During this past summer, an elderly patron at my workplace fervently declared to me, “You have to be married!”
“Uh,” I replied, extremely befuddled. “No….”
“Then how’d you end up with that last name!” he exclaimed as he pointed to my name badge that read “Lili Nizankiewicz.”
“…My dad’s Polish.” I thought that response would satisfy the man, yet he looked at me as if he either didn’t believe me or was still confused. He must have thought that all Asians are either “Wong’s” or “Chan’s.” He probably thought my father couldn’t possibly be Polish because I looked so…Asian. How could I have ended up with such a last name if I didn’t look Polish at all?
This patron didn’t know that I was adopted from China. Both of my parents are Caucasian; my father is a Polish Pittsburghian, and my mother grew up in the Midwest. Because I was raised by these truly wonderful, All-American parents, I typically do not act like a stereotypical Asian, and that baffles the rest of the world. People are often stunned that I don’t speak Mandarin. They cannot believe that I have eaten halupki (stuffed cabbage, a traditional Polish dish) but have never tried certain authentic Chinese food. I do not fit into the narrow Asian American box, and it saddens me that many people are uncomfortable with my nonconventional self.
Throughout my life, I have received more questions about where I am from and what life is like as an adopted kid than questions about what my childhood and upbringing were actually like. I understand the importance of origins, but I personally believe that what happens between the start and end is the most significant part of one’s life. Yes, I am Asian and was adopted, and that is a crucial part of my identity; however, the story behind my last name bears more weight on my life than any of the former things.
My father’s parents were immigrants from Poland. My dad came from a family of five children and grew up in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. My dad started working in the steel mills at a ridiculously young age and has been become a workaholic ever since. The Nizankiewicz’s attended mass every week, but my father gradually became unhappy with the Catholic religion. As a young adult, he moved to Virginia, searching for answers and fulfillment. He soon became Protestant and was saved at a local church in Virginia Beach. When his family found out about his newfound faith, they rejected my father for a time because, but my dad stood his ground and refused to back down. Fast forward, my dad met my mom, and the rest of the story is fairly obvious.
I have always noticed a certain type of strength within my father. He had the courage to stand up for his beliefs even when his own family shunned him. I do not think it was stubbornness or rebellion that caused him to be so firmly devoted to his faith; I think it was conviction and dedication. The story of dad’s spiritual journey showed me that my own personal beliefs were valid if I felt convicted and dedicated to them. I cannot let others dictate what I believe because my views are between myself and God, and that is one of the greatest lessons anyone has ever taught me.
My father also raised me to be a more understanding and considerate person. Maybe it is in his nature or a learned habit, but my dad is a very generous and caring human being. He will do anything to help another person, and I sometimes suspect that he is like that because no one helped him when he was younger. My father’s kindness towards others reminds me every day to show a little more grace to others. His frequent quiet acts of service taught me to help others in small, humble ways. Different aspects of my personality, work ethic, and moral code derive from my dad; having him as a father has been one of the most identity-defining aspects of my life.
I grew up with a parent who is a second generation Polish American, and this impacted me in a more profound way than my “Asianness” ever could. It is easier to remove the Chinese part of me than it is to take away the Polish part of me. Genetically, I am Asian, but the foundations and shaping of my life came from my wonderful mother and my father who possesses the most loving and tender Polish heart.
If I ever again encounter someone who cannot understand how my last name and ethnicity could coexist, I want to say that my identity is Polish and my origins are Chinese. Being Chinese has defined my physical appearance and beginnings, but being “raised Polish” is an important component of my life that helped shaped me into the person I am today, and I love my Polish parts.