Is Them Your Kids?

Is them your kids?

Standing in the checkout line at the grocery store.  Ordering burgers at a fast-food restaurant.  At the park.  At the museum.  The gas station.  My own front yard.  You name the place and I can probably think of a time that I was asked this question.  Of course, it’s not always this exact question.  There are plenty of variations.  Are you babysitting?  Do you run a children’s home?  Are they (shifting eyes and whispering)… adopted?

The whisperers.  Yes, the whisperers.  They entertain me.  While some would say that I should be grateful for their attempts at sensitivity and discretion, I prefer to have fun at their expense.

Thank you so much for mouthing the word ‘adoption’ because despite the fact that you are a total stranger and it only took you a nanosecond to see the difference, our kids are complete morons and have yet to realize that we are not all the same color.  Thanks for helping us keep it our little secret. Wink.  

Okay, I haven’t actually said this to anyone (because I am much nicer on the outside of my mouth than I am on the inside of my brain) but I have thought it.  Oh, how many times I have thought it!

Our culture puts a lot of emphasis on personal space and privacy.  “Never ask a lady her age” and “Don’t ask when a woman is due unless you are positive she’s pregnant” are bits of wisdom that have been around for decades.  Maybe centuries.  And though social networking has certainly challenged the notion of personal space and what does or doesn't qualify as "TMI" there are still some lines that aren't crossed and some boundaries which are respected, especially face to face.

We would never approach an all white, all black, all Asian, etc. family and say, er, whisper:

“It looks to me like your oldest child was born out of wed-lock, the next two are from a failed marriage, and the baby your holding is your current husband’s but the marriage is struggling because nobody likes their new step-father.  Am I right?”

We would not do this because A) it's completely inappropriate and B) aside from the clairvoyant, the prophetic, and the just plain freakish no one could tell all of that at a single glance. 

Ah, but this interracial adoption thing is a whole different story.

The very visible nature of our family’s design means those boundary lines are drawn with invisible ink.  I don't mean to complain.  Rant, vent, grumble?  Maybe a little.  But outright complain?  Nope.  We had a choice.  We made it.  We accept it for what it is but...we still shake our heads in wonder. 

Ultimately, people’s perception will be what it will be and I don’t always have the time (or energy) to correct misconceptions.  There will always be the young black woman who looks at me with scorn because I’m clearly just another white chic with “jungle fever”.  There will always be the proper southern white woman who looks at me with shameful glares because she assumes that I’ve been intimate with (in her archaic vernacular) a “culluhed” man.  There will always be those who think we have ruined these kids because in our whiteness, we can't possibly keep them connected to black culture, as well as those who think we have saved these kids who, without the presence of our whiteness, would surely grow up to be gangsters and drug dealers.

And that's just what we deal with as parents.  Can you imagine what my kids have to put up with?  It can be brutal but we try to instill in our kids a strong sense of self and a strong sense of humor.  It's really the only way to navigate this beautiful mess we call a family.  Maybe even life in general.

One of my all time favorite misconceptions came after our crew joined one of my dear friends for her family's annual reunion.  We’d spent the day getting to know people and enjoying some amazing food.  Everyone welcomed us and made us feel right at home.  It wasn’t until we left that one of the elderly aunts finally unloaded what was on her mind to my friend.

“Why do you think that poor man stays with her if she keeps having all those black babies?”

 Ha!  Yep.  It seems that in the world of interracial adoption a girl can fluctuate between sainthood and whoredom in the blink of an eye.  Poor, poor Tim. =)

Throw in a generous helping of people who ask about our kids with sincere curiosity and who appreciate adoption for what it is (no more and no less) and maybe you can see how this adoption life requires an extra helping of patience.

Are you babysitting?  Nope.  Parenting.

Do you run a daycare?  Yep.  24/7 without pay.

Is this a home for troubled kids?  Well, that depends on the day.

Is them your kids?  Why, yes.  Yes they are!