A Little Backstory About Me

Please forgive my indulgence here - but I thought I’d take the time to give you a little bit of color to my story.

I was born in Seoul, Korea and was adopted at 3 1/2 months old. I was born Kim Bok Hee (translation: Blessed Child, so I am told) which is how my parents, Dennis and Lena Vlach, decided upon the name Kimberly for me.

I grew up in the east suburbs of Cleveland, Ohio just like any kid in the 80s: latch key before and after school, playgrounds made of metal and asphalt, and a family telephone tethered to the wall in the kitchen.

May 19, 1975

I was placed into my parents’ arms.

I was truly a blessed child.

I’m a first generation college grad. My dad’s family’s lineage was based in the economy of Cleveland: steel. And my mom was raised in a family that believed girls don’t need college.

When my dad and most of my extended family lost their jobs when the steel mills closed in the 80s, the importance of college was impressed upon me more than ever before. I laughed when the Asian “Tiger Mom” trend became a thing…because I thought, “Well, you didn’t know my 5th generation American mom who would say good-bye to us in the mornings by saying, ‘Now flap those damn wings!’” LOL. Seriously.

Even though my grandpa didn’t believe college was for girls when he was raising my mom, he sure changed his mind when it came to his granddaughter. In fact, he paid for my meal plans all four years when I was at NYU.

My grandpa, Charles Newlen, passed away when I was a senior in college. But here he is when I graduated high school.

Even though I’m adopted, I swear I inherited his DNA because we both share a penchant for civil disobedience.

My grandpa is a descendent from the Cherokee Nation. We have ancestors who walked the Trail of Tears. A great great great ~ancestor was beaten and raped on that forced removal. My grandpa grew up poor during the Great Depression in the Appalachian mountains between Ohio and West Virginia, and he lied about his age so that he could secure a job with the CCC (Civilian Conservation Corps) and support his family.

He was a fighter.

I want to share a few of my favorite stories about the Grampa I knew when I was growing up.

When my grandpa finally got to retire from TRW in Cleveland, he and his retiree buddies from the factory would go to the local community center for senior lunch. Whoever arrived first would save seats at the table for the rest of the group.

They were told by the staff that seats were first come, first served, so they were not allowed to save them.

So you know what my grandpa did? He had my mom use her work computer and print large placards with their names. Then he’d arrive first out of his group so he could reserve seats using the large triangle cardboard placeholders.

Another story: he was told in his 55+ community that he wasn’t allowed to have cats. So you know what he did? He went and borrowed a friend’s pig for a week to make a point.

And finally, perhaps my favorite: I don’t know what kind of beef he had with the mayor of Euclid (a suburb of Cleveland), but one day the mayor was out campaigning and knocked on my grandpa’s door. When he opened it, the mayor just said, “Oh sh!t.” And walked away.

THIS is the fabric I’m cut from.

I may be adopted, but I somehow inherited my grandpa’s genes.

I hope he’s looking down at me with a big, gigantic grin, proud of the good trouble I’m causing!