Becoming Australian - Naomi Weisman

Naomi Weisman is a Canadian-Australian and mother of three, who loves to ramble with her dog, cook for family and friends, and laugh whenever possible.

I am a Canadian. I was born in Toronto, raised in Toronto, and I've raised my children in Toronto. I was given up for adoption on the day of my birth and adopted by my lovely parents, who adopted four children in total. As kids, we always knew that we didn't come from our mother's tummy like other kids do. Still, we were made to feel that our situation was perfectly normal anyway. We thought of it very seldom unless somebody asked about it. 

My mother, Marilee.

My parents were Jewish. Their ancestors were from Lithuania and Romania and immigrated to Canada at the turn of the last century. We are known as Ashkenazi Jews, who originated in Eastern Europe, as opposed to the Middle East. Although we were not raised in a religious home, we identified ourselves as Canadian first and Jewish second. 

Growing up in the 60s and 70s, Australia was only very peripherally on my radar. In the 80s, when I was in high school, Crocodile Dundee became most people's image of an Australian; loveable and funny, rough and tough, somebody you'd love to know. In fact, when I was 19 and traveling alone in Europe, I met a big blond Australian guy in Greece - picture Moose Mason from the Archie comics.

I was injured while riding a faulty moped and unable to walk. It turned out that I had actually fractured my hip. The moped rental guy was trying to extract money from me that I didn't have, using my passport as leverage, even though it was the moped that was at fault. Moose was just what a North American girl in the 80's would have expected of an Aussie. He didn't know me at all but had heard about the Canadian girl who couldn't get her passport back, was incensed by this injustice, and swung into action! He came to my hostel, said "G'day," lifted me up, carried me to the moped place, and demanded my passport back with a few choice words. To this day, I wish I knew his name so that I could thank him again. 

Fast forward to 2001, when my father gave me an envelope containing the name of my birth mother and her birth date. The lawyer who handled my adoption way back in 1967 had given my parents this precious information in a sealed envelope for me to open later in life.

My father, Norris.

I had never really thought about trying to locate my birth mother, but I had been quite ill over a period of time, and my doctors were encouraging me to try to find out what my genetic makeup was. To make a long story short, we hired a private investigator to try to uncover what I felt was a needle in a haystack. Within a week, they found her, and she was in Australia. She is just what I always imagined her to be: warm, accepting, and very funny.

My daughter's name is Annie. She is named after my grandmother. What is absolutely astonishing about this is that when I first contacted my birth mother, Helen, she told me that she had named me Annie when I was born, after her grandmother! The similarities have not stopped there and are still being uncovered all these years later. Similarities that raise the hair on the back of your neck when you really think about them. 

My birth mother,Helen.

In 2009, I went to Australia for the first time to meet four half brothers and three nieces, along with two aunts. They welcomed me with open arms and enveloped me in their family. I discovered that we all have the same eye color (green with blue and brown flecks), that my hands are identical to Helen's and her sister Lyn, and that my laugh is eerily similar to theirs as well.

Anyone who knows me knows what a distinctive laugh I have. The kind of laugh you can hear from down the hall, and you don't have to guess who's in that room. It never occurred to me that a laugh could be genetic, but I now know it can. Knowing this has somehow made me less self-conscious about my laugh, which has been a lovely outcome.

My mom died in May of 2015 after a long battle with Parkinson's disease and Alzheimer's. My dad fell sick with cancer six months later and died in January 2017. My mother and father both had a couple of opportunities to meet Helen and one of my Aussie brothers, Paul, before they passed away. Mom and Dad were two of the most loving and gracious people I have ever known. Helen was nervous about meeting them initially, but that quickly drained away amongst the storytelling and laughter with each visit. 

In September 2017, I decided to send a sample of my DNA to Ancestry.com. I thought it would be fun to be able to add myself to my Australian family tree there and to see what the origins of my genetics are. It turns out that I am 40% Irish, 40% English, and 20% Western Europe, and not one ounce of Jewish blood. 

My birth father Alan.

A month later, and before I had received my results from Ancestry, I got an email from a man named Alan. Way back in 2001, Helen had told me the name of my biological father, but she warned me that he did not know anything about my existence and that I should probably leave him alone. 

His name, she said, is Alan, from Sydney, Australia. Alan's email said, "It seems as though we have a strong genetic connection. Please contact me to discuss." This poor man had gotten the results of my DNA sent to him before they were sent to me! He was so confused, and his wife was understandably upset. Ancestry had advised him that he had a daughter!

I replied right away, saying, "Some years ago, I was told by my biological mother that my birth father's name is Alan, so if you were in Toronto in the early part of 1967, then it is likely true that I am your daughter."

The fact that I predated his relationship with his wife seemed to calm whatever crisis there was on the homefront, and it was smooth sailing after that. I met them just a few weeks later, in December 2017, while visiting Australia. They drove 10 hours to meet me and my kids, who had joined me for this trip. There are few words to describe these beautiful people. So loving, kind, and family-oriented. 

This long story is my preamble to tell you about my journey in becoming an Australian. It's not just a passport, it's a mindset, and it was my children who opened my mind to it. As I stated at the beginning of this story, I have always felt very connected to my Canadian identity. My roots in Toronto are three generations deep, and it is my home in all the ways that matter most. In addition, I have always identified as a Jewish Canadian. I have always considered myself a Lithuanian, Romanian, Canadian, and Jewish mutt. 

As soon as my kids knew about the bio family in Australia, they would tell everyone that I was Australian. My first instinct was to correct them and assert my Canadian-ness, but they would hear nothing of it. A deeper understanding of the Aussie within me became apparent when I first met my bio brothers, and I had to ask them to repeat themselves constantly. It was virtually impossible to understand what they were saying. It didn't take me long to tune my ear to their cadence and to understand the slang that is prevalent on those shores (I call it Pirate Speak). It all began to sound normal to me, and I even became a translator when my friends and family were speaking to my Aussie peeps. 

I love a good adventure, and laughing is my sweet spot. Over the last 20 years, some of my best adventures have been while traveling with one or two of my Aussie relatives, and some of the biggest, deepest, most memorable laughs have been while Down Under. I get the humor over there. It is this connectedness with a country that was on the periphery of my consciousness for the first 33 years of my life that has been the biggest surprise to me.

I became an Australian citizen in 2014 and got my first Aussie passport during the pandemic to see my bio family again after such a difficult time apart. I could only enter Australia as a citizen during that time.

It is a wonder how someone so close to the people she was raised with and so deeply rooted in where she was born can feel such a deep connection to her biological roots. I simply love the complexity of this and will always be in awe of how much I am enveloped by family no matter where I am and how much I feel both Canadian and Australian at the same time. In fact, it's become difficult to know which team to cheer for during the Olympics - sort of. I now agree with my kids that I am both. I am a Canadian, Australian, Irish, English, Lithuanian, Romanian, and Jewish Mutt.

My birth parents, Helen and Alan.

This photo of both of my birth parents was taken during my last visit to Australia when Helen and Alan decided to provide me with this extraordinary moment. Imagine the selflessness in giving me this gift!

READ MORE: Her Story, Ramblers Cafe.