Two of my closest friends, a married couple, are parents by adoption of three daughters who were born in China. Before adopting their girls, my friends hadn’t been to China and didn’t have a racial or cultural connection to it. To them, it was a mysterious place with an enormous population and a rich, ancient history with intricate and bewildering dynasties. It was great take-out, a “Great” wall, and the place where a great many plastic things were made.
But when they became adoptive parents, my friends – like so many of us do who have adopted internationally – became infatuated with the country from which their children came. Traveling in China and meeting each of their children there affected their sensibility about what was beautiful. As the years have passed, I’ve watched as their house reflects more fully their children’s background. Exquisite artwork, bought on each of their three trips to China, has replaced other paintings and prints on the walls of their home. A little gong appeared on a bookshelf. Books about China, for adults and children, pile up in baskets. A Chinese dragon, carved from wood, ornaments a side table.
A few days ago, six years after the adoption of her youngest, my friend and I talked about her daughters’ connection to “being Chinese.” Over the past several months, my friend said, when she suggests to her girls that they do a project related to China such as creating a celebration for Chinese New Year or a festival, her oldest will say, irritably, “Mom! Enough about China already!” The others, being little sisters who adore the oldest, follow suit. “Yeah. Enough about China.”
“They definitely feel American, not Chinese,” my friend said. “But I’m still going to keep teaching them about China. I think it’s good for them. And I’ve grown to love learning about it too. It’s affected what I like, what I think is interesting.”
I’m sure not all internationally-adopted kids go through phases of being tired of talking about the country of their birth. I know a girl – in the same class as my friend’s oldest – who often talks about her love of South Korea, the country of her birth. She is hungry for the information, stories, and pictures that her mother shares with her.
My own nine year-old daughter loves to draw the quetzal bird, a symbol for her native Guatemala. She loves to read books about Mayan culture and ancient people. But maybe someday, she’ll say to me, “Mom! Enough about Guatemala already!” But I think it will be too late for me to stop exploring that culture – I’m already in love and it’s grown to feel like a part of my own.
Jennifer Grant is a journalist in the Chicago area and the author of the memoir, Love You More: The Divine Surprise of Adopting My Daughter.
