One of the best things about adoption, for me anyway, is the often unexpected delight of gaining an extended family. Many children placed for adoption have a sibling (or several) either still with the birthmom or who were adopted by other families.
Personally, I believe it’s a wonderful gift to get to know the children and/or families that are biologically connect to your child. I feel extremely fortunate to have our daughter’s birth-sibling, and the family who adopted her, in our lives.
Here are some excerpts from a rather lengthy essay I wrote about our experience thus far:
“To most, the word “destiny” means something inevitable that is meant to happen. For our family, and in particular for our daughter, it means much more. In September 2006—15 months after Ava was born—Destiny was born, and placed for adoption with a family in Illinois.
Since we live in Oregon, our initial “meeting” took place over email. Destiny’s mom and I shared stories, photos, and our thoughts and feelings about how we could ensure our girls grow up together, despite the physical distance between our families. In October 2007, while in Illinois visiting my husband’s family, we met in person for the first time.
Our hope—Destiny’s family’s and ours—is that the two girls will confide in each other when maybe they feel we won’t understand what they are going through because of our color differences (Destiny’s parents are also white). Their connection—biological, but hopefully more—will be life-long, whether they live under the same roof or not. And an unexpected, but absolutely amazing, benefit to “our destiny,” that hadn’t occurred to us before Destiny was born, is that now our family has grown beyond our daughter to include Destiny, her (also adopted) sister, her brother, and her mom and dad.
By its nature, adoption is just different. There are different dynamics with immediate family, extended family, friends, and the community. These differences aren’t bad, they just are. And I’ve always believed that if you plan to adopt, you’ve got to be pretty open-minded and able to roll with the punches—you just never know what your destiny will bring you.
Our adoption journey has led us to grow our family in an unexpected way. We are grateful that our daughter will grow up knowing at least one of her birth-siblings. We’ve formed a family bond rooted in DNA, but not limited by it. Sometimes our perception or interpretation of our destiny is not exactly as we’d hoped or planned—it’s better.”
As our journey continues, we look forward to growing our family yet again by adding another child. And with that adoption may come more family members. The more, the merrier I say!
February 25, 2009
February 15, 2009
All You Need is Love
Often I am the “go to” person to ask questions of by my friends, and their friends, who want to learn more in general about adoption. I’m sure most adoptive parents find themselves in this position. That’s okay by me because I love to talk; especially about adoption and in particular if I feel I can help educate someone who may have some misconceptions about adoption and children who were adopted.
It has been eye-opening for me, though, and has forced me to address, and answer, some of my own questions I may not have realized I had.
One question that comes up a lot is an overwhelming concern about loving an adopted child as much as a biological one. The statement, “I’m afraid I won’t love the child as much as my own,” forces you to define “my own.”
I always knew I wanted to have children; to love them, raise them, and teach them to be the best that they can be. I was never that interested in being pregnant; very little about that experience intrigues me. So, for me, the definition of “my own” has absolutely nothing to do with whether or not a child came out of my body or shares my DNA. “My own” means the child that I love—that loves me back—and the one that I raise and care for. Period.
What I know from my own experience is that I cannot imagine loving a child more than I love my daughter. In fact, if I’m being perfectly honest, I’m concerned that if I had a child biologically, I might not love him/her as much as I love my daughter. Maybe it’s because she’s my first, I don’t know. All I know is that she is my world and I cannot imagine loving anyone more. That’s what I tell people who ask.
(And then I tell them “my own” isn’t considered positive adoption language, as it suggestions that adoptive relationships are less important than biological ones. Better choices are “birth child” or “child by birth.” Any opportunity to educate!)
It has been eye-opening for me, though, and has forced me to address, and answer, some of my own questions I may not have realized I had.
One question that comes up a lot is an overwhelming concern about loving an adopted child as much as a biological one. The statement, “I’m afraid I won’t love the child as much as my own,” forces you to define “my own.”
I always knew I wanted to have children; to love them, raise them, and teach them to be the best that they can be. I was never that interested in being pregnant; very little about that experience intrigues me. So, for me, the definition of “my own” has absolutely nothing to do with whether or not a child came out of my body or shares my DNA. “My own” means the child that I love—that loves me back—and the one that I raise and care for. Period.
What I know from my own experience is that I cannot imagine loving a child more than I love my daughter. In fact, if I’m being perfectly honest, I’m concerned that if I had a child biologically, I might not love him/her as much as I love my daughter. Maybe it’s because she’s my first, I don’t know. All I know is that she is my world and I cannot imagine loving anyone more. That’s what I tell people who ask.
(And then I tell them “my own” isn’t considered positive adoption language, as it suggestions that adoptive relationships are less important than biological ones. Better choices are “birth child” or “child by birth.” Any opportunity to educate!)
February 10, 2009
Black vs African American
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.
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.
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.
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