My Origin Story
Born in Incheon, South Korea, I was given to my grandmother shortly after birth. My father had left before I was born, and being a single mother with a child out of wedlock was strictly forbidden at that time.
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My grandmother cared for me as long as she could, but months later, she dropped me off at an orphanage where I would spend the first years of my life. I don't remember much of this time, and to be honest, I can't tell if the memories I have are real, or if they are a defense mechanism that kept me going. I know there were moments of happiness, but the notes from my adoption records show that I was a shy, timid kid who would make fun of himself when he was nervous; from what I remember, I made fun of myself a lot.
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As an adult, reading about this helped me realize that I have been the same my whole life; that's why I know just how scared and alone I felt. I knew that I didn't belong there, but I also knew that I didn't belong anywhere else.
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K84-74 was my serial number back then, and it would become a large part of my identity later on, anchoring me to the thought that I was simply just a commodity. It's been over four decades since that little guy made his way into this world, and so far, I've made a mess of things, or maybe it was always my fate to live such a tumultous life. Regardless. There is work still to do in my life, because that scared little boy deserves to live the rest of his life in peace.
The Morrison's
Adopted by Leland and Sandra Morrison, both lifelong residents of Iowa, I was initially welcomed by my brothers Matt (biological), Mark (biological), and Mike (adopted) and started my life in the small town of Baxter, Iowa. As we aged, my parents adopted more kids: Megan, Aaron, James, Molly, Mackenzie, and McCain. In all, 12 living souls make up our household: four Korean, four Black, four White. I am not sure if my parents were nuts, or they just couldn't stop giving hopeless kids a chance... the verdict's still out.
Though I love my family, I'm not particularly close to them. As a youth, I only dreamt of leaving. The sounds of Highway 218 and my radio made my heart yearn for everywhere but home. Now in my 40s, I'm back in my home state and reconnecting with my family has been an amazing experience. They are the salt of the earth and I look up to them. It only hurts me to know that I will never belong in with them. But maybe, my journey has always been for me to walk alone, and they were only meant to be a part of it, to give me just enough know where to walk, how to walk, and when to get up when I've fallen.
