Childhood Stressors

As I look back over my childhood, I realize how blessed I was.  My childhood was relatively stress-free.  I did not have to deal with violence, hunger, isolation, natural disaster, racism, or poverty.  I believe, to some extent, that every family deals with environmental pollution, disease, some level of chaos, and noise.  These were not highly prevalent in my childhood.  If I had to choose from our “list” of stressors, the closest to home for me would be war, but in a very muted sense.  My father was a pilot in the U.S. Air Force, which meant that when I was young, he was not home a lot.  He was off flying around the world, which left my mom to care for my brother and I alone much of the time.  When he was home, he invested in us with every ounce of himself.  He was always at important events in our lives, teaching us how to throw a ball or ride a bike, and leading a Godly example for us by taking us to church.  I do remember one time, when I was about 3, he had to go off on a mission related to Dessert Storm.  This is the only time I remember being worried about him coming home.  Of course, he was not on the front lines, but as a very young child, I did not understand this.  Another moment from my childhood when I was scared and he was not there was when I was probably about 6.  He was gone on a mission and a storm came.  It was a big storm that woke us up in the middle of the night.  After my mom checked the weather, we heard a tornado siren and had to take cover.  We pulled my brother’s mattress off of his bed, stood it up over us in a hallway, and hunkered down to ride out the storm.  One thing I remember most about that night was our Siberian Husky, Nikki.  He stood and paced back and forth for a long time, and all of a sudden, it got quiet and he laid down.  He knew it was safe and we all relaxed.  Once my mom checked the weather again, we all went back to bed. 

If you have been following my blog, I often relate experiences in my life, or in the lives of other American children, to Korea, because of my nephew.   This week, I read an article by a woman named Hollee McGinnis who was born in South Korea and was adopted by an American family at the age of 3.  She visited her homeland for the first time at age 24, but did not see the orphanages or poverty that were the origins of her infancy.  When she returned four years later with a group of adopted adults for a motherland visit, she came face-to-face with the orphans. 

Children at Cheonju orphanage in 2000 waiting to greet the author and other visitors at the door.
(Photograph by Hollee McGinnis)

At the Cheonju orphanage, Hollee saw the faces of children that were skittish and shied away from touch.  Her only thought was “I got out.”  It was after she researched their behavior that she realized they were behaving that way because of improper bonding experiences as infants.  It was sad yet wonderful to read her article.  Sad because of the lack of love the orphans in South Korea experience.  Wonderful because she was able to “get out,” and so was my nephew.  I was with my nephew eating lunch one day, when a man came up to me and told me that he (Micah) was the luckiest little boy on earth.  I smiled and it made me grateful for people that understand adopting overseas. 

Reference:
McGinnis, H. (2007, November 27).  South Korea and Its Children.  The New York Times.  Retrieved March 25, 2012 from relativechoices.blogs.nytimes.com