American enough: A transracial adoptee grapples with expectations

“Where are you from?” asks someone nearly every month in a seemingly random context: the grocery store. A youth event. A work function. My answer is always “Indianapolis,” as I’ve lived here nearly my entire life. “No, where are you REALLY from?” generally follows, as if Asians cannot be from Indianapolis. While the comment seems innocent enough, it’s a subtle reminder of who people, consciously or subconsciously, believe are “from here.”

Many transracial adoptees have documented the feelings of being caught between two worlds – not fully identifying with “white” communities to which we were most frequently adopted and not fully identifying with communities from which we came (in my case, Korea). As a child, despite living in a diverse community, others made clear to me that our family was different. My siblings and I were all adopted; I have a white brother and a biracial sister who is Black and white. To my knowledge, neither of my siblings was ever asked “Where are you from?”

The assumption of Americanness that white and Black residents have is something not always afforded to other non-White groups. Please don’t misunderstand me: as a Black woman, my sister has experienced the way society treats minoritized populations and I say without hesitation that Black lives are valuable, Black lives are under attack, and Black lives matter.

But I do experience the weight of being othered, by the white community and the Korean community. Even as a lifelong Indiana resident, it is still apparent to me when I defy others’ expectations of people who look like me.

• “You speak English well.” I can’t count the number of times I’ve heard it. And somehow have resisted the urge to respond, “Well, I’d hope so, since I’ve lived in Indianapolis since I was 6 months old, attending great public schools and three universities to earn three degrees.
• “But your name…” I once met a colleague in person after speaking only by phone for months. She was shocked that Jill “Kramer” was Asian -- and she told me so.
• “Speak for your community.” A nonprofit once asked me to be on the board because of my connection to the Asian community -- a community, I confessed, to which I had very little connection at the time.
• *The look* Then there are the times the Korean restaurant owner or Korean church elder gives me that disappointed look when they realize I don’t speak Korean.

Now, I don’t go through life thinking about my lack of Asianness or my lack of whiteness, exactly. However, I’m reminded and surprised somewhat frequently, even in the most mundane interactions. Take this essay: I am telling you I am Korean American. I have friends who identify as African American, Japanese American and Indian American. Yet I can’t recall any friends, including recent immigrants, identifying as German American or English American. Their appearance affords them the chance to be “just American.”

I find the ambiguity continuing with my own biracial children, who are often asked “what are you.” They are not quite Korean-looking and not quite white-looking, not to mention fluent in Spanish (thank you, Indianapolis metro public schools). I don’t know if they experience the dissonance as often as I do. I hope they don’t. And I hope that they -- and my sister’s children -- experience less and less dissection of their Americanness and identities as they grow older. After all, the Census projects that by 2045, the US will become “minority white.” Perhaps then, we will be American enough.