A Mother Interviews Her Daughter About Raising Her Own Child

I’ve always been interested in my daughter Mara’s child-raising practices. She has one child, my granddaughter Malia. Mara is much stricter with Malia than I was with Mara, but I'm not complaining because Malia has developed into an incredible young adult (she's 16). In addition, I see (and hear about from my husband) that there's a tremendous amount of affection between Mara and Malia. They're very close.

I thought I’d interview her about raising a child, particularly in Los Angeles.

How is raising a child different from what you expected?

I didn’t expect there to be so much fighting. (Haha. I’m kidding—kind of.) Actually, what I wasn’t expecting was that my child would be so different from me. I knew in concept that kids are their own people, but Malia sometimes feels like she dropped into my lap from another planet. She has had a very distinct personality from birth. She's always had her own wants and her own needs. She started telling me from a very young age—around two or three: “My mind is not your mind!” And those words have pretty much been her anthem ever since.

What’s the best part of raising Malia?

It’s hard to describe. Aside from what a great human she is, from a personal standpoint, she brings out the best and the worst in me. Having to be a parent has been the most wonderful experience, but also incredibly hard. There's the initial physical exhaustion of being sleep deprived and caring for someone who cannot take care of herself. Then as she got older, the mental exhaustion of making sure that I was being strong when she needed—even when it made her unhappy—was in many ways more difficult. And even though sometimes as a parent I have to make decisions or make sacrifices that almost feel as if pieces of myself are being ripped away, I do it for her willingly because that’s how much I love her. Without her, I don’t know if I would have ever known I was capable of giving that kind of love. 

I also love that she has a very strong sense of who she is. She has always fought for what she believes in. She always makes sure to point out that her feelings are valid and important. I feel like that alone means we did something right as parents.

How do you decide what battles to fight and what issues to let slide?

I’m not sure. I don’t think I’m as consistent as I would like to be. I would love to say that it has to do with some sort of scale of morality, but I think it ultimately comes down to this: will my letting her do x, y, or z make her life harder in the long run? If it won’t, then maybe I’ll let her win the battle. If it will, then I stick to my position because ultimately I need to win the war. My main goal is to give her as many tools as possible to be able to live a full and happy life.

How are you raising her different from how we raised you?

You are much nicer people than I am. I’m laughing, but it’s true. You and dad are just very open-hearted, touchy-feely people. I’m more structured and, to me, structure is good. I think I got away with things that ultimately made life more difficult for me as an adult because, looking back, it would have been helpful for me to have learned to cope, when I was younger, with some of the tough things about life.

And I think you and dad did a great job with showing me that you'd support me and be there for me always. You have shown Malia that same love and openness. But for me, I think I didn’t quite realize that the whole world wouldn’t be like that. So with Malia, I want her to know that I am here for her, but also that the world is going to expect her to take care of herself. And on a practical level, I want her to learn that I am going to expect her to take care of herself. I’m not talking about emotional support, but day-to-day problem solving and being responsible.

Do you think it’s harder to raise a child in Los Angeles than in Davis?

I don’t think it’s harder. It’s just very different. Davis was more like growing up in Elementary School for 18 years. Los Angeles is more like growing up in High School. It's bigger. There are more people. It feels more complex. 

There’s also the unique aspect in L.A. that lots of kids work in the entertainment industry. Actor kids are still just regular kids, but their lives are very different because they have real jobs—jobs where sometimes they make more money than most adults. They also have to shoulder the responsibility that working adults do. 

Specifically for Malia and me, because she was regularly working as an actress for a few years in different states and countries, we spent a lot of time together sharing hotel rooms. Because of that experience, I feel as if we know each other better than we would otherwise. I became for her in many ways a single parent, companion, and manager all in one. 

I think the harder thing about raising kids right now—which is applicable no matter where you live—is growing up with social media. I think social media makes adolescence very difficult for kids. Don’t get me wrong, I love social media and I’ve never limited Malia's access to it. But it adds a million more ways to make kids and teenagers feel self-conscious at a time when many of them feel pretty insecure about themselves to begin with.

How has your approach to child raising changed as Malia turned from a young girl to a teenager?

I don’t know that it’s changed that much. I'm not really a baby person. I never treated her the way lots of adults treat kids. I’ve always been very straightforward with her and that can be hard for her. Parenting today seems to be mostly about treating your kids like babies for their whole lives. It’s as if parents don’t want kids to ever find out that life is hard. So it’s frustrating for Malia that I am very realistic with her. I don’t tell her she’s the best at everything. I don’t pretend to like everything she does or touches or says. 

Overall, she understands that it’s a better approach—but it’s hard for her when she sees her friends' parents still doing all their laundry and making their lunches and treating them like toddlers. I haven’t made a school lunch for Malia since the 5th grade and she’s done her own laundry since she was 12. 

She doesn’t hide things from me. She doesn’t have to lie to me about the fact that she’s growing up. She can ask me questions about pretty much anything. She knows that when I give her a compliment it's because I mean it. And she knows that I am her parent first—above everything. I’m not her best friend, and I’m not just her gate-keeper. I’m sure I have made a lot of mistakes. I’m looking forward to the time we can laugh about how much we fought when she was teenager.

Mara and Malia

My Real Family: The Story of Mara's Adoption

I was adopted. And it was never a secret because I am Asian and my adopted family is Caucasian. It was very obvious that I was not genetically related to my parents.

For kids in the early 1980's in a small Northern California town, mixed-race adoption was unusual. I was the only kid in any of my schools who was adopted from an Asian country. For comparison, in 2008 when my daughter started kindergarten in Los Angeles, there were two kids in her classroom who were adopted from China by Caucasian families. 

Needless to say, my peers had a lot of questions. Many were shy about asking me about my family. So instead of asking, some came up with strange stories of divorces and re-marriages to explain my existence. Often when going out with my family, strangers would assume I was my bother's friend or girlfriend, or even that a friend I'd brought along with us was my parents' daughter, and I was just her friend.

But I didn't know anything different. It never offended me. Instead of being upset that people would think that, I felt embarrassed that my mere existence caused questions. I didn't want people to notice me or notice my parents when they were with me. I always felt like I had to explain my family before I introduced them to new friends or teachers because otherwise there'd always be that uncomfortable moment of confusion when they met.

And while answering questions about being adopted is sometimes awkward, it's never made me angry except when people ask me about finding my "real family." Aside from always being asked if I was from China (I'm from Korea), the question most people have asked me about being adopted is if I want to ever find my real family—my real parents. It's hard to describe the emotions for me when I hear that question. I know people aren't trying to be offensive when they ask—they're just curious. And if they've never had a first-person experience with adoption, the concept of not being blood related to their "family" seems foreign to them.

But the answer for me is, no. I don't want to find my "real family" because my real family is the family I have known for the last 39 years. My real family are the mother and father who adopted me from an orphanage in Korea in 1977. They're the ones who spent nights comforting me from the many nightmares I had in the years after I arrived in the U.S. My real family are the ones who rushed me to the hospital when I got hurt. My real family are the ones who celebrated my birthdays and who comforted me when I was disappointed and cheered for me at my dance recitals.

Blood is not thicker than water for me. Because I have never once wondered if someone who shared my DNA would love me more than my parents did.

I know that when people ask if I want to find my real family, they mean do I ever want to find my biological parents. And I suppose I have over the years wondered from time to time what they would be like. But I don't have any real desire to spend time and effort trying to find them, anymore than I would guess other people would if you told them they might have an uncle in Ireland or Switzerland. Would it be interesting? Sure. Do I feel as if my life is incomplete in any way because I don't know them? I don't.

My life has had it's share of ups and downs. And in many ways I have struggled more than I think many of my peers have. But I never thought that my struggle was because I wasn't loved enough, or because my parents didn't love me as much as their biological child, or that I was not as much a part of the family as everyone else. 

I have never once imagined that if I had somehow remained with my biological family, I wouldn't have any problems. I have never once thought that I would be happier with parents who shared my DNA. Because the truth is that no matter what situation you're in, life is not perfect. No matter who your parents are, difficult things will happen. I don't imagine some magical scenario where I remained with my biological family and had a perfect life. Perfect lives don't exist. Many of my friends who were not adopted aren't happy with their families. And the reality is that clearly my biological family was not in a position to care for me, or I wouldn't have been in the orphanage to begin with. 

So, my answer is, no, I don't need to find my real family. My real family has been by my side for my entire life that I can remember. 

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Questions for my mom:

Why did you decide to adopt a child?

It was pretty simple, really. My brother was adopted, so after having had the experience of a pregnancy with your brother, it seemed natural to adopt when we decided we wanted a second child.

What were some of the reactions you experienced from people regarding the fact I was Asian?

People reacted very positively, so we didn't go through what you did. It must have been hard to have to respond to people always asking you if you were Chinese and even harder to respond when people asked probing questions about your "real parents." Your dad and I didn't have to go through that and I'm sorry you did.

The only thing that was irritating was that a few people acted as if we'd done something charitable and special by adopting a child-in-need, especially one of a different race from us. When they acted like that, it felt as if they were exhibiting that terrible "white man's burden" mentality from colonial days. It always bothered me. We never felt that we were being charitable or special. To us, you were the one who was special because you completed our family.

I was three when you adopted me. What advice would you give to other parents thinking about adopting an older child?

Well, it's definitely not the same as adopting a newborn. When you came, you spoke Korean, you had a lot of your own preferences and habits, and you also had your share of fears (you mentioned the nightmares). So I would advise people to realize that they're bringing into their family a young person who is already formed in many ways. This means you have to be flexible—be willing to provide special food, be willing to help your child through any traumas he or she is experiencing.

So, it's not the same as bringing a newborn into your house (as was the case with my brother) where, even though the baby is adopted, it's as if you've given birth and so you're starting with a blank slate, so to speak (although I remember how, when you were put into my arms at the airport in Los Angeles, it felt as if I was giving birth to you).

Overall, I loved that you were already three-years old. For one thing, no diapers! But mainly it was because it was like bringing a young person with a developed personality into the house. And so, despite the challenges, I think it was a much richer experience than having a newborn whom you can't even talk back and forth with!

One last thing, Mara: I just want to share with everyone that reading your essay made me weep. What a blessing and privilege it is to be your mother.

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Note: If you'd like to read more about our adoption story, a few years ago, I posted three pieces at Psychology Today. Here's the link to the first one; it contains the links to the other two: "Adoption Diary, Part 1: Giving Birth in an Airport." Part 3 was written by Mara and is a moving and incredibly insightful essay about how the birth of her own daughter helped her make peace with her past.

Mara, soon after her arrival from Korea

Mara and Toni Observe Parents and Their Kids at Work Together

From Mara:

We’re having an EV charger installed at our house. My daughter has a Volt and we are having a special charger installed that allows her car to charge quickly.

As usual when I need to have something installed at our house, I go onto the web and find places to call for estimates. I found a place where the installation price seemed reasonable and they seemed knowledgeable, so they’re now installing the unit. It requires some piping to extend the electrical connection from our electrical box that is located on the side of our house to where the charging unit will be located near or driveway.

The electricians are a father and son. And if you look at them, they look like father and son—the son a younger version of the father. They're both very friendly. The father is clearly the owner of the business, but the son has been working with him a long time and probably will take over ownership when the father no longer wants to work. 

And as I sit here and listen to the pounding and noises of pipes being attached to the side of our house, I can hear them talking back and forth to each other. They’re not speaking English (maybe Russian?) but the tone struck me as familiar. They sound exactly like my daughter and I when we are trying to get stuff done—when there’s a problem to be solved and we both have input to give about how to solve it. They're not talking in a relaxed tone. There are sharp quips and static responses, but it’s not aggressive. It’s familiar. It’s comfortable. It’s the conversation of two people who know each other so well they don’t have to be polite and they don’t have to use complete sentences.

And although I have no idea what they’re saying, I can imagine it in my head, “Hand me that thing. Don’t do it that way. Stop pulling. Can you hold this?” And it makes me smile. I like the idea of kids working with their parents. I don’t know that my daughter and I could ever do it, but I love that there are people out there who can. I love that this father worked hard to create a business where he can work with his son. I love that the son appears to enjoy working with his father. It makes me happy that I found them.

From Toni:

I love Mara’s piece because I’ve had the same experience with a man who does work for us when we need it. His name is José. He’s a U.S. citizen, originally from Mexico. His English is pretty good although there are a lot of idioms he doesn’t understand (I always ask if he knows what I mean when I use one).

Whenever I hire him to do something (build a hand rail for our steps, rebuild a gate on the side of the house), he brings his sons with him—one is a pre-teen, two are teenagers. As they work together under José's guidance, they speak to each other in Spanish (even though his sons’ English is flawless). I’ve never seen José speak sharply to his sons. His tone is always kind and loving. 

What I love about these interactions is the same thing that Mara wrote about. But there’s something else I appreciate. Here is a family who came to this country to fulfill the American dream, and they’re working so hard. José has a full-time job during the week for a cement company, but he works these additional jobs on the weekends because the family needs the extra income. I don’t know when he takes time off. 

I also think about his sons. While most kids I know are hanging out with friends on the weekends or practicing sports or doing other fun things, José's kids are working. They’re handing him tools. They’re sawing wood as he carefully shows them how to do it correctly. And they never complain. Seeing the family working hard together to fulfill the American dream moves me deeply.