Here’s something interesting I’ve learned: white people get weird when I call my child “black.” There’s the eye darting back and forth to see if anyone heard, and the shifting from one foot to another indicating a level of discomfort. Oh, and the puzzled look that seems to be silently asking, “Did you mean to say African American?”
What I’ve learned from my black friends is that it’s a personal preference. Most people I know prefer “black.” But, because we’re such a “politically correct” world these days, people—especially white people—are sensitive (maybe overly?) to the term “African American.”
My favorite story about this is from a black man I know from England who now lives in the US. He told me that once when talking with a white woman here in town, he referred to himself in the third person as a black man, and she corrected him by saying, “you mean African American" (it was a statement, not a question). He just stared at her letting a few moments pass while she’s staring back at him as if to say, “Well, aren’t you going to correct yourself?” Finally he says, in his English accent, “I’m not from America.”
My first experience with this, with our daughter Ava, was when the neighborhood kids (twins, black) dropped by to say hello after Ava was born. When she was first born, Ava was very pale, with straight black hair. One of the twins asked, “What is she?” I was a little confused by the question, but then answered, “She’s African American.” By the look on their faces, I may as well have said she was a Martian. Then the other twin says, “Do you mean like Indian or Native American?” Now I’m staring at them like they’re from Mars, after all, they are both “African American.” My husband steps in and says, “She’s black.” And the light bulb goes on for the twins—and me—and we continue oohing and aahing over Ava.
I quickly learned that when I’m speaking to a black person, I refer to Ava as “black.” When I’m talking to a white person—other than my family or close friends—I say “African American.” It’s a whole lot easier than enduring the momentary awkward silence and the looks (though sometimes I do simply say: In general, most black people I know prefer or are okay with the term black). But, for the most part, I don't feel obligated to explain “black” vs “African American” to a complete stranger. It’s probably not really my place to anyway, what with me being white and all.
February 10, 2009
January 27, 2009
What's In a Name?
Shakespeare tells us that a rose by another other name still smells as sweet. True. But, names are very personal. And when you don’t have full control over naming your child—something that couples who biologically birth their kids have probably never thought off—that, well, kind of stinks.
There are arguments for both sides. Adoption agencies often promise birth moms naming rights, in an effort to help make the difficult, selfless decision to place a child for adoption just a little less difficult. I can understand that, I can. But at the same time, this will be your child. You will be raising this child and calling them by their given name for life. What if you can’t get behind the name a birth mother chooses?
In an ideal (adoption) world, birth moms and forever families (as we fondly refer to ourselves) come up with a name—or two, first and middle—together. But still, for what ever reason, naming is a sacred “right,” or so we are taught to believe, and even a privilege bestowed upon us as parents. It is not something taken lightly, for most people (your average celebrity not withstanding). So yes, it is sad and it does stink when we can’t name our own children. And yes, of course I am happy to have a child, so does it really matter that child’s name? (I’m a little tired of hearing comments from well-intentioned friends and family, can you tell?) It does matter, a little.
To Shakespeare’s credit, we will always love our child(ren) no matter if their name is Pilot Inspektor (actor Jason Lee’s son) or Ella, but there is just something about being able to give the gift of a name to your child. Something magical and wonderful. Though, by the same token—even though it would not have been my first choice—our birth mother gave our daughter her middle name, and that is a great gift our daughter will always have from her birth mother (we were able to give our daughter her first name, the name we call her by).
So then, why is it so important to have control over naming our children? Is that it, an issue of “control?” I’m not sure I can answer that. I think it’s the personal aspect of the whole thing. You spend all this time conjuring up a name for your child—possibly a family name, maybe one you’ve made up, or even one from your favorite character in a book—and then to be told, “Sorry. Yes this is your child, but she’s been named for you.” That stings a little.
But hey, welcome to the world of adoption, where the pros most definitely, hands-down out-weigh the cons by a mile, but the cons offer ups some scenarios you might not have ever considered.
There are arguments for both sides. Adoption agencies often promise birth moms naming rights, in an effort to help make the difficult, selfless decision to place a child for adoption just a little less difficult. I can understand that, I can. But at the same time, this will be your child. You will be raising this child and calling them by their given name for life. What if you can’t get behind the name a birth mother chooses?
In an ideal (adoption) world, birth moms and forever families (as we fondly refer to ourselves) come up with a name—or two, first and middle—together. But still, for what ever reason, naming is a sacred “right,” or so we are taught to believe, and even a privilege bestowed upon us as parents. It is not something taken lightly, for most people (your average celebrity not withstanding). So yes, it is sad and it does stink when we can’t name our own children. And yes, of course I am happy to have a child, so does it really matter that child’s name? (I’m a little tired of hearing comments from well-intentioned friends and family, can you tell?) It does matter, a little.
To Shakespeare’s credit, we will always love our child(ren) no matter if their name is Pilot Inspektor (actor Jason Lee’s son) or Ella, but there is just something about being able to give the gift of a name to your child. Something magical and wonderful. Though, by the same token—even though it would not have been my first choice—our birth mother gave our daughter her middle name, and that is a great gift our daughter will always have from her birth mother (we were able to give our daughter her first name, the name we call her by).
So then, why is it so important to have control over naming our children? Is that it, an issue of “control?” I’m not sure I can answer that. I think it’s the personal aspect of the whole thing. You spend all this time conjuring up a name for your child—possibly a family name, maybe one you’ve made up, or even one from your favorite character in a book—and then to be told, “Sorry. Yes this is your child, but she’s been named for you.” That stings a little.
But hey, welcome to the world of adoption, where the pros most definitely, hands-down out-weigh the cons by a mile, but the cons offer ups some scenarios you might not have ever considered.
January 09, 2009
Still Sad After All These Months
It’s been five months since we didn’t bring home Ava’s birth sibling. And it still hurts. Even though I am a firm believer in that you and the baby meant to be yours will find each other, it still sucks waiting. Especially when everything indicated that we would be bringing home a son last August.
Now we wait, and debate whether or not to look at different agencies since the one we are working with doesn’t place many children of color. As much as we want a boy, more importantly, we don’t want Ava to be the only family member of a different color. Maybe she couldn’t care less when she gets older, (she’s too young to understand now), but I feel very strongly about adopting another child of color. Not just black (although that is probably my preferred choice), Hispanic, mixed race, or the like is okay by us.
This is not meant to offend anyone or make anyone feel sorry for us, but people who have not adopted, have no idea what it’s like to not know when you might have a child. To not know whether or not you can name that child (think about it—naming is hugely important and when you adopt, you don’t always get to name your child). To have little or no control over most aspects of starting or growing your family. There is so much more, so much, that people adopting have to go through just to get on a waiting list, but it's too exhuasting to list it all out.
I’m not feeling sorry for myself—I wouldn’t change my experience for anything in the world; I have the most wonderful, beautiful, and amazing child there is (of course I’m bias!). And some might try to argue that couples going through infertility treatments are in the same boat. (I will have to respectfully disagree, and perhaps touch on that at a later date). But the waiting, the not knowing, the uncertainty, it hurts.
Adopting is tough; you have to be a strong person. But it is worth it. An interesting, heart-breaking, up-lifting, unique journey that is making me a better person. Or so I tell myself.
Now we wait, and debate whether or not to look at different agencies since the one we are working with doesn’t place many children of color. As much as we want a boy, more importantly, we don’t want Ava to be the only family member of a different color. Maybe she couldn’t care less when she gets older, (she’s too young to understand now), but I feel very strongly about adopting another child of color. Not just black (although that is probably my preferred choice), Hispanic, mixed race, or the like is okay by us.
This is not meant to offend anyone or make anyone feel sorry for us, but people who have not adopted, have no idea what it’s like to not know when you might have a child. To not know whether or not you can name that child (think about it—naming is hugely important and when you adopt, you don’t always get to name your child). To have little or no control over most aspects of starting or growing your family. There is so much more, so much, that people adopting have to go through just to get on a waiting list, but it's too exhuasting to list it all out.
I’m not feeling sorry for myself—I wouldn’t change my experience for anything in the world; I have the most wonderful, beautiful, and amazing child there is (of course I’m bias!). And some might try to argue that couples going through infertility treatments are in the same boat. (I will have to respectfully disagree, and perhaps touch on that at a later date). But the waiting, the not knowing, the uncertainty, it hurts.
Adopting is tough; you have to be a strong person. But it is worth it. An interesting, heart-breaking, up-lifting, unique journey that is making me a better person. Or so I tell myself.
January 08, 2009
Hair, There, and Everywhere
Is it because of my daughter’s beautiful curls or the fact that she’s black and I’m white that so many people stop us to talk about her hair? It is beautiful (according to our good friend and neighbor, whom my daughter calls grandma and who is an African American woman, Ava’s hair is a grade of curl many black women pay to try to achieve).
For the most part, we have received positive comments from both black and white people. Only once did a woman mutter a negative comment under her breath, which I called her on, and we had a “discussion” in the middle of a store. I couldn’t say what I would have liked to say back to her, as Ava was with me and how I react is how she will learn to react to stranger’s comments about our “different” looking family and the like. So, I flashed my pearly whites and took the old adage, kill ‘em with kindness.
I was upset and shaking afterward, but I know things like that are bound to happen, unfortunately. When I spoke with my neighbor about it later, she was pretty appalled and told me just to ignore the comment, because the lady clearly had no idea what she was talking about. She’d accused me of not taking care of my daughter’s hair, when in fact, my daughter’s hair is well taken care of and in fantastic shape.
But what strikes me as interesting is that while occasionally (but very rarely) do I hear people comment on a white child’s hair (interestingly, I have only heard people comment on white kids with curly hair), I have never heard anyone say anything negative about a white kids hair. And look around. I’m not afraid to say it, there are some white kids out there who look like they haven’t combed their hair in weeks, with lopsided ponytails and some serious bedhead. So why doesn't anyone comment on that? Beside the fact that it's just out-right rude...
It is something to think about: are people commenting on Ava’s hair because it’s beautiful or because they're curious if a white woman can care for a black child’s hair? I’m sure I’ll be commenting on this a lot, as I continue to educate myself on the best ways to care for Ava's hair (yes, I actually do educate myself; I make no assumptions).
In the meantime, here are some of my favorite sites for Ava’s hair care products (I have ordered from all of these and love their all-natural, paraben and SLS free products):
Blended Cutie’s Hair Care (by Blended Beauty)
Carol's Daughter
SistasPlace
For the most part, we have received positive comments from both black and white people. Only once did a woman mutter a negative comment under her breath, which I called her on, and we had a “discussion” in the middle of a store. I couldn’t say what I would have liked to say back to her, as Ava was with me and how I react is how she will learn to react to stranger’s comments about our “different” looking family and the like. So, I flashed my pearly whites and took the old adage, kill ‘em with kindness.
I was upset and shaking afterward, but I know things like that are bound to happen, unfortunately. When I spoke with my neighbor about it later, she was pretty appalled and told me just to ignore the comment, because the lady clearly had no idea what she was talking about. She’d accused me of not taking care of my daughter’s hair, when in fact, my daughter’s hair is well taken care of and in fantastic shape.
But what strikes me as interesting is that while occasionally (but very rarely) do I hear people comment on a white child’s hair (interestingly, I have only heard people comment on white kids with curly hair), I have never heard anyone say anything negative about a white kids hair. And look around. I’m not afraid to say it, there are some white kids out there who look like they haven’t combed their hair in weeks, with lopsided ponytails and some serious bedhead. So why doesn't anyone comment on that? Beside the fact that it's just out-right rude...
It is something to think about: are people commenting on Ava’s hair because it’s beautiful or because they're curious if a white woman can care for a black child’s hair? I’m sure I’ll be commenting on this a lot, as I continue to educate myself on the best ways to care for Ava's hair (yes, I actually do educate myself; I make no assumptions).
In the meantime, here are some of my favorite sites for Ava’s hair care products (I have ordered from all of these and love their all-natural, paraben and SLS free products):
Blended Cutie’s Hair Care (by Blended Beauty)
Carol's Daughter
SistasPlace
It Takes Two...
I was recently asked to write a book review for Adoption Mosaic, the fantastic organization for which I serve on the program committee. I chose to write about And Tango Makes Three, a wonderful book about Roy and Silo, two chinstrap penguins at the Central Park Zoo in New York City, who have been a couple since 1998.
In a nutshell, it’s a story about the love it takes to be a family. Penguin couples can generally only care for one egg at a time, so in 2000, when another penguin couple laid two eggs, Roy Gramzay, their keeper, gave one egg—and Roy and Silo—a chance to be a family.
Roy and Silo watched the other penguins build a nest and hatch an egg, then did the same with the egg Mr. Gramzay brought to them. They take turns caring for the egg and one day it hatches. Mr. Gramzay named the baby Tango, “because it takes two to make a Tango.” Tango is the first penguin at the zoo to have two daddies.
While working on my review, out of curiosity, I went to Amazon to see what other readers had to say about the book and I came across this lovely gem by “conservative mother”:
“This is disgusting. What is the world coming to when we have filth like this being given to our children. All this book is going to do is confuse them!”
(did I mention it's a book about penguins?!)
As a parent, and especially an adoptive parent, I was furious. This is simply a story about family bonds, and the dedication and determination Roy and Silo exhibit during their quest to raise a family. This story will help introduce children to the different ways families are created—an extremely important thing in today’s culture where families are made up of parents of different colors, two moms or two dads, and so on.
Of course I had to post a response:
“What a sad world for children to grow up in when someone finds a book about wanting to be a family ‘disgusting.’ This wonderful true story teaches children that families and love come in all different packages (think adoption, single parents, being raised by grandparents). The only ‘filth’ are comments of intolerance such as yours that have no place in a book review. My child (who happens to have been adopted) loves this book and is not the least bit confused by it.”
So, there you have it. I recommend this book to anyone—it’s a wonderful story.
In a nutshell, it’s a story about the love it takes to be a family. Penguin couples can generally only care for one egg at a time, so in 2000, when another penguin couple laid two eggs, Roy Gramzay, their keeper, gave one egg—and Roy and Silo—a chance to be a family.
Roy and Silo watched the other penguins build a nest and hatch an egg, then did the same with the egg Mr. Gramzay brought to them. They take turns caring for the egg and one day it hatches. Mr. Gramzay named the baby Tango, “because it takes two to make a Tango.” Tango is the first penguin at the zoo to have two daddies.
While working on my review, out of curiosity, I went to Amazon to see what other readers had to say about the book and I came across this lovely gem by “conservative mother”:
“This is disgusting. What is the world coming to when we have filth like this being given to our children. All this book is going to do is confuse them!”
(did I mention it's a book about penguins?!)
As a parent, and especially an adoptive parent, I was furious. This is simply a story about family bonds, and the dedication and determination Roy and Silo exhibit during their quest to raise a family. This story will help introduce children to the different ways families are created—an extremely important thing in today’s culture where families are made up of parents of different colors, two moms or two dads, and so on.
Of course I had to post a response:
“What a sad world for children to grow up in when someone finds a book about wanting to be a family ‘disgusting.’ This wonderful true story teaches children that families and love come in all different packages (think adoption, single parents, being raised by grandparents). The only ‘filth’ are comments of intolerance such as yours that have no place in a book review. My child (who happens to have been adopted) loves this book and is not the least bit confused by it.”
So, there you have it. I recommend this book to anyone—it’s a wonderful story.
October 31, 2008
Back on Track
Okay, it's time for me to get back on track and focus on what I'd intended this blog to discuss: adoption related issues, and in particular, transracial adoption stuff.
Just so you know, November is National Adoption Awareness Month and November 15 is National Adoption Day. Let's begin with a brief history.
Apparently "adoption is an ancient arrangement" practiced by Greeks, Romans Egyptians, etc., though the concept of adoption was not legally recognized in the US until the 1850s* (Trivia question: what state enacted the first adoption statute? Massachusetts).
Moving on...my hope, through this blog, is to help bring adoption to the forefront of people's minds, help people understand (and appreciate) appropriate language when referring to children/people who have been adopted, and see adoption as a viable--and wonderful--option for building a family. Phew. I have a lot of work to do.
So, what kinds of things could you do during Adoption Awareness Month? Too much to post in one blog, but you can start with becoming more aware about adoption in general. Talk with someone you know who has adopted a child. Learn about their experiences, their fears, and their unforgettable moments.
Most importantly, know that families are made in all kinds of ways (two moms; two dads; one mom, one dad; single parents, grandparents as guardians)--adoption is just one very wonderful way to build a family.
*The History of Adoption: http://www.researchetcinc.com/historyofadoption.html
Just so you know, November is National Adoption Awareness Month and November 15 is National Adoption Day. Let's begin with a brief history.
Apparently "adoption is an ancient arrangement" practiced by Greeks, Romans Egyptians, etc., though the concept of adoption was not legally recognized in the US until the 1850s* (Trivia question: what state enacted the first adoption statute? Massachusetts).
Moving on...my hope, through this blog, is to help bring adoption to the forefront of people's minds, help people understand (and appreciate) appropriate language when referring to children/people who have been adopted, and see adoption as a viable--and wonderful--option for building a family. Phew. I have a lot of work to do.
So, what kinds of things could you do during Adoption Awareness Month? Too much to post in one blog, but you can start with becoming more aware about adoption in general. Talk with someone you know who has adopted a child. Learn about their experiences, their fears, and their unforgettable moments.
Most importantly, know that families are made in all kinds of ways (two moms; two dads; one mom, one dad; single parents, grandparents as guardians)--adoption is just one very wonderful way to build a family.
*The History of Adoption: http://www.researchetcinc.com/historyofadoption.html
September 22, 2008
Barbie: Friend or Foe?
So my three year old daughter recently learned that there were a bunch of my old Barbie dolls hanging out in the attic, and begged me to get them down. I think three is a little young for Barbies, but she loves dressing her baby dolls and so I said okay.
I'm really not even sure where she learned about Barbies, though I can guess it was daycare. But, oh boy. When I mentioned the "B" word to my good friend (a woman), she was none too happy, which got me thinking.
And I'm going to come right out and say what I was thinking: I don't have any issues with Barbie. I truly believe that I have one of the most positive and healthy self body images of any of my women friends, and I grew up playing with Barbie dolls.
Yes, Barbie's proportions are all out of wack, of course they are; she's a plastic doll. Never once in all my years of playing with Barbie did I look at her and think: "Gee, Barbie, I wish I could look just like you." In fact, that never even crossed my mind until people started getting all worked up over Barbie, her size, and her looks. I grew up with black, Latina, and white Barbies (with red, brown, and blond hair), by the way. As well as the original Ken doll who has actual hair--that is almost shoulder length and brown--and is really pale (not oddly tan like today's Ken).
I do recognize the extreme importance of promoting positive, healthy body images, especially for our young girls (though boys are suffering from body images, as well). This is a huge "hot button" issue for me. But I believe these are learned first from our mothers (and even our fathers). My mother didn't stand in the mirror naked beating herself up over her weight or size. In fact, I never heard my mom say much of anything about her body, other than we need to respect our bodies.
Too many girls out there (and a lot of women I know) don't have this same experience, and that's unfortunate. Instead, women's poor body images are being blamed on things like Barbie being proportionally incorrect--and that's not the whole story; there are so many other factors involved. And to attempt to solve the issue, we need to look at the whole picture.
All I know is that it never occurred to me that I should try to look like Barbie or that there were even women out there who did look like Barbie. She's a plastic doll. Maybe I'm in the minority with this.
I just enjoyed putting Barbie in interesting scenarios (crime fighting, horse back riding on all my plastic horses, parading her around the "Cat Collar" bar I liked to pretend she worked in) and changing her clothes 15 times in an hour. If there was anything negative that came from my Barbie playing, it would have to be that I often can't seem to stay in one outfit the whole day long. I'll probably need to work with my daughter on this.
I realize I am over simplifying a very complex matter. And maybe I'm a little sensitive to how other women will react when I mention I let my daughter play with Barbies. But all I'm getting at is that I will make damn sure that my daughter understands Barbie is not real, nor are her proportions, and help my daughter in every way I possibly can to feel good about who she is, what size she is, and what color she is, all while allowing her the freedom to have imaginary playtime with a plastic doll.
Next up: Are Bert and Ernie really gay? Groan
I'm really not even sure where she learned about Barbies, though I can guess it was daycare. But, oh boy. When I mentioned the "B" word to my good friend (a woman), she was none too happy, which got me thinking.
And I'm going to come right out and say what I was thinking: I don't have any issues with Barbie. I truly believe that I have one of the most positive and healthy self body images of any of my women friends, and I grew up playing with Barbie dolls.
Yes, Barbie's proportions are all out of wack, of course they are; she's a plastic doll. Never once in all my years of playing with Barbie did I look at her and think: "Gee, Barbie, I wish I could look just like you." In fact, that never even crossed my mind until people started getting all worked up over Barbie, her size, and her looks. I grew up with black, Latina, and white Barbies (with red, brown, and blond hair), by the way. As well as the original Ken doll who has actual hair--that is almost shoulder length and brown--and is really pale (not oddly tan like today's Ken).
I do recognize the extreme importance of promoting positive, healthy body images, especially for our young girls (though boys are suffering from body images, as well). This is a huge "hot button" issue for me. But I believe these are learned first from our mothers (and even our fathers). My mother didn't stand in the mirror naked beating herself up over her weight or size. In fact, I never heard my mom say much of anything about her body, other than we need to respect our bodies.
Too many girls out there (and a lot of women I know) don't have this same experience, and that's unfortunate. Instead, women's poor body images are being blamed on things like Barbie being proportionally incorrect--and that's not the whole story; there are so many other factors involved. And to attempt to solve the issue, we need to look at the whole picture.
All I know is that it never occurred to me that I should try to look like Barbie or that there were even women out there who did look like Barbie. She's a plastic doll. Maybe I'm in the minority with this.
I just enjoyed putting Barbie in interesting scenarios (crime fighting, horse back riding on all my plastic horses, parading her around the "Cat Collar" bar I liked to pretend she worked in) and changing her clothes 15 times in an hour. If there was anything negative that came from my Barbie playing, it would have to be that I often can't seem to stay in one outfit the whole day long. I'll probably need to work with my daughter on this.
I realize I am over simplifying a very complex matter. And maybe I'm a little sensitive to how other women will react when I mention I let my daughter play with Barbies. But all I'm getting at is that I will make damn sure that my daughter understands Barbie is not real, nor are her proportions, and help my daughter in every way I possibly can to feel good about who she is, what size she is, and what color she is, all while allowing her the freedom to have imaginary playtime with a plastic doll.
Next up: Are Bert and Ernie really gay? Groan
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