“You’re Asian?” I have been asked this question for as long
as I can remember.
In college, I was asked so many times if I was from China
that I finally just accepted this presumption to avoid the conversation about
why I was not from the country people assumed I should be from. My nickname even
became China,
but still, I was not well-received at the Asian Club. You see, I was born in Danang, Vietnam,
and was adopted by American parents. My biological mother was Vietnamese and my
biological father was an African American soldier.
But no, I wasn’t well-received at the Black Student Union
either. I joined the Wine Club instead.
Growing up wasn’t any easier. I was raised in the small New
England town of Houlton, Maine, and other than the church sponsored
Laotian family in town Houlton didn’t provide me with any Asian or black role
models.
People always had a tendency to focus on my black features —
my hair, my lips, the color of my skin. The only thing that was clear to me at
an early age was that I was different. Not different because I was half Asian,
but because I was not white. Thankfully, growing up in family that includes
sisters from Seoul and Hanoi,
brothers from Saigon and Bombay,
and a Sioux sister, helped me to be comfortable in my own skin. I have eight
siblings who are adopted. Our family is the role model for universal and
unconditional acceptance no matter the shape of your eyes or the color your
skin. And my role model growing up was my father, Edwin R. Degenhardt.
I knew early on that I was from a special place called Vietnam. During
childhood, when adults asked me about the half-Asian part of my heritage and
learned that I was Vietnamese, the reaction was not positive. I didn’t
initially understand the negative connotation and the relationship of Vietnam to America, but I learned very quickly
to avoid deep discussions about my origin. Regardless of one’s opinion about the
Vietnam War, however, I always have in my mind that if it were not for the war,
people like me would’ve never been born.
In 1971, I was left at Sacred Heart Orphanage in Danang and
cared for by nuns until my parents adopted me in 1972. I recently returned to the
orphanage with my adoptive mother, Dawn, and sister, Joy Mylien. Joy was able
to translate in Vietnamese to the nuns who I was and that I had returned to Danang
to see where I was born. Remarkably, one of the nuns, Sister Mary, remembered
the nun who processed me into the orphanage. She passed away a month before I
arrived. Sister Mary shared valuable information, in particular about the Viet
Cong who confiscated all the records of the orphaned children at Sacred Heart.
One of the nuns went to retrieve the documents. They only allowed her to copy
the records by hand, which she did. There were more than 1,600 entries, mine
included. I was able to see the entry of when I arrived to the Sacred Heart
Orphanage. I learned that my birth date of November 24th is actually
November 22nd. Unfortunately the name of my birth mother was not
recorded.
While in Vietnam,
I was prepared for inquiries and curiosity from the Vietnamese people that I
came in contact with. When I shared that I was born in Danang, they wanted to
learn more about me. It was a genuine interest that I was not prepared for but
I felt that they wanted to share their country with me. I felt a sense of pride
from them. And today, I am extremely proud to be half Vietnamese and half black.Half this and half that, but I am 100 percent
human and 100 percent American first.
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Heather Kim lives in New York City.She is the service training and education manager
for the Grand Hyatt New York.She may be reached at
Heather Kim is an advocate for acceptance, inclusion and understanding of all
individuals no matter their beginnings.
