Meeting My Adoptive Family

When we landed in the United States, my adoptive parents were waiting at the airport. My father stood out right away. He had bright orange hair and an orange mustache, something completely new to me as a little girl arriving from Korea. His appearance was unexpected, but he had a calm, gentle way about him that made him seem less intimidating.

My adoptive mother was Okinawan Japanese. She looked nervous but hopeful as she watched us walk toward her. Neither she nor my father spoke Korean, and I could not speak English or Japanese, so we all depended on the translator during those first moments together.

Even without a shared language, my new mother tried to show care in small ways. She fixed my jacket, kept me close as we moved through the airport, and handled the mess from the flight without any frustration. Those quiet actions became the first signs that she wanted to make us feel safe.

I did not understand everything that was happening, but that moment marked the beginning of life with the family who would raise me.