"I'm Filipino."

This statement from me, and no one blinks an eye. I am, after all, Filipino... Filipino-American that is. My parents immigrated from the Philippines in 1967 for work and, what they believed would be, more opportunities for the family they planned to build in the United States. My sister and I arrived in 1974 and 1978, respectively, and grew up in a predominantly Caucasian suburb. Our parents, however, were keen to have us involved with other Filipino families in our community, many of whom were actually friends and/or classmates of my parents back in the Philippines. We were exposed to Filipino traditions, morals, ethics, spirituality, dances and songs, and food of course!

Over the years, being Filipino AND American or Filipino-American meant different things to me. While I embrace my culture and identity, there were times in my life I wished it could be different. There were times I wanted to be more American. Despite the diversity of our society, I was still often noticed as different. Most times, it was a pretty benign notice, but other times there was negativity or stereotyping... for better or worse. Couldn't I just blend in? Other times, I wanted to be more Filipino too! Like the times I'd run into a Tagalog speaking person and could understand everything he or she said to me... but could only respond in very very broken Tagalog. And when I visited the Philippines... I was clearly American, even without speaking a word! How?! Who knows... the clothes, the attitude? At times, I felt I didn't quite fit in either culture. As an adult, I came to love that fact. I'm ME... a product of nature and nurture and society... and probably all sorts of other factors!

When entering into the adoption process, there was a lot of discussion around identity... not just our child's identity as being adopted into our family, but also possibilities of transracial and transcultural issues, as chances were, we would not be adopting a child of mixed Filipino and Caucasian ancestry. We felt ready for this! We live in a diverse area and our friends and family are also culturally diverse and accepting. Plus, my husband and I are big talkers and "process"ors... we're big on talking about our feelings and issues when they come up, which honestly, can be exhausting at times! Ha!

Our boys are Caucasian both with mixed heritages including Polish, French, English, Italian, and Canadian. We are fortunate to have very open relationships with both sets of birth parents. Our boys will know them and be able to learn some of the traditions and beliefs of their birth families, which we are so grateful for. We also try to expose the boys to different elements of their birth families' cultures in the community, whether it be festivals, food, expos, etc.

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Anyway, over the last two months or so, my 3 year old, Tommy, hasn't wanted to eat breakfast, at least not traditional American breakfast. He's never liked pancakes or waffles, is an occasional cereal eater, previously loved eggs but is now on the fence, and will eat oatmeal on very rare occasions. The other day I asked him what he would like and he responded with excitement, "rice and SPAM!" That's right, SPAM... the canned pork product much reviled and ridiculed, but also beloved by many, including many Pacific Islanders, who first came to learn about SPAM and other canned meats, like corned beef, from the American GIs of World War II. My husband and I don't make SPAM at home, but he's had it numerous times at my parents' home. When cut and pan-fried, and served with rice and fried eggs, we call this "Filipino breakfast." He loves it!

Another day, Tommy asked for "rice and soup." Not typical breakfast food, but as long as he would eat! I reached for chicken noodle, which was in the pantry, but he wanted "Lola's soup." By this, he is referring to any number of Filipino stews including sinigang, tinolang manok, and adobo. Luckily, I do make these! And I'm happy to oblige him when I have the ingredients on hand.

As he ate happily, I asked him, "You really like this food?"
His response... "Yes Mama. I'm Filipino."

I laugh, but I don't correct him. I mean, should I? What makes our identity anyway? Is it genetics? Is it upbringing? Is it what people expect of him, based on how he looks? Just like me, our sons are a product of nature and nurture and culture... and probably all sorts of other factors! Their identities are theirs... and they shouldn't be made to choose.