We always struggle with what to buy a few relatives each Christmas. These few never truly need anything, and though I am creative, I am stumped year after year. And really, how many framed photos of my daughter can I give someone without being a: boring, and b: narcissistic?
This year I came up with the idea to donate money to our adoption agency which is connected with a local maternity home. I thought we could find a small figurine of an African American baby to symbolize the donation and remind those few relatives to pray for the mothers and their babies.
So I began an Internet search for AA baby figurines. I wanted to limit the cost of the figurine in order to give most of the gift money in the form of the donation.
My search lasted several hours over the course of a few days, and I came up with basically nothing. The figurines were either very cheap looking, too expensive, and mostly, just not available! I had a difficult time finding anything featuring an AA baby.
Determined, I decided to look at some local stores: Hallmark, Big Lots, Hobby Lobby, and Everything's A Dollar.
First stop was Hallmark. I figured that surely there would be a Willow Tree Angel that would fit into my stipulations. Nope. Nothing. There was ONE AA figurine, a woman with dreadlocks.
Second stop: Hobby Lobby. The store was CRAMMED with holiday decor and people. As I said "excuse me" two hundred times as I made my way down the cramped aisles, I felt my pulse quicken and increased aggravation. There was not a single ornament or figurine featuring an AA person, let alone an AA baby. Next step, non-Christmas decor. I found an employee who said there was one tower of AA figurines at the front of the store. I felt slight hopefulness, but mostly skepticism. As I approached the tower, I found that the figurines were not African American---they were solely African and were about twenty inches tall---African people carrying baskets and animals.
Meanwhile, my husband was at Big Lots. As you guessed, nothing came of that stop.
Fourth and final stop: Everything's A Dollar, one that I often see AA people coming in and out of, so I figured that surely they would have some sort of merchandise featuring the race of the people who shop the store. There were some AA angels; however, they were, as anticipated (I mean, if it's going to be $1...), terribly cheap looking and nothing like what I had envisioned.
I couldn't stomach another stop and another disappointment. We headed home.
My mind is reeling now. I can't shut it off. Why the inequality? Why the domination of the white race today, still, in 2009? Why is my daughter's race not only left out, but the Hispanic population, the Asian population, the Indian population, etc., too? What about the kid in the wheelchair? What am I to tell my daughter when she asks me why none of the ornaments look like her? Why are they all pale, rosy, smiling babies? Why is there only ONE black Santa or ONE black angel? Why is black Santa at the mall one afternoon, while the white Santa is there everyday?
These things anger me. For so long, as a white person, I was at the center of the proverbial universe...that is until I adopted a black little girl. I realized that I was thrown into some sort of "other" category with her. Though I realize I will never know the "black experience," I am beginning to see what it's like to be an outsider in my own racial culture in subtle ways, like what we experienced when we were shopping.
Before we even ventured to AA figurine stop #1, we went to Toys R Us to buy some snacks for our daughter and to try to find an AA Cabbage Patch doll. Stuck behind four CP dolls with blond hair and blue eyes was an AA CP doll stuck in a smashed, torn box. How sad. Foreshadowing, I guess, of the shopping experience to come.
White parents of black children, at least the ones I know, get really excited when there is one little glimmer of hope, like the Old Navy t-shirt I found for my daughter featuring a little AA girl with puffy pigtails or the doll from Carter's (now clearanced out and never to be seen again) whose skin, hair, and eyes indicated some sort of racial identity other than white. I cling to these items and hope that I can combat everything that isn't there that tells my daughter her race doesn't matter or isn't important, that white is the only race that really matters and is worth depicting in advertisements, on Hallmark cards, on t-shirts, and on toys.
So if you see a white woman this Christmas who is vigorously shoving aside the white baby dolls in toy aisle three at Wal-Mart, you'll know it's me, or another adoptive mom, trying to find something for our sweet children, something that tells them their skin, eyes, and hair is beautiful, that black is beautiful, and that they matter.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
The Photo
In my daughter's nursery is a photo of her birth mother, my husband, and me on the day we all went to court last year. That court date was one of the hardest days of our lives. Ella's biological mom was there to officially terminate her parental rights. We were there to obtain custody of our soon-to-be daughter.
In the photo we are all smiling---but I can only imagine all the thoughts running through each of our minds and the heaviness and anticipation in our hearts.
That day was a tremendous beginning and simultaneously, a devastating ending.
This photo is now held in a lovely, multi-colored, striped frame and is placed on one of the walls in my daughter's nursery. The three of us appear to be friends meeting up for coffee---but truly we are strangers who are joined together with a common goal: to do what we believe is best, in that moment, for a little baby girl.
One evening when my husband was out of town, I had one of my girl parties. This time it was for my girlfriends from my health club---a diverse pack of women, mostly in their forties and fifties (I'm the spring chicken of the bunch), who love to laugh. We had some food, wine, and great conversation. One of my friends came into the nursery with me to while I changed my daughter's diaper. She spotted the photo and asked if that was Ella's mom in the picture, and I said yes. Soon my other girlfriends came in one by one to look at the picture. I suppose they were curious. As each woman entered and exited the room, she was quiet. I'm not sure what that means or what I should think about their silence, or if I should even dare to think about it.
A few times a week, I will point the photo out to my daughter and we will say hello to her first mother. It's a sweet, careful routine. I want my daughter to know who her birth mother is. I want her to be familiar with her face. I already tell my daughter her adoption story and that her first mom loves her very much and always has and always will.
People very much misunderstand birth parents. And we cannot lump birth parents into a category or box. I cannot even begin to tells you how my heart aches when I hear someone say, "Are you afraid she'll show up on your doorstep?" or asks me, "Was she on drugs?" The worst question I have ever heard is, "Why didn't she want her baby?"
I should respond, no, I'm not afraid of her showing up at my house. If she did, I would open the door, let her in, and welcome her. Are you on drugs? Oh, and of course she wanted her daughter. What do you think placing a baby for adoption is? A hateful choice from someone who doesn't care one ounce about her own flesh and blood, the baby she carried for forty weeks?
I will tell you right now that I love and will protect the privacy and dignity of my daughter's first mother. This woman gave my daughter life. This woman is on my heart, my thoughts, and in my prayers every single day. And she's a real person. She is not just the image in the photo in my daughter's room, and she's not the assumption anyone makes.
Like many adoptive moms, I am determined to do what is best for my child, and I'm forever defending and educating. Adopting transracially has created a situation where I'm not only facing adoption stereotypes, but racial stereotypes as well.
God orchestrated our adoption situation, the birth of our child (a child who belongs to two families---in different ways), and hearts that love her---including her first mother's. I wish people would stop and think for a moment before opening their mouths in judgement and assumptions. I wish, like my girlfriends did, that silence and reverence were practiced more often.
I am honored that my daughter's first mother chose us to parent to baby. It is a privilege to raise my little girl. And the photo hanging in my daughter's nursery is a constant reminder that adoption is complicated, beautiful, and most of all, indefinable.
In the photo we are all smiling---but I can only imagine all the thoughts running through each of our minds and the heaviness and anticipation in our hearts.
That day was a tremendous beginning and simultaneously, a devastating ending.
This photo is now held in a lovely, multi-colored, striped frame and is placed on one of the walls in my daughter's nursery. The three of us appear to be friends meeting up for coffee---but truly we are strangers who are joined together with a common goal: to do what we believe is best, in that moment, for a little baby girl.
One evening when my husband was out of town, I had one of my girl parties. This time it was for my girlfriends from my health club---a diverse pack of women, mostly in their forties and fifties (I'm the spring chicken of the bunch), who love to laugh. We had some food, wine, and great conversation. One of my friends came into the nursery with me to while I changed my daughter's diaper. She spotted the photo and asked if that was Ella's mom in the picture, and I said yes. Soon my other girlfriends came in one by one to look at the picture. I suppose they were curious. As each woman entered and exited the room, she was quiet. I'm not sure what that means or what I should think about their silence, or if I should even dare to think about it.
A few times a week, I will point the photo out to my daughter and we will say hello to her first mother. It's a sweet, careful routine. I want my daughter to know who her birth mother is. I want her to be familiar with her face. I already tell my daughter her adoption story and that her first mom loves her very much and always has and always will.
People very much misunderstand birth parents. And we cannot lump birth parents into a category or box. I cannot even begin to tells you how my heart aches when I hear someone say, "Are you afraid she'll show up on your doorstep?" or asks me, "Was she on drugs?" The worst question I have ever heard is, "Why didn't she want her baby?"
I should respond, no, I'm not afraid of her showing up at my house. If she did, I would open the door, let her in, and welcome her. Are you on drugs? Oh, and of course she wanted her daughter. What do you think placing a baby for adoption is? A hateful choice from someone who doesn't care one ounce about her own flesh and blood, the baby she carried for forty weeks?
I will tell you right now that I love and will protect the privacy and dignity of my daughter's first mother. This woman gave my daughter life. This woman is on my heart, my thoughts, and in my prayers every single day. And she's a real person. She is not just the image in the photo in my daughter's room, and she's not the assumption anyone makes.
Like many adoptive moms, I am determined to do what is best for my child, and I'm forever defending and educating. Adopting transracially has created a situation where I'm not only facing adoption stereotypes, but racial stereotypes as well.
God orchestrated our adoption situation, the birth of our child (a child who belongs to two families---in different ways), and hearts that love her---including her first mother's. I wish people would stop and think for a moment before opening their mouths in judgement and assumptions. I wish, like my girlfriends did, that silence and reverence were practiced more often.
I am honored that my daughter's first mother chose us to parent to baby. It is a privilege to raise my little girl. And the photo hanging in my daughter's nursery is a constant reminder that adoption is complicated, beautiful, and most of all, indefinable.
Friday, November 13, 2009
Possibilities, Probabilities, and Privileges
"Every human being has the possibility, probability, and really the privilege of inspiring someone else. Everybody, whether you know it or not, or recognize it or not, you are a teacher. There are people watching you."
Maya Angelou
The Today Show
November 9, 2009
I will be quoting Maya at the diabetes conference tomorrow in an attempt to motivate my fellow PWD (people with diabetes) to take their role in this life seriously. We can educate and inspire others! We can stop the wrong and promote the right.
The same with adoption, particularly transracial adoption. I can take the nosy questions as either an opportunity to educate or an opportunity to tell someone how I really feel---which isn't very nice sometimes! I always try to choose the best answer that will A: protect the privacy of my family while B: teaching someone something "right" about adoption.
By the way, I cried as Maya recited some of the words from "Phenomenal Woman." Please take a few minutes to watch this video clip. Celebrate these women with me.
What can you do to inspire someone today? Remember that whether you know it or not, you are being watched. Make a difference!
Friday, November 6, 2009
Baby Discriminates?
When you have a good twenty minutes, check out Newsweek's article See Baby Discriminate. I was skeptical of the initial claims---but the research and examples provided by the authors opened my eyes.
Particularly, I was interested a few ideas. The first, is that language of happy-happy-racial harmony isn't working:
"It was no surprise that in a liberal city like Austin, every parent was a welcoming multiculturalist, embracing diversity. But according to Vittrup's entry surveys, hardly any of these white parents had ever talked to their children directly about race. They might have asserted vague principles—like "Everybody's equal" or "God made all of us" or "Under the skin, we're all the same"—but they'd almost never called attention to racial differences.
They wanted their children to grow up colorblind. But Vittrup's first test of the kids revealed they weren't colorblind at all. "
I don't want my child to be colorblind---because to me that is disrespectful of her racial makeup which should be, in my opinion, celebrated and embraced. But where to draw the line between everything being about race and nothing being about race...
Next, the fact that ...
"Children naturally try to categorize everything, and the attribute they rely on is that which is the most clearly visible."
(As concluded from experiments discussed in the article---a must read!)
So again, trying to promote diversity, which many parents do, ironically, by promoting color blindness, will naturally not work because of each child's tendency and natural ability to categorize in many ways, including physical color (not recognized as race for a few years).
Brings me to my friend C's son, K, who upon first meeting my daughter when he was two and half years old, said, "Why her brown?"
His mom replied, "That's how Jesus made her."
He liked this answer, accepted it, and continued playing.
What most surprised me...
"How do researchers test a 6-month-old? They show babies photographs of faces. Katz found that babies will stare significantly longer at photographs of faces that are a different race from their parents, indicating they find the face out of the ordinary. Race itself has no ethnic meaning per se—but children's brains are noticing skin-color differences and trying to understand their meaning."
This confirms why my daughter stares intently as my friend A, who is Guatemalan-American. My friend always said, "She wonders why I look like her." I never thought much of it. But come to find out, maybe A has some good points! My daughter recognizes that A looks different (brown skin) from her white mom and dad. Hmmmmm....
I just love the controversies, the questions, and the information that this article brings to light. I encourage everyone to read it!
Particularly, I was interested a few ideas. The first, is that language of happy-happy-racial harmony isn't working:
"It was no surprise that in a liberal city like Austin, every parent was a welcoming multiculturalist, embracing diversity. But according to Vittrup's entry surveys, hardly any of these white parents had ever talked to their children directly about race. They might have asserted vague principles—like "Everybody's equal" or "God made all of us" or "Under the skin, we're all the same"—but they'd almost never called attention to racial differences.
They wanted their children to grow up colorblind. But Vittrup's first test of the kids revealed they weren't colorblind at all. "
I don't want my child to be colorblind---because to me that is disrespectful of her racial makeup which should be, in my opinion, celebrated and embraced. But where to draw the line between everything being about race and nothing being about race...
Next, the fact that ...
"Children naturally try to categorize everything, and the attribute they rely on is that which is the most clearly visible."
(As concluded from experiments discussed in the article---a must read!)
So again, trying to promote diversity, which many parents do, ironically, by promoting color blindness, will naturally not work because of each child's tendency and natural ability to categorize in many ways, including physical color (not recognized as race for a few years).
Brings me to my friend C's son, K, who upon first meeting my daughter when he was two and half years old, said, "Why her brown?"
His mom replied, "That's how Jesus made her."
He liked this answer, accepted it, and continued playing.
What most surprised me...
"How do researchers test a 6-month-old? They show babies photographs of faces. Katz found that babies will stare significantly longer at photographs of faces that are a different race from their parents, indicating they find the face out of the ordinary. Race itself has no ethnic meaning per se—but children's brains are noticing skin-color differences and trying to understand their meaning."
This confirms why my daughter stares intently as my friend A, who is Guatemalan-American. My friend always said, "She wonders why I look like her." I never thought much of it. But come to find out, maybe A has some good points! My daughter recognizes that A looks different (brown skin) from her white mom and dad. Hmmmmm....
I just love the controversies, the questions, and the information that this article brings to light. I encourage everyone to read it!
Monday, November 2, 2009
Interview: Meet J and Family!
I would love for my readers to get to know transracial families. So here is the first of many interviews I'll be sharing with you all.
First up, J and family...
Please state your name, age, occupation and race.
J, 28, SAHM used to be an elem. teacher, so white I'm almost clear!
Tell me the names, ages, and races of your children and spouse.
C (husband), 29, white AKA translucent
E (bio daughter) 4, white AKA see-through
L (son, adopted) 15 months, aa/ca AKA latte
Share with me how you became a transracial family (and/or parts of your adoption story if applicable). Feel free to share if you plan to add to your family in the future.
Adoption was always something I wanted to do. So when I mentioned it to my husband, I was glad to hear he was not opposed. I also knew that I wanted to adopt a child of another race. Again C was on board. We thought it would be WAY down the road though, maybe our 3rd or 4th child. Strangely enough we ended up having fertility problems. So we then began looking into foster care. Of course then we found out that I was pregnant with our first child. So we put adoption on the back burner. We began the adoption process soon after she turned 2. We waited 9 months...coincidently it was the same 9 months I had been pregnant with our daughter. Our little L-man was born on July 28th, 2008 and he is such a blessing. His bio-mom is white and his bio-dad is black. So we now are a transracial family!
Share with me a joy or two that you’ve experienced as a transracial family.
This is a hard question to answer because the joy we have really doesn't have anything to do with being a transracial family. The joy in our family comes from our love for each other and God's love for us. Our son brings joy to us daily, no matter what race he is. But ok, I will tell you this...I love being different. I love that our family isn't "normal". Having a transracial family makes me smile because I always wanted a rainbow family and we are on our way to becoming one.
Share with me a hardship or two that you’ve experienced as a transracial family.
Well our son is only one, so we haven't really had to deal with too many issues yet. I know they will come as he gets older. I try and prepare myself. I guess that is a hardship, knowing I have to be prepared for questions and comments I myself have never even thought about or had to deal with. I have yet to have a rude comment from a stranger, but I'm sure that will come in time as well.
Add anything else that might benefit my readers.
Being a parent is hard no matter what race your children are. The hardest part about being a parent, for me, is the constant worry. So my motto is basically this...fear is from satan so don't let it in. And we all know the verses that teach us about fear. That's what helps me get through each day as a mom...a mom of two...a mom in a transracial family.
First up, J and family...
Please state your name, age, occupation and race.
J, 28, SAHM used to be an elem. teacher, so white I'm almost clear!
Tell me the names, ages, and races of your children and spouse.
C (husband), 29, white AKA translucent
E (bio daughter) 4, white AKA see-through
L (son, adopted) 15 months, aa/ca AKA latte
Share with me how you became a transracial family (and/or parts of your adoption story if applicable). Feel free to share if you plan to add to your family in the future.
Adoption was always something I wanted to do. So when I mentioned it to my husband, I was glad to hear he was not opposed. I also knew that I wanted to adopt a child of another race. Again C was on board. We thought it would be WAY down the road though, maybe our 3rd or 4th child. Strangely enough we ended up having fertility problems. So we then began looking into foster care. Of course then we found out that I was pregnant with our first child. So we put adoption on the back burner. We began the adoption process soon after she turned 2. We waited 9 months...coincidently it was the same 9 months I had been pregnant with our daughter. Our little L-man was born on July 28th, 2008 and he is such a blessing. His bio-mom is white and his bio-dad is black. So we now are a transracial family!
Share with me a joy or two that you’ve experienced as a transracial family.
This is a hard question to answer because the joy we have really doesn't have anything to do with being a transracial family. The joy in our family comes from our love for each other and God's love for us. Our son brings joy to us daily, no matter what race he is. But ok, I will tell you this...I love being different. I love that our family isn't "normal". Having a transracial family makes me smile because I always wanted a rainbow family and we are on our way to becoming one.
Share with me a hardship or two that you’ve experienced as a transracial family.
Well our son is only one, so we haven't really had to deal with too many issues yet. I know they will come as he gets older. I try and prepare myself. I guess that is a hardship, knowing I have to be prepared for questions and comments I myself have never even thought about or had to deal with. I have yet to have a rude comment from a stranger, but I'm sure that will come in time as well.
Add anything else that might benefit my readers.
Being a parent is hard no matter what race your children are. The hardest part about being a parent, for me, is the constant worry. So my motto is basically this...fear is from satan so don't let it in. And we all know the verses that teach us about fear. That's what helps me get through each day as a mom...a mom of two...a mom in a transracial family.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Questions---A Race-Related Rambling
These thoughts run through my head.
What will I teach my daughter about slavery? When? How?
What will I say when she asks why someone is making comments about the color of our President's skin?
Kwanzaa?
Why is only one month of the year Black History Month?
Why do our national holiday's focus on white men? (Columbus, Washington, Lincoln, Pulaski)
Black or African American or African-American?
The N word. What do I tell my daughter about that? When? How?
Why does it seem like most crimes (as reported by the media) are committed by black males?
Why are black people told they are "white" or "Oreo" when they speak standard English?
Why are there rankings of skin color, even if everyone being "graded" is black?
Why do nearly zero percent of advertisements, children's picture books, Hallmark cards, and stock photos feature multi-racial families?
Why do some people still say "colored" when referring to black people?
How do I introduce my child's culture to her without being stereotypical? And is stereotypical bad? Good? Helpful? Hurtful?
How do I celebrate race without down-playing or up-plaing it's significance?
What will I teach my daughter about slavery? When? How?
What will I say when she asks why someone is making comments about the color of our President's skin?
Kwanzaa?
Why is only one month of the year Black History Month?
Why do our national holiday's focus on white men? (Columbus, Washington, Lincoln, Pulaski)
Black or African American or African-American?
The N word. What do I tell my daughter about that? When? How?
Why does it seem like most crimes (as reported by the media) are committed by black males?
Why are black people told they are "white" or "Oreo" when they speak standard English?
Why are there rankings of skin color, even if everyone being "graded" is black?
Why do nearly zero percent of advertisements, children's picture books, Hallmark cards, and stock photos feature multi-racial families?
Why do some people still say "colored" when referring to black people?
How do I introduce my child's culture to her without being stereotypical? And is stereotypical bad? Good? Helpful? Hurtful?
How do I celebrate race without down-playing or up-plaing it's significance?
Sunday, October 25, 2009
The Name Game
Like many of my mommy friends, I get excited about names. I have spent an embarrassing amount of time on Nymbler. I have a growing and ever-changing list of baby names tucked away in my mind.
When my husband and I decided on adoption, we spent the long drives between our home and our parents' houses discussing baby names. My husband, I'm sure, would have preferred to discussing something else, but I was enthusiastic and adamant that we have the crucial baby name conversation time and time again.
Girl names came easily to me. Boy names not so much. I'd throw out a name only to have it rejected. My husband would throw out a name only to have me laugh or tell him that I had a student with that name who drove me crazy. (I've been teaching for five years and teach two to three classes per semester---so, that's a lot of names).
The conversations grew more complex as we tried imagined the races of our future children. I asked myself, "How would this name I choose affect a child who is black? Who is white? Who is Hispanic?" (By the way, our last name is SO white....)
We've all heard that employers will statistically select the resumes of white sounding individuals, based on their names, over individuals whose names indicate that they are of another race.
We hear white people remarking and sometimes poking fun at the odd sounding, hard to spell, or hard to pronounce black names. Or I've heard white people snort (literally) at names like Precious or Princess that AA women give their baby girls.
I once posted on an adoption message board about my conflicting ideas---how to name a child of another race? I remember some women getting very upset that I would even think that I had to be careful about how I named my child because he/she might be black or Hispanic or Asian or another race.
I didn't want to name my daughter Shaniquia simply because I wanted to help my child affirm my child's blackness. And then, how stereoptyical of me to even think of a name like Shaniquia and align that with any sort of indicator of how black my child would be perceived as. (How's that for good grammar?) I didn't want to be desperately trying to make up for the fact that she has white parents. As if a name could "make up" for that. As if I need to make up for anything.
The truth is, I want my daughter to be proud of her name and her family. The two very well have no connection. Or maybe they are connected, intricately, deep down, somewhere. I don't know.
The story continues now, a year after we adopted, because we call my daughter a shortened version of her first name. However, I find myself sometimes introducing her to people of her same race as her full first name because it sounds more black. Because I want the approval of strangers. It's bizarre. On one hand, who cares what anyone else thinks? On the other hand, the approval of the AA community (which I feel through individual encounters) matters to me. I don't want my daughter to be the white-black girl. She's black. And I'm out to prove that to the world. Stupid mommy.
Before you yell "shame" on me, please be patient. I'm trying to do the best I can. I'm trying to figure this whole adoption/transracial/parenthood thing out. It's going to be trial and error, like with many things in life.
When my husband and I decided on adoption, we spent the long drives between our home and our parents' houses discussing baby names. My husband, I'm sure, would have preferred to discussing something else, but I was enthusiastic and adamant that we have the crucial baby name conversation time and time again.
Girl names came easily to me. Boy names not so much. I'd throw out a name only to have it rejected. My husband would throw out a name only to have me laugh or tell him that I had a student with that name who drove me crazy. (I've been teaching for five years and teach two to three classes per semester---so, that's a lot of names).
The conversations grew more complex as we tried imagined the races of our future children. I asked myself, "How would this name I choose affect a child who is black? Who is white? Who is Hispanic?" (By the way, our last name is SO white....)
We've all heard that employers will statistically select the resumes of white sounding individuals, based on their names, over individuals whose names indicate that they are of another race.
We hear white people remarking and sometimes poking fun at the odd sounding, hard to spell, or hard to pronounce black names. Or I've heard white people snort (literally) at names like Precious or Princess that AA women give their baby girls.
I once posted on an adoption message board about my conflicting ideas---how to name a child of another race? I remember some women getting very upset that I would even think that I had to be careful about how I named my child because he/she might be black or Hispanic or Asian or another race.
I didn't want to name my daughter Shaniquia simply because I wanted to help my child affirm my child's blackness. And then, how stereoptyical of me to even think of a name like Shaniquia and align that with any sort of indicator of how black my child would be perceived as. (How's that for good grammar?) I didn't want to be desperately trying to make up for the fact that she has white parents. As if a name could "make up" for that. As if I need to make up for anything.
The truth is, I want my daughter to be proud of her name and her family. The two very well have no connection. Or maybe they are connected, intricately, deep down, somewhere. I don't know.
The story continues now, a year after we adopted, because we call my daughter a shortened version of her first name. However, I find myself sometimes introducing her to people of her same race as her full first name because it sounds more black. Because I want the approval of strangers. It's bizarre. On one hand, who cares what anyone else thinks? On the other hand, the approval of the AA community (which I feel through individual encounters) matters to me. I don't want my daughter to be the white-black girl. She's black. And I'm out to prove that to the world. Stupid mommy.
Before you yell "shame" on me, please be patient. I'm trying to do the best I can. I'm trying to figure this whole adoption/transracial/parenthood thing out. It's going to be trial and error, like with many things in life.
Proverbs 22:1
"A good name is more desirable than great riches [. . .]"
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