ga_ap_abc_30-2.jpgAfter the transracial adoption conference I was going to write something about the importance of “mirroring” in a child’s life, but especially a transracially adopted child’s life. Almost every workshop and presentation I attended seemed to include some reference to that word.

And then I read a great article in today’s SF Chronicle about a graphic novel (ie, grownup comic book!) that has been nominated for the National Book Award: American Born Chinese, by Gene Yang. It chronicles the life of a young boy who moves from San Francisco’s Chinatown to a virtually all-white suburb.

The protagonist of this book is not adopted, but it still hurts, and stinks, to be the only one of his kind. Except for the one Japanese-American girl whom everyone assumes he will eventually marry. I could relate to that. We had only a tiny handful of Asians in my school, including one Asian guy who was really cute, but we avoided each other like the plague because it was assumed we would end up together, and well, we didn’t. I don’t think we even said more than “hi” more than once in four years.

But people like Gene Yang and his cartoon protagonist aren’t completely unmirrored. At home, they have the mirroring of their family members, so they are connected to that mini-community of home.

Transracially adopted kids can really grow up feeling like space aliens, like they came from noone and nowhere that can be felt, seen and proven. I felt conspicously different in my nuclear and extended family because I knew I wasn’t “all Japanese.” So I strived to be as UnJapanese as possible when I was at school, and for the most part I managed to “cover.”

After I left the NY adoption conference, I stayed for a few days with my incredibly adorable godchild, who just so happens to be internationally adopted. We were in the playground when she suddenly gave a yelp of total glee, pointing to another little girl who looked very much like her; in fact, they could have been cousins or sisters. These two kids glommed onto each other like velcro, and spent upwards of a couple of hours playing tag, climbing, holding hands, swinging, sliding and basically not letting each other out of their sight. It was really quite moving to see. It turns out that the other little girl was from a close neighboring country from my godchild’s birthcountry. But they recognized each other as some kind of kin, that they had a connection that was undeniable and profound; my godchild had found a mirror in this girl. I hope they stay in touch.

It was a truly rare occurrence for me to see a single hapa when I was growing up; other than John Lennon & Yoko Ono’s sons on TV. I remember once when I was in college (no hapas there either in upstate NY) and I saw a woman who looked “Asianish” in a discount sock-and-underwear outlet. I followed her around for half an hour, clutching my six-pack of tube socks, my mouth dry. I wanted to say something to her. “You’re like me, aren’t you?” But I didn’t. I chickened out. And I went home flagellating myself for missing out on an opportunity to speak with One of My Kind.

It wasn’t until I was in my thirties that I attended my first multiracial conference and met and spoke with a lot of other hapas and mixed race people.  It was life altering and moving and mindblowing all at once.  Although it took a long time to “meet” someone (online, not even in person!) who was an even closer mirror: a half-Japanese woman adopted by Japanese-American parents. (waving: hi, MM!)

I think the bottom line is that most of us want to feel “normal.” We don’t want to feel like freaks or like we are the only ones living our particular kinds of lives, although in fact we are all very unique and nobody really DOES have an identical mirrored life; it’s just that SOME lives, due to culture and media, feel more “reflected” and “normal” than others.   It takes a lot of us a long time to realize this; that we’re not the freaks, it’s this artificial idea of what is “normal” that is freaky.