Personal Narrative: My Adoption From Russia

Introduction “Maybe these babies grew in the wrong stomachs, but now they have found the right parents” (Evans, 2008, pg. 159). Transracial adoption is the adoption of a child of one race by a parent or parents of a different race (Baden et al., 2012). This occurs both domestically (inter-country) and internationally (Ung et al., 2012). The history of international adoption stems from the Korean War (1950-1953)

“You too, where are you from?” He asked. “Elora, Ontario.” I replied. “What about you?”

For the rest of his life, my father lived in content of not knowing his biological parents. There is a difference between a closed adoption and an open adoption, in a closed there is “no sharing of information”, whereas open allows the adopted “to have a one-on-one relationship to the birth parents” (Moe 38,

I have gone through life associated with ownership and being talked of as if I am property. My childhood years of education have consisted of alternative assignments to those in regards to family history or the heredity unit of science classes. Within the faces of young children who stand with their adoptive families, I see a piece of myself and hope they will not struggle to endure the insensitivity to the culture of adoption and that their sense of identity will only be strengthened. I lacked an understanding of what would come of being a trans-racial adoptee and grew blind to ignorance at a young age, never gaining insight on the subject at hand. Although the culture of adoption has created uncomfortable and unfamiliar years, it also led me to challenge convention, embrace individuality, and find unconditional love from an early

As the crow flew across the sky, I felt a thick breeze of wind hit me in the face, I heard several voices talking a language I'd never heard before. I was born in southern Europe, and everyone around me was just another figure. I saw men, women, and tiny children, looking like they had been starving for quite some time. I, however did not look much different, but I guess it is the thought of more people starving than just myself. I am 14 years old, I was born in 1877, my parents have been separated from me, and my little brother just died.

I was born and raised in the southernmost past of Texas in a city named Brownsville where diversity is almost non-existent. Growing up in a city with one of the highest poverty rates was surprisingly not as much a struggle as you may think. My father had a decent job with a salary of around 48,000, but that number varies every year. He is the captain of a shrimp boat and has owned his very own boat a few times. For this reason, my father was frequently absent in my life and still is to this day.

My mother always warned me that crying is an admission of weakness. With her thick skin and hunched back she trudged and taught me coping mechanisms that she embraced as survival skills. At a young age, I learned to cry silently, to be skeptical, and to always look to the future for happiness. However, as I have grown older and experienced my own challenges I have learned to ignore the lessons of my mother; something that I consider to be a sign of socioeconomic progress for our small immigrant family. The catalysis was that throughout my college years, I had to deal with the prosecution of a family member who sexually abused me when I was a child.

I chose this topic for a personal reason. One personal reason is because I was an eight-month-old baby when I was first placed in foster care. I was taken away from my biological mother when she decided to take me to the hospital. Once there the hospital staff diagnosed me with a severe bronchial infection on top of a severe skull fracture. When asked my biological mother couldn’t explain what happened and had multiple men that were not my biological father trying to give a reason for what had happened.

I was born in Northwest China, in the province of Jiang Xi. Eighteen years ago, my parents had decided to adopt from China after finding out they were unable to have children of their own. After researching about adoption agencies, they found an agency in Texas. Gladney Center for Adoption, forwarded my parents information on two twin girls that needed a family. It was love at first sight and they planned their trip.

On one brusque day, I was running from the cops knowing that I shouldn’t have held up 7/11 while on probation. Now i’m really gonna get locked up now. I don’t care i’ll miss my sophomore year or if the judge gives me grace again. I’ll end up with my dad in West Cali, and i’ll end up working at his retarded library. My mom and he were divorced when I was three.

Therefore, we became constant targets of threats of being kidnapped or poisoned. A close family saw what was happening and decided to adopt me when I was 4 years old, and he became my dad. He was generous enough to let me stay with my biological parents after the adoption because he did not want me to get lonely. When

We were placed with my aunt and uncle, but we were too much for them to handle. After that, we stayed in seven different foster homes. Three of those families were supposed to adopt us, but none of them did. Two were disrupted because the foster parents were not willing to follow my therapist’s recommendations for the trauma of being abandoned. One was disrupted because of my aggressive behavior: I pushed my foster parent.

I am a daughter of a refugee and an immigrant. My father left Ethiopia and walked across several countries finally coming to America. While my mother came after 15 years since the communist advance into South Vietnam. I come from a household of parents from two different continents. Their arrival america gave an unique atmosphere in the household.

Adoption is a way for children who cannot be cared for by their birth parents to become members of another family. In most countries,, children are raised by one or both parents. sometimes both parents cannot provide the love and care their child's needs. “The parents may be young and not prepare or financially-to

Coming from a low income family, living in a small town in India, I learned early on about struggling and surviving those struggles. I watched my parents working day and night to provide for electricity, pay for our monthly school fees so my sister and I can have a better education, and for the future they wished upon for their children. To further enhance this vision, my father decided for the family and I to immigrate to the US. Everything was different in the sense that I changed schools, learned a new language, had to make new friends, and learned the different culture. I had to adapt to a whole new world, which was a little difficult at 6 years old