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Born Norwegian, Raised American, not illegal

Linda Kristensen,
Grand Rapids, MI.

I am writing this for my daughter who is 34 with Autism. She became my daughter in 1980 when I was living in Norway. We returned to the USA in 1983 but my daughter even after 30 years is still not an American citizen. Here’s part of her story….

My oldest daughter, Maigunn was born on January 10, 1979 in Hammerfest, Norway (the northern-most city in the world). When Maigunn was 5 months old, she was sent to an orphanage across the county in a town called Vadso near the Russian border. There she remained until my now ex-husband and I received her at 23 months as a foster child. We were told that she was stiff like a doll and may be mentally retarded but the staff also thought it might be just the orphanage environment. Norway like most “Western” cultures believes that children should be raised in a home and not an institution. Most of the orphanages in Norway have only severe mentally impaired children with very strange behaviors. The staff felt that if Maigunn were part of a family that maybe she would be normal once she wasn’t exposed to these behaviors. When the woman in charge of adoption in northern Norway called and requested that we come to Vadso and see Maigunn; I was visiting my family in the USA; not having been back for 3 years. So my ex-husband went alone to see this little girl. When he arrived, he immediately fell for this little toddler, called me and it was agreed that we would take her. She would be our “long-term” foster daughter, just like an adoption. (This has come back to haunt us even today.)

So my mother and I began buying clothes, shoes, toys and other toddler supplies. I sent several boxes to Norway, prior to my return and remember that my ex-husband was in tears upon opening them.

My first impression of Maigunn when they brought her for a visit was that she was blind. She looked straight ahead with no eye contact. The other thing I noticed was that she loved spinning objects. (These are two of the classic signs of Autism) At the time if someone had said, “Do you think she has Autism?” I would have responded with “What’s that?” Even as a physical therapist, I had no exposure to this disability and very little was known and there were very few treatment options.
Maigunn at 2 years had no language, had just begun to walk so she had that abducted or teetering gait that is so typical in babies just starting out on their own feet. So the first task was to get language. I don’t know why but it seemed natural and was an international word so we started with, “Baby”. Phonetically and developmentally, I think “B” is an easier consonant to say than many other consonants. Well it took 9 months where she studied our mouths and felt our lips with such intensity that you’d have thought she was discovering the contents of the Rosetta stone. I remember one morning waking up to Maigunn’s chatter of saying and half singing “Hakke” which is Norwegian for chin. It must have stimulated me for after that I began singing songs to Maigunn with the word “Baby” in them; everything from “Rock-a-bye Baby to “I love you and don’t you forget it, Baby”.
As a physical therapist, I knew that we only had a limited amount of time to catch up. When she was almost 3 years old, she was evaluated at Mary Free Bed Rehabilitation Center. At that time, she was 1 ½ years behind and the gap would only increase if she couldn’t make significant gains in a short time.
The summer of 1982 was a turning point in our lives. My mother was very sick in the hospital with hepatitis, and Norway had no services for Maigunn until age 7; so we decided to return to the USA. Even then it took another 2 years until she was diagnosed with Autism and placed in special education through the public school system.

The negatives have been numerous.
Like the first pediatrician we encountered in the U.S. who upon doing a preschool check-up, found that Maigunn was in the 75 percentile for height and weight and told us that we should consider institutionalization since she was bigger than most kids her own age and therefore could be dangerous to the other children.
Like the time at a playground when a mother hit Maigunn for choking her child in the same manner her daughter had just done to Maigunn. Unfortunately Maigunn thought the other child was playing a game with her and didn’t understand that the little girl was being mean to her.
Like the children who chased Maigunn on the way to her school bus stop, so that she ran out into the street, almost got hit by a car and lost her new pair of glasses. And when I tried to get the school to change the bus stop just three blocks down the street, they refused.
Like the neighbor children at the end of the block who chased and teased Maigunn every time she road her bike past their house until she got wise and began taking an alternative route which of course was on a busy street.
Like the teacher who misplaced Maigunn’s lunch money envelope on her messy desk and blamed Maigunn for being forgetful (the underlying idea was that she was handicapped and therefore couldn’t remember her lunch money). Only later to find out that the lunch money was on her desk after all. However the Principal did call and ask if Maigunn wanted a formal apology. Of course she didn’t since Maigunn just doesn’t hold grudges.
Like at the Middle School Formal Dance where a bunch of students egged one of their group to ask Maigunn for a dance. He then made faces behind her back the whole time, while I stood by watching, debating whether or not to step in and deciding that these things are going to happen. But once again thanking god for Autism since she never realized that they were mocking her.
Like spending time and money to have Maigunn trained to take the city bus only for the bus system to change the bus route numbers the following year so she ended up taking bus # 5 which instead of going to our neighborhood, now went to the airport. So rather than getting home at 4:30, we got a call at 6:30 that the bus driver left her at a gas station 3 miles from our home. (Of course from 4:30 until 6:30, I had been driving around frantically looking for her.)
Like the time a boy made sexual advances towards her after she was done with a running workout at a high school track. But again she was saved by her ability to run away and fast.
Like the neurologist who sees her briefly, diagnoses her with schizophrenia and negates all the current literature and research on Autism even though as a parent, I have done more reading and researching on the topic than he’ll ever do in his lifetime. But still unwilling to listen to me.

But there have been positives
When I went to the first school Christmas pageant that Maigunn was in and watched as the children marched in line onto the stage. Then it was Maigunn’s turn to go on stage with the other students. She stopped at the entrance, stared out in to the audience and didn’t move until the student before her came back, took her by the hand and led her to her place. When they sang she stepped forward and sang with her whole heart. At the end of the performance she mimicked the audience and clapped her hands along with them. Friends who knew Maigunn and me looked my way and smiled. It was one of those priceless moments that I wouldn’t have missed for the world.
When the Brownie and Girl Scout leader, Sharon, had no qualms about including Maigunn in their troop and treated Maigunn like one of the girls. And Maigunn wanting to be just like the other girls was the first one to approach the principal and sell a box of cookies.
When her piano teacher, Maxine, was not a stickler for learning how to read the notes but let her enjoy the beauty of playing the music. Maigunn plays the piano by ear.
When my daughter says; “Mom you need a hug” when she really means, “I need a hug.” And realizing that we conquered the sense of Touch, which is extremely difficult for people with Autism.
When she succeeded not only in being on the High School Cross-Country and Track teams. But by being able to participate as a regular student in a regular Ed sport and achieving MVP (Most-Valuable Player) Junior and Senior years for Track and received “All-City” for Cross-Country her Senior year. She accomplished what most kids with Autism rarely get: the acceptance and respect of regular Ed students as one of them.
When one of the girls who, along with her friends, mocked Maigunn behind her back at the Middle School dance, now admired her in High School for her running ability since she could never run as fast as Maigunn even though she was not handicapped.
When at a track meet, a parent from another high school came up to me and told me that my daughter was an inspiration to their team. We had talked a year or two before about my daughter and her handicapped condition and he and his team had watched her develop over the years and used her as role model for their team.
When I know that living and raising Maigunn has made me grow both personally and professionally. I’ve become a more realistic therapist and now have more empathy with my patients and their families.
When I remember the wisdom, Maigunn has expressed. Like the time I asked her during her freshman year in high school if she wished that she didn’t have Autism and she replied that she thought it was part of her. Later in her junior year her response was that she wished that she wasn’t Autistic. And now she tells me that she has to get use to this Autism.

Then there are the challenges.
Such as the years of being on the Parent Advisory Committee for Special Education in the Public Schools then on the board for the local Autism Society and finally on the state Autism board.
Such as my many job changes to accommodate my children’s needs
Such as the numerous letters of thanks and concern sent out to try to get better understanding by the public and the politicians.
Such as the loss of a marriage
Such as the hours of running with my daughter so that she would be familiar with the cross-country running courses
Such as the hours of job coaching so that she wouldn’t loose her job while she was going through a rough time.
Such as taking the chance in signing up Maigunn with the G.R. Jaycees and watching her be able to be part of a group where she is not ridiculed for being handicapped.
Such as attempting to set up private housing for my daughter so that she is in a safe and secure environment before I die. Only to find that many parents of handicapped older children do not want to talk about it. And that they are content with letting the state take over when they die and not realizing how devastating their death and change in housing will be on their adult child.
Such as the wish that we as a society would be more handicap accepting. Knowing that most of my friends would not want their sons to date my daughter. And many of my friends would not consider living in a house with a ramp even if it were aesthetically pleasing.
And thanking God for good professionals who have an uplifting approach to disability and see that they have rare talents that the rest of us do not.

And finally, the Reward
When my daughter says: “Mom, you’re the best mom this girl ever had.”

Delicious ambiguity: the permanent inbetweener.

MaiLynn Stormon-Trinh
New Zealand

I am the only child of an American woman of Norwegian descent born in Fargo, North Dakota and a Vietnamese man who moved to the US in the mid-seventies and cut all his Vietnamese familial ties. I look more Asian than white, but culturally, I was raised in a white world, with a white family and predominately white friends. As an adult in my mid-twenties, I feel like I am the permanent inbetweener, stuck in the fringes of both the worlds my parents have come from. At times, race has made my life a lonely, mixed up (no pun intended) place. But I am learning that there can be great power in being multiracial. My race, and thus my identity, is not spelled out for me through history and stereotypes. I have a freedom in obscurity that Gilda Radner called: “delicious ambiguity”.

Black childhood, Asian marriage, Aboriginal church.

Debbie Haughland Chan,
Canada

My heritage is Norwegian, British and German. Growing up, my church gradually became half (or more) Black Caribbean. I married a Chinese man. My daughters-in-law are Chinese from China, Chinese from Malaysia and Sri Lankan. The church I’ve attended for the last 13 1/2 years is in one of the poorest neighborhoods in Canada with a primarily Native Indian population, which is reflected in the make-up of our congregation. I love the diversity of my world.

Norwegian with nappy hair doesn’t fit.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAWilmaS,
Seattle, WA.

If I had a dollar for every time I was asked if my sons were adopted…It’s happened a lot. A complete stranger approaches my family, usually in a grocery store or some other public location, and compliments me on my family. “Your sons are so handsome,” the person will say, and by now I can almost tell what they’re going to say next. “Are they adopted?” “No,” I say, “they are my biological children.” The stranger looks bewildered for a moment. I can see she is trying to make sense of the puzzle before her, white parents, two black sons, one white son. What’s up with that? It doesn’t fit in the tidy categories this person has in her mind. Our brains are constantly making associations and categorizing information, and when something doesn’t fit, we try to make sense of it, even if it means making a fool of ourselves by asking a white mother, a complete stranger, if her black children are adopted or not.

There are other ways this causes confusion. A job interviewer receives my son’s resume, his Norwegian surname prominently displayed at the top, and then a black man shows up to the interview. What? No, he didn’t lie on his resume, but the effect is the same.

There’s no appropriate box in the “Diversity” section of a survey or census. “Mixed-race.” What does that mean? Afro-Caucasian? Norwegian/Northern European and Afro-American? At the end of the day, it means my sons are black. That’s the way the world sees them. Because of that, it means I, their white mother, viewing the world from my privileged, white perspective, am ill-equipped to raise my black sons. This was never more apparent to me than after the shooting of Trayvon Martin when I suddenly realized I had not had “the talk” with my sons. You know, I hadn’t told them how to handle being stopped by the police.

I will never know what it’s like to be a black man in the United States. There are certain things that, because of my white experience, I will never know nor be able to teach my sons. They may not look like me, but they are my sons, my biological sons, my flesh and blood, and I have tried to prepare them for the world the best I can with love, discipline, and humor. Sometimes, when a stranger asks if they’re adopted, I look at my sons with a smile and say, “No, we’re still trying to figure out who their mother is.”

Light skinned, biracial, Jewish, Arab American man.

Arturo Hull,
Anchorage, AK.

My mom is Syrian, Iraqi, Egyptian, Greek, Italian, Swiss-German, Austrian, South German, English, Norwegian and Danish. My dad is English, Scottish, Irish, Swedish, German, Polish, and Russian. I am light-skinned and can easily pass as French or Italian, but I embrace my Arab roots to the fullest and enjoy foods like Falafel, ful medames, and baklava. I also celebrate Arab holidays, such as Syrian Independence Day and Syrian Revolution Day. When I go to synagogue for Shabbat, I try to attend a Sephardic Synagogue and I eat qitnyot on Shabbat.

Reflections of Ethnicity, but Not Race?

Josie,
Houston, TX

Most of my life, I had not given much thought to my racial identity. I never really thought about myself as a “white person” or what it meant to be white, unless I had to fill out a form for school, a job, or standardized tests. It was just a label with very little meaning to me. What I did think about what my identity as a great-grandchild of Norwegian, German, and Italian immigrants. My grandparents on both my maternal and paternal side shaped our family cultures around their experience as the children of European immigrants.

My grandma would talk about how her parents had to change their name upon entry to the US because there were too many families in their boarding house with the surname “Olson.” My grandpa would talk about the objections their parents had to him marrying my grandma. His German Catholic parents and her Norwegian Lutheran family did not like the idea of intermarrying. My paternal grandparents would talk about growing up in the Italian neighborhood of Chicago with stories about my great aunt knowing a famous mafia member’s child. We ate sweet apple roasted ribs on Christmas with anise cookies for dessert. My thick brown hair was attributed my Italian heritage by my dad. All of these little experiences shaped my identity as an American with European ancestry, but we never talked about whiteness.

I cannot think of one time that my family talked about our whiteness. We never really talked about race at all. Now, as a more informed adult, I can recognize racial attitudes that were covertly disseminated in conversation or political discussions, but I would not have been able to identify it if I had not learned what I now know. In the past couple of years, I have learned more about race, racism, and cultural identities than I had in the previous 23 years. I am learning about others and myself, trying to be a more compassionate, fair, and just individual. I am learning about more than just my ethnicity. I am learning what it means to be white in America, the good, bad, and in between.

I Don’t Have Any People

darDara Boyd,
Austin, TX.

I am always hearing people say, “my people”, “your people”, “our people”, but why can’t we just be people?
It never crossed my mind to call all white people or more specifically Norwegian people (which is a portion of my ancestry) “my people” because they simply are not.

America, hell the entire world is already divided by race, why do we need to uphold such division? We need to unite in order to prosper as one people, as humanity. I am not color blind, I see color, I would be a fool if I claimed otherwise. But what I see if a beautiful array of color that stretch out across the horizon like a rainbow.

Rainbows are so beautiful because without all of their colors, they wouldn’t be a rainbow.
Let’s end the division and unite as a people. But I think the only way that can happen is if we put all the [race] cards on the table and discuss them like calm, mature adults.

Hugs for everyone! I love you all!

Your experience does not invalidate mine

Elya,
Chevy Chase, MD.

I grew up very privileged, and when I realized that I was being bullied by my white peers because of race, my parents decided that I would no longer be sheltered because of my race. I became very active in my student activism group and because I am mixed, I was never really accepted by the black kids. I don’t pass as white, so I was not accepted by the white kids. I have learned that self love is more important than trying to fit in with your perceived race. My friends are Jewish, Ethiopian, Chinese, Norwegian, Jamaican and so much more.

You are more than one race?

R.E.A.L. Talk,
High Tech Middle Media Arts,
7th Grade Trailblazer

Before this project I didn’t know much about race or racism, but then I figured out a lot of people have been stereotypical or racist in my community, with my friends, or people on social media. When I heard this term that people were saying it kind of hurt me because they were saying things like ¨ All white girls do this…¨ and I didn’t know how to react because I didn’t know that was towards me. I thought this because I didn’t identify as ¨white.” I identified as Irish, Norwegian, Scottish, and more. That’s how I got this memoir because a lot of people think I am just ¨White¨ or ¨American¨ but I wanted to prove that I am more than that, I think I´m way more unique this way. I´ve grown up in amazing, loving and accepting family, I’ve always been taught to treat people how they want to be treated, which helped me because some parents don’t teach their kids about racism and how everyone should be treated the same, which could cause problems when their older because if we don’t address this problem nothing will change. Sometimes people don´t want to talk about the issue of racism because it could be uncomfortable or they don’t want to talk about the negative parts of life and what’s going on.

Race was made by US.

Race was not made by genetics, it was made by US. Most people think race is biologically real, but it was really made by Europeans who found people that looked and talked differently from them, so they categorized them into a ¨race.¨ This happened because they were ¨usually assigning the highest qualities to their own people and lower qualities to the “Other” people, either lower classes or outsiders to their society.¨ They made it so they were more powerful than people that were different from them. Race is a manmade word that turned into racism, which caused a lot of controversy between different ethnicities, because they were being rude to each other, but it all started with the Europeans being racist, then evaluated to ¨white¨ people being racist against ¨black¨ people. Racism back then was awful: there were separate water fountains, pools, schools. Even though we’ve come a long way with fixing a lot of racism in our world, there is still a very long way to go because we don’t accept the fact that it doesn’t matter what you look like on the outside. It matters what you look like on the inside.

Norwegian Danish Grandma to all “flavors”

Joann Hansen
Gilbert, AZ

I think we need to learn from the past but rise above and move on…. I let my actions speak for themselves not the hue of my skin. I am Caucasian & I know that I am not racist & that I also judge people by their character and actions. I am a proud Mother of a Hispanic/Caucasian daughter and ADORE my two grandchildren who are of Caucasian/Hispanic/Japanese/African American heritage. THEY are our future.. They are the melding of many wonderful cultures… I LOVE how they classify us – Chocolate, Caramel and Vanilla :0)

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