This is my first blog and I have no idea if anyone will ever read my posts or not. A little scary to put yourself out there. But here I go.
Many years ago, I was with a real estate agent and she started probing about my past. She was puzzled how I was Asian with a very American last name. For some reason I felt compelled to tell her more than I would most people.
When most people would ask I would say that I was part American and part Asian (actually all true since I am both American and Asian). And such a simple answer usually appeased most people. But this real estate agent kept pushing. Since she pretty much knew everything else about me from my social security number, credit rating, salary and employment history I felt compelled to give her a little more.
So I told her that my parents died when I was 8 years old and I was adopted by an American family. The immediate expression on her face was one of disbelief and utter shock. It was as if I punched her in the gut and it stopped her in her tracks.
It was the first time I realized that what seemed normal to me was really anything but normal.
I could feel that my revelation had a profound effect on her. I am sure she went home that night and gave her children extra hugs that night unable to imagine them growing up without their mom and dad.
I realized that maybe my past, as difficult as it was, could be used in some meaningful way to help others process some of the pain of their own past as well as the present to make their tomorrow better.
Childhood lost 