Root Cause

My sons (now 19 and 21 years) and I, took a road trip from Texas to New Jersey this summer. It was our first trip as a family, just us three. It was a great bonding experience. I loved having my two sons with me and seeing them connect as brothers. I learned so much about them, especially my youngest. It was amazing how easy it felt for me. I felt balanced. It was also an opportunity to see how adoption has impacted my family.

Both sons helped me drive. My youngest, during a bathroom stop, asked me if he was a better driver than my oldest when just he and I were walking back to the car.

This was not the first time my youngest asked me a question like this and I found myself wondering about the root cause.

I remember our first reunion, six years after his birth. It seemed like there was this need for competition, which is not uncommon for siblings, especially brothers. But my sons (then 6 and 8 years) had not lived as brothers under the same roof. It all started with the bike riding. My youngest had more skill and practice at the time. They were trying to out-race each other which ended badly. Thank goodness no one was physically hurt. But some egos and feelings did get hurt.

Then, the day before we left to return home, my youngest got close to the video camera, lowered his voice and asked if his older brother had worst behavior than him. I was caught off-guard at first. My oldest overheard  him and they joked back and forth which one was worse behaved. I remember having petty arguments with my siblings about who was better. This usually started as a chatted debate with the other sibling. Then, if it could not be resolved, we would enlist our other siblings or a parent to help decide. Since my youngest asked nonchalantly and jokingly, I didn’t think much of it.

Over the years, when our families were visiting each other, them driving down to visit us or us driving up to visit them, my youngest would present a question of comparison. He did so quietly and secretly to me alone. It was always a comparison between him and his older biological brother. However, it was no longer as a light-hearted joke between siblings, but rather a sincere inquiry and a need to know. It concerned me. I would respond as tactfully as I could, trying to deflect while reassuring my youngest that neither was better.

It seemed like others were often comparing my sons. Some wanted to focus on their differences; their hair, their skin tone, their height. For me, none of it was important. I saw too beautiful babies, boys, and now men.

My youngest would sometimes say his brother was darker than him. I found that strange. Technically, my youngest has darker features than my oldest. My oldest has lighter hair, eyes, and skin tone.

I wondered what prompted my youngest to say this. Did he hear someone say his brother looked “more black” than him and in his young, innocent mind, he interpreted it as his brother was darker than him?

My oldest son has never initiated a question like this or compared his younger brother with himself verbally to me. He has yet to ask for my validation between him and his younger brother. That’s not to say that he has never wondered. Naturally, as humans, we all have wondered at some point or another, but we may not always communicate it. Since my youngest communicated it almost every time we visited each other throughout his childhood and now young adulthood, it is a real concern for me. I wonder what has prompted this and why he needs to ask or know if he is better than his brother in my eyes.

Was there a need to be better than by his parents, his family, his friends, or his community than his birth family because he was adopted? Did he grow up with comparison within his family? Is it related to relinquishment and adoption? Did he hear comments? Did he believe that I chose to parent my first born but not him because one was better than the other. Or is it something else completely or possibly all of it combined?

My sons both have unique personalities, skills, and talents that make them special. One is athletic and loves sports; one is creative and loves the arts. They are both really funny and make me laugh. They both have a heart of gold and a quality that is uniquely their own and I love them both!

Measuring or weighing our children is impossible. We can’t measure or weigh skills and talents or our love for them.

 

Advertisements

Black Adoptees Talk About Growing Up in Transracial Families.

“If you’re going to adopt kids, it’s the white parents’ obligation to shepherd them in same-race maturation,” he said. “When you have a transracial family, mixed-race family, you’re going outside the normal. Somebody has to be uncomfortable and it shouldn’t be the child. … Your child should not be your first black friend. That’s the bottom line. If you don’t know no black people, why are you trying to bring one to your home?”  Read more in link below…

3 Black Adoptees Speak About Growing Up with White Parents

Lawsuit, Sperm Bank, Lesbian Couple, Mixed-race Daughter

Lawsuit: Wrong sperm delivered to lesbian couple

Maybe it’s just me but it seems this lawsuit is more about their daughter’s mixed race rather than the sperm banks error. Especially since the couple (aka parents) have included all of this in their legal complaint and lawsuit. Funny how a person can live in a world (sometimes blindly) and be indifferent to the vast racial disparities and scrutiny’s and not really care until it directly impacts ones own life. 

Now all the mixed-race and trans-racial families say together…awe…

“Raising a mixed-race daughter has been stressful in Cramblett and Zinkon’s small, all-white community, according to the suit. Cramblett was raised around people with stereotypical attitudes about nonwhites, the lawsuit states, and did not know African-Americans until she attended college at the University of Akron.

Because of this background and upbringing, Jennifer acknowledges her limited cultural competency relative to African-Americans and steep learning curve, particularly in small, homogenous Uniontown, which she regards as too racially intolerant,” the lawsuit states.”

What Some Intended for Harm, God Intended for Good, Part 2

I got pregnant with Noah eleven months after Jaren was born.  And like Jaren, this pregnancy was unexpected, certainly not planned and once again unintended.   However, this time, I was not as confident as I was when I became pregnant with Jaren.  Rather, I was somewhat fearful, uncertain and wary about my future and our future as a single parent family with the two kids.

After nine months of turmoil as whether or not to have an abortion (something that my children’s father and members of my family wanted), or adoption, or parenting, I was finally ready to give birth to Noah.

A few months earlier, I had talked with my mom and sister about coming to Texas so one of them could take care of Jaren while I was in the hospital giving birth.  Neither one of them was that thrilled about the idea.  It wasn’t so much about taking care of Jaren.  That was the least of their concerns.  Knowing the task at hand and the choice that was laying heavily on me at the time, they both pointed to the other as to say, ‘I think you should go’ or ‘you would be better at this than me’.  The question arose between my mother and sister, “what if she doesn’t want to go through with it?”  My mother was convinced that they would have to find a way to talk me into proceeding with the adoption plan.  This is the moment where coercion subliminally exposes itself.  After they deliberated awhile, my sister made some comment about not being sure she was comfortable with that and finally said, “She’s your daughter; you should be the one to be there.”

After having Jaren, I had lost some family members because of their view of what a family should look like.  Now that I was about to give birth to Jaren’s younger brother, other family members were giving me new ultimatums.  They warned, keeping my new baby may result in losing the rest of my family.  One family member even threatened that if I chose to parent my second child, that I would no longer be welcome in his home.  No mother should have to choose between her child and her family.

I’ve speculated over the years why my family was so headstrong about me not keeping Noah.  Some of my friends jokingly said they had one black child in the family, they didn’t want any more.  But seriously though!  I had been providing a good home to Jaren.  I lived more than a thousand miles away from them.  They weren’t babysitting for me.  I wasn’t asking them for anything.  Nothing!  So why were they so concerned about me parenting my second son about to be born?  It’s mind boggling.  Here I was pregnant and giving birth for the second time and my family was unwilling again to support me, accept me or my family, or my kids.  What should have been a beautiful time for me and my family turned into a dreadful, self-seeking motive for them.

For those who wonder about my adoption intention, this was something I did consider seriously.  However, I knew there was no way that I was going to make that decision while I was still pregnant.  Lots of things can change in nine months.  I understood that all too well.  The following was my statement five months before I gave birth to Noah:

“I understand the above (legal document) and will enter into this agreement only if I am absolutely sure that this is the best decision.”

After I gave birth, I had decided that I couldn’t leave my newborn in the hospital.  It just felt wrong to leave behind my baby boy in the hospital alone. Apparently, unbeknownst to me at the time, my friends and my mother were at odds.  Mom adamantly believed and voiced her opinion that I needed to “give up” this baby.  My friend Sheila (a birthmother), said that was not her place to make those demands.  So when Sheila and mom came to pick me up from the hospital and saw that I had my baby in my arms and I was bringing him home too, mom was very upset.  In fact, I hadn’t seen my mother that upset since her father died.  I could tell she had been crying.  Her face was red and her eyes were swollen.  She wouldn’t look at me.  I had made a choice that she didn’t agree with.  She was sad and mad.  She managed to put on a straight face for the hospital but once we got in the car, her eyes were heavily fighting back tears.  It was a gloomy ride home and I was torn.  I mean, who wants to see their mother crying?  And knowing that you and your choice is the reason she is sad and crying.  It’s a heavy burden to carry.

So I did proceed with relinquishing my parental rights to my new baby boy Noah when he was three days old on Christmas Eve.  On one of the most meaningful holidays of the year, while Christians and non-Christians alike around the world are gathering, eating, opening presents, singing, praying, celebrating with their loved ones, I was getting ready for a goodbye.  But God had different plans.

You intended to harm me, but God intended it all for good.  Genesis 50:20

I’ve had many doubts about my choice to relinquish my parental rights, both before I signed the papers and after.  And the biggest factor that I had the hardest time reconciling was separating my two sons.  If you asked me if I would have gone through with the adoption had my family or mother been less enthusiastic about the adoption of Noah or more supportive of my right to choose without any pressure, I don’t know.  I wish I could have discovered that path on my own instead of feeling like I was given a detour or road block with no choice. However, the one thing I never had any doubts about was the family I had chosen to parent Noah in the chance that I could not.  I felt something special about them.  And they would hold true to that inner quality that I connected with on a piece of paper several months before I gave birth.  For one, we had a verbal open adoption agreement which included sending pictures for 18 years.  However, Noah’s family invited Jaren and me out to lunch less than two weeks after they picked up Noah.  With my family long gone, without a worry or concern how I may be emotional healing or recovering, Noah’s family thought of me.  They could have left that day and could have honored or broke their verbal agreement and no one would have thought anything of it.  I had no legal rights.  My deed was done.  But they didn’t.  They didn’t!

Something in the universe was drawling us together by an action that is normally intended to tear a family apart.

I’ve pondered many times over the years, what if Noah was somewhere out there in the world and I had no idea where he was?  I couldn’t imagine.  And while I have experienced one of the greatest pains a mother can endure, I believe the “not knowing” would have greatly impacted my overall healing and emotional state.

I’ve wondered why Noah’s family decided to keep, increase and cultivate our open adoption agreement.  Despite my children’s father, his family and my family’s initial questionable intentions, Noah’s family has become part of our family.  We’ve made some great memories over the years.  I couldn’t imagine my life without my son Noah or his family in it.  I think for whatever reason, Jaren and I were meant to be a part of Noah’s life in some way.  Whether I was intended to be his parenting mother or not, only God knows.  It’s like the story of Moses.  His mother made a choice in despair.  Once Moses had been found by the pharaoh’s daughter, Moses’ [birth] sister petitions to have Moses’ [birth] mom be his nanny.  Now, was all that a part of the divine plan of God?  I’m sure Moses’ mother must have wondered about her choice to place her son in the river at some point in her life.

In the end, having this unique experience to grow has added another layer to my life’s lessons and has provided spiritual enlightenment.  God gave me two beautiful boys.  I am so proud to have been chosen by God to be their mother, whether I am the parenting mother or the birth mother.

What some intended for harm, God intended for good, part 1

My first born son is a high school junior this year.  It’s hard to believe.  I think back to the time when I first discovered I was pregnant with Jaren.  Yes, he was unexpected.  Yes, he was not planned and under my own limited human perception, unintended.  And even with all that, I was not afraid of my future or our future together; despite his father’s lack of enthusiasm.

Even my family was happy for me.  Until…

Yes, until.

Until about seven months into my pregnancy, they learned that my future son would be half of another race of a man that they did not know nor ever met.  Jaren’s father was mostly African American along with some American Indian.  They acted as if I had done the most horrific thing.  And although I was thirty-four years old and lived more than a thousand miles away, they began to scheme on ways to talk me into getting rid of my baby who had not even been born yet

Then the phone began to ring.  This is how coercion begins.  Mom’s sister called first.  I had not talked with my aunt or seen her in many years.  However, she is calling me not to congratulate me or support me or to ask me how I was doing; no, none of those things.  She was calling me to ask me to “give up” my future infant for adoption.  She was very persuasive in her argument.  Even though just months before she had supported my pregnancy and was a guest at a baby shower given in my honor by my family back home, race had now played a very big factor in my decision to parent my own child.  She thought it would be more difficult to raise a bi-racial son as a single mother.  Apparently raising a white infant is easier than raising a bi-racial infant, especially if the race includes African or a darker skinned race.

It’s not like I didn’t know how my family felt about race.  I remember as a teenager, my mother had a variety of cabbage patch dolls.  One of them was a black cabbage patch doll.  When my niece was a toddler, she would play with the cabbage dolls and carry them over to my step dad.  He would allow my niece to place them in his lap except for one.  Whenever she placed the black cabbage patch doll in his lap, he would throw the doll across the room and call it a derogatory name.  Not the n-word but other derogatory names.  My niece would go get the doll, give it back to him, scold him, and they would repeat this performance several times.

So I knew my family didn’t really care about my role as a single mother.  Neither was their concern that this new offspring that extended from our family tree would get adequate care under my supervision.  They were masking the truth.  They didn’t want to be the family with the daughter who got pregnant by a black man.  They wanted that branch to be removed or at the very least hidden.  If they could just talk me into getting rid of my new baby boy and hide him away through adoption, they would have succeeded; they would have won the coercion battle.

But God had different plans for my son and me.

You intended to harm me, but God intended it all for good.  Genesis 50:20

I don’t know where I would be if I had allowed my family to convince me that parenting my child was wrong.  I’ve thought about that many times over the years.  What if Jaren was somewhere out there in the world and I had no idea where he was?  It’s heartbreaking to think about.  Thankfully, I was stronger and God was louder and I am so very thankful I listened

God has been my source of empowerment and has continued to support and guide me all these years.  I won’t say it’s been easy as a single mother but most things in life are not easy.  But parenting my son has been worth it.  As for the racial aspects, I don’t think it has impacted my life negatively.  I would say I have benefited from the things I have learned as a mother of a mixed-raced family.  Sure, I’ve faced race issues but nothing that I have not been able to handle.  In fact, I would say my family has caused me more hardship about race than society in general.  All of which has helped me learn more about the human race and has increased my understanding and compassion.

As for my son, he is my life.  He has brought so much joy into my world.  He has raised my soul to another level of conscious learning.  I have experienced the greatest love I have ever known.  And I am so proud to have been chosen by God to be his mother.

Colorblind

Color blindness:  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Color_blindness

“I am/we are colorblind,” is a common phrase that I have seen written in a news article, on a Facebook comment, a blog post, and I’ve heard multiple persons use this phrase with my own ears.   And it’s often used in correlation with an individual justifying his or her stance on racism, as if to say, “I am colorblind so therefore I cannot be racist”.

As a mother of a multi-racial family, I find it odd that someone feels they need to be colorblind in order to not feel racist.  Especially since being colorblind is an actual condition and form of a disability.  It’s like when I hear someone say, “I’m practically deaf.”  And this person is nowhere near deaf nor do they wear hearing aids.  As a person who is hearing impaired, I take offense when someone makes a comment like that.

I’ve read blogs about adoptive parents claiming their colorblindness and on the flip side have read blogs by adoptees being very aware of their trans-racial experience from the time they were young.  How can one family have two very differing experiences, one being so blasé about skin color as if they don’t even notice and another experiencing some sort of emotional detachment because of skin color?

So let’s examine this color blindness a little deeper.  I wonder why some people claim to be colorblind as opposed to acknowledging they can see a person’s skin color effortlessly.  Seeing colors is not a bad thing, is it?

How is it that we can we see the beautiful colors of the rainbow, the wild flowers in the field, the blue skies, the tiger’s and zebra’s  stripes, our red, white and blue American Flag and be in awe, but then deny that we recognize someone’s skin tone?  It’s like saying; you don’t notice someone’s striking blonde hair or their piercing blue eyes.  Does that make sense?

One of the things that drew me to my children’s father was his rich darker skin tone.  

On the contrary, the other popular phrase is, “People of color,” while referring to every other ethnic culture or race except the white race, as if to say white is not a color.  This is a strong misconception.  White is a color in the Crayola Crayon box, just like, brown, black, tan, yellow, pink or red.  To claim that white people are not “people of color” is to claim that white people are clear or translucent.  As far as I can tell, my skin has color.  My skin color may or may not be as beautiful as others but it still has color.

Perhaps that’s part of the problem.  When we are all permitted to recognize each other’s skin colors free from preconceived notions or judgments, while acknowledging that every human being is a person of color, then maybe we can move from colorblindness and racism to acceptance.

Trans-racial, Bi-racial

Ying Yang

Ying Yang (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Recently, I was reading a post on a group page where an adoptive mother wrote about an issue within her transracial family that had me stunned.

“Is it possible that my 21 month old biracial son will get darker as he gets older?? Or are most little ones as dark as they will get by this age?”

The reason for her inquiry is that her and her husband had adopted an African American girl, now six years old.  She stated that her daughter was very drawn to people of African American descent so when they chose to adopt again, they wanted to adopt a child of African heritage so their daughter could have someone in the family with a similar appearance and ethnic makeup, all of which is very commendable.  But then the story takes a very different tone.  She states that their 21 month old adopted biracial son doesn’t seem to be dark enough for their daughter to connect with so now they are considering adopting again but they are not sure if they should wait for a full blooded African American child or adopt another possible biracial child that was available.  

As a birth mother of biracial children, I take personal issue with this.  Since when do people get to treat children like merchandise in a store?

Naturally, this sweet little girl in the post is attracted to people who look like her.  She was born to people who look like her.  But buying more Black babies is not the answer to fulfill their daughter’s needs.  Thoughts and comments like the one this white adopted mother has expressed are irresponsible, inconsiderate and very disrespectful to her darker skinned children and to the biological birth families. 

When my son’s adoptive parents took their new son to the doctor for his first post-birth checkup, they were confronted with some derogatory comments.  One of the staff members seemed to be concerned about our mutual son’s future skin color.  They warned the adoptive parents that he would have really dark skin and questioned if it was ethical for this all blonde-haired, blue-eyed family to adopt him.

Personally, I don’t have an issue with people adopting outside their race.  I believe the most important things a child needs is a stable home, love and protection.  However, the one thing that does really irritate me is when white families adopt children outside their race and then make their children fit in their white world.  That is an ethnic crime.  For a child to be raised in a white family is one thing.  But then to live in a predominantly white neighborhood, and attend a white church and predominantly white schools is another thing all together and is a grave disservice to the adoptee and their ethnic birthright.

When an adoptee is surrounded by another race and ethnicity, there are other ways that adoptive parents can introduce and include the adoptee’s ethnic culture.  But often times, this is not the case.  

Now I understand that some ethnic communities may be harder to locate than others, depending on where you live.  But, if your adopted child is of African descent, there is no excuse.  Even the smallest of towns have African American Communities with hard working black families.

I wonder why these white adoptive families don’t make more of an effort to be around their child’s ethnic societies.  Why some white adoptive parents of African American children refuse to go out and eat in a Black neighborhood?  Or visit an all-Black church once in a while.  Or shop in a predominantly Black district?  Why indeed?  Is it because they fear that they will be the minority and only White people there?  They might feel uncomfortable?  Will they feel as though they do not belong or fit in?  Or is it because they fear as though they might feel out of their comfort zone?  Surely, it could not be because they don’t like black people since they have adopted a black baby, child, person, right?

So why would they force this upon their child?  And…what message is this teaching their child?

As adoptive parents, if you don’t have any friends (and by friends I mean that are invited over to your house or socially hang out with you) that are non-white folks, you are not part of the solution; you are part of the problem.

We should ask why a transracial adoptive parent chooses not to have any relationships with people of different races especially of the race that mirrors their adopted child.

That doesn’t mean a “token” ethnic friend.  It means acquiring ethnically diverse friends organically.

I understand that white adoptive parents many times, have not experienced a romantic love interest or relationship with someone of their child’s ethnic heritage, unlike biological parents.  But that’s no excuse.

As a biological mother of biracial sons, I too have a responsibility to honor my child’s diverse heritage.  Most biological families don’t have to go searching for it.  We have fallen in love with someone who matches our offspring’s race.  Our families and our friends are all among our community in which we live and breathe.  Even when our children are being raised in single parent homes, many of us still understand how important it is for our children to be able to identify with his or her ethnic heritage on both sides of his or her racial makeup.  That doesn’t mean we understand what it means to be black or the spectrum of racism but it does mean that we have probably had to deal with some level of racism or bigotry due to our mixed race family.

As parents, it’s our job to lead by example, no matter if we are a one-race family, a bi-racial, trans-racial or multiracial family; we all have a responsibility to teach our children about diversity.  We can preach diversity and acceptance all we want, but if our actions don’t match our words, the point is rather mute. 

The only way to truly teach acceptance is by your example.  Many Americans of ALL races, ethnic, religions and social status have not learned that.

So, my question for adoptive parents is, if you are willing to adopt outside your race but you don’t choose folks who look like your child to be invited into your home or chosen to be among your closest friends, what does that say about you?

Perception

Perception

  1. the act or the effect of perceiving

Funny but it still surprises me when I witness someone change their perception of me.  It happened today.

I sat next to a gentleman that I have seen and spoke greetings to for the past couple years.  He is an older man, more of a father type figure.  He has complimented me in the past and told me that I have a positive energy about me that shines.  That always makes me feel good.  It’s much better than someone telling me I am beautiful or something related to my exterior appearance.  An inner glow means that I am shining God’s light and I am living in the light.

The last few months, we’ve sat down after the church service and have gotten to know each other a little better.  He learned that I have a son and I recently introduced them.

Today, he and I sat together during service.  On the way out, he noticed a book I was reading.  I showed it to him, Twenty Things Adopted Kids Wish Their Adoptive Parents Knew, by Sherri Eldridge.  He got a puzzled look on his face and asked why I was reading this book.  I wondered how curious he really was.

Now at this point, I hesitate for just a moment.  Do I hide the truth and tell him it just seemed like an interesting book to read or do I share the real reason?  I decided to share the true reason.  Truth is always better, right?

I tell him that I am a birth mom.  He looks at me, puzzled again, and then repeats it back to me as a question, “You’re a birth mom?”  Then he fumbles for words to understand and says, “So your son is your son (referring to Jaren), right?”

Calmly with a gentle smile, I explain that Jaren is my son but I had another son who I placed for adoption.

To ease the conversation, I tell my friend how the book is very insightful for anyone to read.  I explain how society has so many stereotypes based around adoption and this book provides a lot of insight.  I see his wheels turning in his mind.  He still seems to be hung up on the “birth” term.

This has happened on many occasions after I tell someone I am a birth mom.   People sometimes get confused on the adoption terminology.  “Who is who again?”  They know me or think they know me but now they’re not sure I am who I am.  I see them trying to figure out their response to me which is contingent on which role I took in the adoption process.  Am I the hero or the villain?

He again grapples to understand and says, “So you have another son that doesn’t live with you?”

“Yes,” I reply.

I see his whole facial expression change.  Something turns in his eyes.  We’ve all been in this situation.  We see or hear something that makes us feel uncomfortable and we try concealing what we think in our mind or feel in our heart.  A positive thought has transferred into a negative thought which almost instantaneously reflects outwardly in the human’s eye.  We try to keep our composure, hide our thoughts and hope that our eyes do not reveal our true feelings.  We don’t want to intentionally hurt anyone.

My church friend’s warm and caring eyes have now become aloof  as he rustles with the stereotypes he has learned from the past.  My self-image takes a direct hit.  

This is where I get really confused.  I mean when I was going through this process, the adoption agency, my mother and parts of society convinced me I was doing this wonderful thing.  I was commended for making the “right” choice.  I was told I was being selfless.  I was like a…..a hero.  But when I get this kind of response still after thirteen years, it makes me question my choice.

So what am I?  Am I a villain or a hero?  Am I selfless or heartless?

The Birth/Adoption Community

I’ll admit, before I entered into the birth/adoptive community, I was somewhat naïve, judgmental and probably insensitive to what individuals in this community experienced. Now that I have joined the ranks of millions maybe even billions of other birth parents, adoptees and adopters, I see this community in a whole new light.

When I was seeking my son’s new family, all I had to go on at the time was my instincts. I would be choosing complete strangers to whom I had not once previously met; to love, nurture, and parent my child for a lifetime. This in itself is a very daunting task. And then being the mother of a bi-racial son, added to my apprehension for my son’s wellbeing. I mean, just one year prior, members of my own family wanted me to place my first born child for adoption solely on the basis of his mixed ethnicity. I wondered how the families seeking to adopt my new son would differ in their views. Did some or perhaps most carry the same prejudices? Would they be more concerned about his racial background or would they just see a precious child created by God and be willing to love and honor his ethnicity?

I remember almost every detail on the day I reviewed the two family packets who wanted to adopt my son. Yes, only two. Most women (birth mothers to be) will have around ten or more families to consider for their unborn child. I had two. These two white American families were the ones who told the agency they were interested in adopting my baby. It does seem insensitive at times. After all, it’s not like going to a car dealership. I want this color with this kind of hair and these features and so on. But sadly, this is how some people view adoption should be. So naturally, I wondered if these families really wanted my baby or if they were just desperate for any baby. There is a difference.

I understand why some families may not want to adopt outside their race. They fear what others will say and they wonder how their new family will fit into a society. I can tell you from personal experience; at times, it can be more challenging to navigate in the world when your family is of a mixed race. It is what it is. Choosing to do what is right though is not always choosing to do what is easy. And it appears to me that those who are prejudice against other races or are against interracial couples are less judgmental and more accepting of families who adopt bi-racial children than those who conceive them naturally. However, if you are considering adopting a child who is not of your race, think it over long and hard. When someone gives you a stare or makes a comment, how will you respond? I know of one incident that didn’t go so well.

An adoptive mother was checking out in a store with her oldest, biological son and her adopted, bi-racial son. Her adopted son, who was a young toddler at the time, was sitting in the shopping cart. A lady behind them kept staring at them. After a few minutes, the adoptive mother annoyed by the stares barks, “He’s adopted, okay?” Now I know some of you may not see anything wrong with this but hear me out for a moment.

First of all, I am a white mother of a bi-racial son. I have had stares while checking out and not once have I felt the need to blurt out to a complete stranger that my son was biologically mine or that I conceived him.  The adoptive mother’s statement tells this stranger that there is a reason she has this bi-racial child. This is where the hero title comes into play. “You see, I adopted him. I am the good person. I didn’t have a relationship with a black man; I just adopted the child from the woman who did”.

Lastly, if this child was five years old, ten or fifteen years old, would his mother shout out, “He’s adopted,” in front of him? I wonder how that might make her “adopted” son feel? This was neither the time nor the place. Just because he is a baby, and cannot speak, doesn’t mean that he cannot hear or that he doesn’t understand. Trust me; he does understand even if he cannot verbalize his words.

As any mother knows, when you leave your child with someone new, whether it is a new nanny, new daycare or new baby sitter, we worry and hope that our child is getting the best care possible until we pick them up. The difference is when a birth mother leaves her baby with his/her new caretaker, she’s gravely aware that she will not be picking him/her up later on that day. She knows it may be a lifetime until she sees her child again and for some, they weren’t even lucky enough to have that. They left this world not knowing if their choice to relinquish their parental rights to parent their child hindered their child’s experience or enhanced it. Many women took their final breath without ever having the opportunity to see a smile on their child’s face, to caress his cheek or to stroke her hair. I know some of these women and my heart weeps for them.

As for me, I am able to know my son through open adoption. I have touched his face, kissed his cheeks and I’ve seen his beautiful smile light up the room. I know that my birth son’s family has provided a good home to him. And I know they love him. The mere fact that they thought it was important to share their son with his original family says a great deal about their character and it shows respect to me as a human being.

We created our own version of the birth/adoption community and what it meant to us.

Who knows how our son will feel when he is grown. Only time will tell. I hope the fact that he has been able to know his birth family while growing up with his adoptive family has only enhanced his quality of life and that he knows that although I gave him to his adoptive parents; it doesn’t mean that I didn’t love him. I am still here, ever present with love and acceptance, watching him grow and expecting him to do great things with his life.