In the past few blogs I’ve written about wanting to love my birth mother Rosa, a woman I did not get to know. The mother who raised me, however, I knew and loved dearly.
She was 50 when she decided to keep me. her name was Esther, but I called her Mutti, for she was German. She was born in 1888, while Queen Victoria still ruled in England. Picture being raised by a Victorian woman! I could ...
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Does it bother you that people ask you the dumbest things? Like “Are you adopted,” or “Where are you from?” when it’s obvious that you are biracial or that the people you call mom and dad were not present at your conception and birth?
In my case, people wanted to know who my birth mother was and why she gave me up. ...
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Here’s the article in the University of Southern California Social Work Newsletter!!!
MSW Students Lunch with Famous Author
Here is an excerpt from my memoir Split at the Root: A Memoir of Love and Lost Identity in which I write about having grown up as an exotic child among Whites in Guatemala City.
“On my first day of school, ...
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