Sunday, March 26, 2006
Saturday, March 11, 2006
The Color of Love
I have been considering the issue of race and racial identity since I began thinking about adopting. Will I be able to parent a child of another race? Will I be cheating him out of a racially congruent family? How will I make sure that he grows up with a healthy love of himself? Am I comfortable with becoming a minority family? The questions are endless, and the answers very elusive.
I don't believe in "color blind". I don't think that loving my child is enough when it comes to forming a multi-racial household. I do think (hope) that having a white mom is better than a childhood in the foster care system only to be abandoned the second you turn 18, ready or not.
Last Saturday, D was talking about how I live on the east side and grandma lives on the west side. A little while later, he bursts out with "All the people on the east side are white!" Now this is far from reality, but on that day, every single person outside was white. I began praying for any person of color to make an appearance. A group of kids would be especially comforting. It was not to be. All white all the way home.
Even though I have been thinking about all of this for a long time, I was surprisingly unprepared when the topic came up. I had planned to talk about it with him, and make sure that he was ok with a white family. Assure him that he would not be cut off from the black community or be expected to be somebody he was not. Have I been avoiding it? Maybe. I guess I just didn't want the happy bubble to burst yet. Or have him look at me and go "Oh no! You're WHITE? I don't want to do this anymore! This is not the family I signed up for."
That, thankfully, is not what happened, but the exchange was miles away from being the satisfying and loving chat that I fantasized about. He expressed his worry about the issue, and I told him I'm glad he told me because I think we should be able to talk about it. DOH! Hopefully, he will get used to my fumbling attempts at being his mom, and now that the race door is opened maybe we can explore that a little further each time it comes up.
I don't believe in "color blind". I don't think that loving my child is enough when it comes to forming a multi-racial household. I do think (hope) that having a white mom is better than a childhood in the foster care system only to be abandoned the second you turn 18, ready or not.
Last Saturday, D was talking about how I live on the east side and grandma lives on the west side. A little while later, he bursts out with "All the people on the east side are white!" Now this is far from reality, but on that day, every single person outside was white. I began praying for any person of color to make an appearance. A group of kids would be especially comforting. It was not to be. All white all the way home.
Even though I have been thinking about all of this for a long time, I was surprisingly unprepared when the topic came up. I had planned to talk about it with him, and make sure that he was ok with a white family. Assure him that he would not be cut off from the black community or be expected to be somebody he was not. Have I been avoiding it? Maybe. I guess I just didn't want the happy bubble to burst yet. Or have him look at me and go "Oh no! You're WHITE? I don't want to do this anymore! This is not the family I signed up for."
That, thankfully, is not what happened, but the exchange was miles away from being the satisfying and loving chat that I fantasized about. He expressed his worry about the issue, and I told him I'm glad he told me because I think we should be able to talk about it. DOH! Hopefully, he will get used to my fumbling attempts at being his mom, and now that the race door is opened maybe we can explore that a little further each time it comes up.
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