about this abuse, my school knew about this abuse. Yet there I was, still in this family month after month.

My memories of this family: I remember my father sitting in the lazy-boy reading the newspaper, that's it, ever. I don't remember any of my siblings, I had four. When I had to go to the bathroom, I was instructed to inform my mother. She would then follow behind me, kick me in the back all the way to the bathroom. This happened everytime I had to go to the bathroom. I remember one time, I was in the backyard, which was rare to be outside, I had to go to the bathroom, but I didn't want to tell my mother. So I pooped in my pants, took out the poop with a leaf and hid it under another leaf.

The majority of my days were spent being locked in my room. There was a pocket door that lead to the kitchen, my mother would lock it from the kitchen. The hall door, my mother would jam a washcloth way up high in the door so I couldn't open it. I didn't have the strength or the height to reach it anyway, I was a tiny kid. I would sit on my twin bed and stare at the walls, there were no toys in my room, just my bed and a dresser.

Other days, I remember being punished for I don't know what, and my mother would grab me by my ankles and slam me against the wall. I never knew what would set her off. One day, she didn't put the washcloth in the door. I realized this was my time to run. So I quietly opened the bottom dresser drawer and took out my tennis shoes. I remember having a hard time getting them on my feet because my feet and ankles were so swollen from being beaten, but I managed to get them on.

I opened the door very quietly, looked down the hall and listened for any noise. No noise, no people. I tiptoed out of my room and down the hall. I had done it! I got out of the house and ran away!! I remember hiding in a corner of somewhere, I had no clue where. I tried to make myself as small as I could, I closed my eyes and hoped I would just disappear. No luck, people found me. I guess I got as far as my next door neighbor's garage and was hiding in the corner. But to me, it felt like a million miles away!