I wrote this essay several years ago for a Korean Adoptions newsletter, soon after Sam came home from Korea. It is dedicated to my dad...a veteran and my hero.              

          

Home of the Free because of the Brave

           To define patriotism is to describe a person’s love of their country and their willingness to sacrifice for it.   Koreans and Americans are quite similar in their allegiance to their motherland.  Korea has a long history of turmoil and oppression and amazingly during each period of unrest they have risen above adversity and become stronger.   Koreans and Americans have a lot in common but one of the most profound commonalities is their patriotism.              

            As in America, Korea is rich in celebrations of significant days in history that made Korea the phenomenal country it is today.  This summer, while we celebrate our independence, Koreans will set aside a day for citizens to remember those who died for their country, their Memorial Day which falls on June 6.   They will celebrate Constitution Day on July 17 , the anniversary of the 1948 proclamation of the Constitution of the Republic of Korea.  Finally, Liberation Day will be celebrated on August 15, recognizing the official surrender of Japan to Allied forces in 1945 ending the 35 year colonization of Korea by Japan.  Korean’s will celebrate their patriotism this summer.

            I look at my adopted son Sam and I am reminded of my dad.  Not in the obvious physical sense but in the strong connection the two have to Korea.   In 1949 my dad was drafted into the army and soon, after the Korean War broke out, on a ship setting sail for Incheon, Korea.    He served two tours of duty as a forward air controller during the Korean War.  In the two years he was in Korea he experienced severe frostbite during the battle of the Chosin Reservoir, was the sole survivor of his unit in a fierce battle that left him battered and alone for days behind enemy lines, and cautiously walked across a shattered bridge spanning the Han river to witness the complete and absolute destruction of Seoul.                         

            On June 10, 2002...forty nine years to the day my dad departed from Korea for the last time I boarded a plane for Incheon, Korea to bring home his grandson, Sam.  I expected the trip to be emotional...I was bringing home our baby...but I never expected the wave of emotions that consumed me as I stood on the same soil my father stood 49 years earlier fighting for the independence of the Korean citizens.  There is a  Korean War memorial wall at the War Memorial Museum in Seoul.  Guests are invited to sign the wall.  In the bottom right corner I inscribed, “Neil J. Murphy 1950-1952”.  It is the only physical proof within the borders of Korea of my dad’s service; however, Sam is living proof that my dad and thousands of other Korean War Vets did not fight in vain. 

            My dad’s story is just one of thousands of stories of the Korean War.  As each page of the calendar turns the heroes who tell these bold stories are passing and their stories are silenced.   An inscription on the Korean War Veteran’s Memorial in Washington D.C. summarizes the reason why these veteran’s are called heroes.

                                          “Our Nation Honors Her Sons and Daughters

                                                        Who Answered The  Call

                                                            To Defend A Country

                                                               They Never Knew

                                                      And A People They Never Met.”

 

            Have you ever thought for a moment about the long road it took for your adopted child to be placed in you arms?  I am not talking about the piles of papers and running around in the adoption process.  I am talking about the long history of adoption in Korea starting with Harry Holt’s incredible journey to adopt 8 orphans of the Korean War in 1954.   The children we embrace today are a result of a conflict that happened over fifty years ago.  The freedom my dad and thousands of other veterans from around the world fought five decades ago is the same freedom that has allowed our families to be formed through Korean adoption today.  It is so very important for adoptive parents to understand the history of adoption in Korea.   Our children are with us today because of a war fought long ago.   Our adopted children are the living legacies of the Korean War Veterans. 

            When we adopt we are quick to thank the agency, the social workers, the mailman, even the lady behind the FedEx counter, but in your lifetime have you ever looked a Korean War Veteran in the eye and said “Thank You.”  Maybe now is the time, before it is too late.   This summer, if you are attending a patriotic event on or around the Fourth of July and you cross paths with a veteran of the Korean War shake his hand and say thank you. Let him know that he did not fight in vain.  Introduce your son or daughter to him. Without his patriotism you would not have the child you love so dear today.  Koreans and Americans fought side by side many years ago in a war that by some is defined as the “The Forgotten War”.  As parents it is our duty not to forget the sacrifices made during this conflict.  Our children are descendants of a proud and honorable nation and by fate have been adopted into an equally proud and honorable nation.     

            My dad never had the chance to hold Sam.  Five days after I told him we were adopting from Korea he died of lung cancer.  Ironically, one year later to the day I last spoke to my dad, a baby boy was born in a hospital in Seoul,  South Korea.  A baby boy who will grow up knowing his Papa was a hero and the true definition of a patriot.

A Granite Question Mark

One suggestion I would have for any adoption agency advocating for an older child's adoption would be to issue to the adoptive parents a statue of a granite question mark, a very sharp chisel, and a sturdy mallet.   On the day the statue is delivered...before your new child is home... that piece of rock is polished, smooth, and just about as perfect as perfect can be. That of course is also our ideal of who our future child will be... polished and just about as perfect as perfect can be.  

So, once your child arrives you are allowed one powerful blow to the chisel on the granite for every unanswered question reveled in regards to your child's history.  One blow...only one...regardless of how big or how infinitesimal that information is.  Because, really, what good would taking twenty whacks to a piece of granite really accomplish or change?   At first you'll be taking two, three, even ten whacks a day because that's just how it is the first several months. Their language is so primitive the only thing you will learn are his likes and dislikes, not a whole lot more.  

Then things slow down and there may be days you won't even have the need to pick up the hammer.  At this point the statue is looking a little dinged up, but still maintaining its integrity.  Soon your child will begin to express himself through our spoken tongue.  It isn't perfect but it is somewhat understandable.  The hammer is once again in hand several times a day as memories surface and are spoken.  Some are wonderful...some not so much.  Chisel away.  One blow...regardless of how big or how infinitesimal that memory is.   Because, really, what good would taking twenty whacks to a piece of granite really accomplish or change?

Then things slow down again and the hammer collects a fine layer of dust.  The statue is pushed aside, not so much a focal point anymore in your life or the life of the child.  You are cruising through this parenting thing.  You've got it down.  Nothing but smoo.... wait!  More memories surface.  Significant memories that alter your perspective of what is just and what is unjust in an innocent child's life.  You pull out the statue, grasp the chisel, clutch your hammer, and pull your arm back so far that the force of inertia when the hammer meets the chisel would break (you would think)  the hardest of surfaces.  Once the two meet a small ding the size of all the others appears.  Regardless of how much force you landed on the statue, the damage was no more different in size than the one you landed two years ago when you found out he was left handed.  You look at your statue...your question mark.  It is damaged from reveled history.  But for as much damage as has been inflicted on that question mark statue there are still parts that are polished, smooth, and just about as perfect as perfect can be...just like your adopted child.

History has damaged many of our children...some more than others.   But the bottom line is that regardless of how many dings and divots history has created in our child, it is up to us as adoptive parents to find the polished, smooth, and just about as perfect as perfect can be in our child.  It is our right, our duty, and our honor.

When Do We Dig Her Hole

Every day since Noah has arrived in our family, life lessons have been presented to him. Some of these lessons are more subtle than others. This past week my sister-in-law passed away after a long battle with cancer. Her death was Noah's first experience with death since joining our family 18 months ago. I was very cautious entering into the conversation with Noah regarding death, as I had no idea what type of memories this aunt's passing might ignite. For the most part of the day of her funeral I carefully watched Noah and his reaction to her death.

Fran's funeral was Thursday. She had requested a full Catholic funeral mass, with all the symbolism attached. Prior to the service I directed his attention away from the open casket. During the actual service he sat somewhat bored...typical of his reaction to every Sunday at church as the funeral mass very closely followed the protocol of our everyday mass. When the priest waved the incense over the coffin Noah still had his eyes cast down to the floor. Soon the perfume of frankincense and myrrh spread across the church. Noah turned to me with his big brown eyes and smiled widely, "Ethiopia!" he said excitedly. Now his interest was peaked. He obviously had attended Orthodox funerals in Ethiopia. He stood on his toes to watch. After the priest returned to the altar Noah turned to me and asked,

"When do we go and dig her hole?"

When do we go and dig her hole? When do WE go and dig her hole?

That afternoon...in a small church on the Olympic Peninsula...under the veil of a somber moment Noah learned another life lesson. We do not have to dig holes. When it comes to facing the death of a loved one, the only job we have is that of embracing one another. Nothing more. Nothing less. Just embracing one another.

A moment away from Noah...to reflect on his big brother's birthday 8 years ago....

As I write, it is the early morning hours of February 3rd in Seoul. I have always spent the day before my adopted sons birthdays with thoughts to honor the women who gave birth to them a world away. So today my thoughts are in Sam’s birth land. Eight years ago today a young woman began to feel the pains of labor somewhere in the crowded streets of Seoul. Eight years ago today a young woman was in her final hours of hiding from her family a pregnancy she did not expect or want. Eight years ago today, in Korea, Yoon Jae-Bum became and orphan as his birthmom walked away from her newborn son in a city hospital. Eight years ago today a hero was born in my heart.

Nearly 96% of unwed pregnant women in South Korea choose abortion according to their Ministry for Health, Welfare and Family Affairs. 96%!!

Many people ask, “How could a mother leave her own newborn baby?” I could never...ever...ask that question of Sam’s birthmother. She courageously chose to face social indignation for carrying a child in her womb as a single woman. She chose to be that 4%. She chose to carry our Sam Jae-Bum...the beautiful gift she gave our family...Eight years ago today.

Happy Birthday Sam Jae-Bum.

I'm Back

A very sincere apology for being absent for so long from this site! The end of the year swept me away and I am finally feeling like I am back. So...here we are...Noah has been home for 16 months now and as much as I hate using the phrase, "It's like we have always had him," I have to say it is so very true. The newness of an addition to the family has worn off, the blessed honeymoon period over, and the pulling up the shirt sleeves and getting down to business as far as discipline and expectations has begun. Somedays it is heartbreaking and somedays I have to pinch myself because I am so incredibly blessed to be able to call this little man my son.

Noah is half way through is second grade year. Every day he comes home full of excitement and stories of his classroom. I had to laugh right before Christmas break when he hopped into the car already explaining himself before I read the note from his teacher. Apparently he was swinging his book bag a little too enthusiastically when his class was singing Happy Trails (which in itself is so cool that 16 months ago he could hardly mutter a word in English and now he is singing in his perfect pitch Who cares about the clouds when we're together? Just sing a song and bring the sunny weather anyway... ) and "loudly" getting their stuffed packed up at the end of the day. He "bonked" Lily in the head with his bag which sent her into a fit of tears. When I asked Noah why he "bonked" Lily with his book bag, a quickly defended his actions by saying she was being too loud and it reminded him of when he herded goats in Ethiopia. He needed to gain control of the situation. He then added that Lily should be lucky he didn't have a stick. I dare you...truly...I dare you to try not to hold back a laugh when you see that sweet face and those beautiful brown eyes evoking his goat herding memories from his life in Ethiopia. I had to step out of the car...HE thought I was cooling my jets. : >)

We are still assessing Noah as far as his cognitive ability. His older brother Zak was adopted from China at about the same age. The timelines of their lives before they came to our family are very similar. So much has to be weighed into brain development when the first 7 years of life are a mystery. For Zak we are fortunate he didn't miss a beat...and in truth is scary smart. For Noah, it seems like there might be some delays. We aren't ready to jump and panic yet, but are definitely monitoring some of his cognitive skills.

Noah's memories of Ethiopia still flood his thoughts. He is able to emotionally handle them better as time passes. This past week, with images of the earthquake in Haiti he had a very interesting memory. He is keenly aware of the countries surrounding Ethiopia. He has an uncle in Somalia. He is not partial to Sudanese because refugees of the unrest would wander into his village on numerous occasions. Noah was watching the news about the earthquake and turned to me, recalling an adventure his aunt and he took. He described traveling a long distance by car to the ocean. He said some of his family who had lived by the ocean had been washed away by a giant wave. He talked about massive destruction that looked a lot like the earthquake images on the screen. I Googled tsunamis in Somalia and sure enough...the big one that hit Thailand crossed the sea and hit the coast of Somalia. Noah would have been just a little over three years old. Of course I am a woman of perspective...and for one of my sons earliest memories to be witness to the aftermath of the deadliest tsunami on record...well...that memory kind of shadows my son Nick's Toy Story third birthday party.

One quick last note...the picture of Noah holding the cookie for Santa that looks like the ET flag...his sly look is hiding the small detail that he mixed a spoonful of bereber into the red frosting...so when Santa took a bite...around midnight...exhausted...and ready for bed...'he' was greeted with an explosion of Ethiopian spices in his mouth. God Bless berbere!!

Finally a moment to write...

Where has the time gone.  It's been over a month since I posted.  I have to admit, it's for selfish reasons.  A friend encouraged me to enter the National Novel Writing Month challenge, so for the past 29 days I have been pecking away at the keyboard to get to my 50,000 word goal.  I passed it last week and am still about 1/3 way from the finish line of a complete novel. : >)

Noah is doing well.  He is continuing to grow like a weed...has gained about 20 lbs since his arrival a little over a year ago.  And yes...his feet are still growing as well.  Fall was a year of not only physical growth for Noah but cognitive and emotional growth as well.  He continues to move forward in his 2nd grade class.  At this point Math seems to be his strongest subject.  His command of the language is also mind blowing.  He can express himself without any difficulty although at times we have to chuckle at his Noahisms.  For instance, tonight Hannah is going to watch Sam and Noah while the rest of us work at the homeless overflow shelter in Vancouver. He can hardly wait for 'baby take care of me' with Hannah.  

Translation:  Baby Take Care of Me= babysit : >)

Noah  has blended very well into our community.  The excitement of a new student from Ethiopia has worn off across the board.  That has been somewhat hard for Noah to adjust to the attention off of him so he has gone overboard at times to get some negative attention.  We have had to come down hard on him with consequences.  Another for instance...and in truth it is somewhat laughable...but...he just can't do this.

The hearing and audiologist came to the school to screen the kids for hearing and sight.  I happened to walk into the office a few minutes after Noah had his testing done.  

The school nurse came up to me and said, "Did you know Noah cannot hear or see well." 

I laughed, "No...what do you mean?"

"He failed both...according to the results he is sight and hearing deficient."

"He hears fine at school in Mrs. Smith's class.  He chooses NOT to listen to me at home but that's not because he is deaf.   He seems fine around the house."  Then I looked at the nurse and said, "He's playing you guys for attention."  

She was left wondering what was up.  I got caught up in life and forgot about the conversation.

Following week we get a letter in the mail from the Educational Service District informing us that our severely deaf and hearing impaired child needs further testing through a specialist provided to us through the ESD and we would need to call to make an appointment.

"NOAH," I called him into the room.  I read the letter word for word, accentuating the words severely deaf and sight impaired .  "What's this all about?  Do you realize we have to take  you in," and then I began to fib a wee bit,  "and now you are going to need to have to get glasses that are strapped to your head with a rubber band AND you are going to have to have a little box screwed to your head, behind your ear, with a wire running into your ear so you can hear better."  

He looked at me horrified. 

"It's ok Noah...it will make you be able to see and hear better.  It's what we have to do...for you."

He sat very silent and then looked to me with his big brown beautiful eyes.  "Can't I just do the test again?"

"Why would you have to Noah...unless..."

"I want to take the test again," he insisted.  "I lied."

"Why would you do that Noah?"  I explained to him the chain of events, the extra work these adults had to go through to get to the point of the letter I held in my hands. "Why?"

"I wanted to see what would happen if I failed."  

Logical for someone still trying to figure out this new world of his BUT not acceptable.

"Well...here's what would happend, " I told him.  "You go to your room....and no video games for the long weekend. You wanted to know what would happen...well...here you go."

Noah likes to wear the sweat pants that swish when he walks.  He quickly turned on a dime, knowing full well any form of argument would fall on my own self imposed deaf ears, and quickly swished to his room.

 

Clouds

The other day I took Hannah, Noah, and Sam to the park.  Hannah went for a run.  Sam and Noah played on the playground.  About 20 minutes into playing Noah came running over to me and pointed to the sky.  Excitedly he raised his hands to a cloud and outlined its shape, explaining to me how it resembled a Great White Shark.  After a few seconds I could see it...it was almost the perfect shape of the front end of an attacking Great White.  Wow...we stood together watching as the Great White slowly dissolved into a mass of rain clouds.  When it was completely blended Noah ran back to the playground to play with Sam.  I watched him run away...thinking...wondering...did he have time to take note of the shapes of clouds in Ethiopia? If so, what did his imagination see.  Not sharks, I am sure.   A year ago he had no idea such a creature was a part of his world.

 

How many clouds passed over his head the first 6 years of his life in Ethiopia that took on shapes of things he had no idea existed nor could he imagine would be a part of his new world?  

Did Great White Sharks appear in his Ethiopian sky?