I had an adoptive mom recently pose the following question:
Are we in the adoptive community scaring off people from asking us anything related to our adoption stories?
It’s got me thinking.
People have created feisty, sarcastic youtube videos on the topic. Closed adoption groups turn rant sessions on social media about interactions with strangers. (Girls...come on now. Can we pull ourselves together?) Pre-adoption seminars and trainings address the issue. It seems that there is a very “PC” way of approaching an adoptive family these days. It’s big stuff for those in the adoption community but our educated, postured, ready to take it on attitudes may have translated to the outside world as this: Don’t ask anything so as to not offend.
What happened to their real mom? Are they siblings? How do you take care of that hair?!? Do they speak English or African? Where are they from? Are they from Detroit? Is he mixed? Are you a nanny? Why didn’t their parents keep them? The list goes on and on and I get it. We’re different, a bit of a novelty, kind of noticeable. We’re a combination of blond, brown, graying and afro.
Most questions and comments are anchored simply in a place of well-intentioned curiosity and wonder. And you know what? When I see other multi-racial families, I WONDER SIMILAR THINGS. I just possess different, questioning skills acquired through actual trainings on adoption vocabulary. That is a real thing. When I see other adoptive families, I naturally gravitate towards wanting to strike up a conversation even if they are complete strangers. Sometimes those conversations happen and other times, I just stick with a smile and we’re on our way. I’ve learned to pick up on the openness vibe.
Here’s the thing. When I signed up to welcome children into my family who look very different than me, I knew this was coming and I knew it would be part of my interactions with people. Being annoyed at something I knew was going to be my reality is just a waste of opportunity and energy. My response simply comes down to this: How does my child hear, filter and understand the message that I send out both in my answer and in the way I answer? Do they hear embarrassment or confidence in my tone? Do my words affirm their identity or imply there is something to hide? Do they see me smile and be polite or do they see me being curt and condescending?
Now I have to say that most of the time, I can shake it off, shake, shake it off. (Please note this impressive pop culture reference.) Most of the time the questions don’t get me all in a dither. This is progress from when my first public outings involved me having mentally prepped notecards shuffling around in my brain. I was on the ready. And like most of the time, not one person approached me. Over time, we have refined our responses to the usual and expected questions. Most of the time, I like to just use a little humor and then make an exit.
Q-“How do you take care of that hair?!”
A-“A lot of patience and a lot of product,” or “With a wide toothed comb.”
Q-“Do they speak African?”
A-“No one speaks African,” or “She speaks American.”
Q-“Are they from Detroit?”
A-“No. Are you?”
But there are THOSE TIMES when people are just so wrong and rude and I need to show that it is also ok to be, shall we say…direct?
I am the ultimate defender of their hearts.
I am the one who says, “Nope. That wasn’t OK.”
I set up big boundaries when people are out of line and say ill-intentioned things.
I once had someone tell me, as I was lathering up the young ones with sunscreen, that bringing my children to their condo pool would bring down their property value. And you know what? That was a time to throw a punch….. I mean take a stand. When my children’s value is at stake, I get to be protective. I get to show them that some comments are wrong and worth taking a stand on. But not by acting like a lunatic.
Then there are those other precious moments when I get to share it all. How this crazy, little family came to be. I can tell about how God is using all of us to teach and heal each other. I get to tell them about how I was challenged when I traveled and saw children growing up in institutional care. I get to tell about those moments when God so clearly confirmed a step or settled my uncertain heart. I get to talk about Ethiopia and how beautiful it is. And it begs the question: am I looking for those moments to share the good, the amazing, the beautiful, the real?
Can I share some tips with those of you who want to ask but aren’t quite sure what words to use?
Their first mom was their birth mom. I am just mom. We are both real moms. We’ve just played different parts.
Children don’t like to be signaled out on a particular feature that they already clearly know is different. Comment on how beautiful my daughter’s hair is. She doesn’t want to feel different. She wants to feel pretty. And hands off. Touching the hair of a stranger is akin to rubbing a random pregnant woman’s belly.
My kids are siblings. Period. To ask them if they are siblings is confusing to what they know as reality.
Asking about why a birthparent decided to make an adoption plan (not why did they give them up) can be a painful and confusing reminder to an adopted child especially when they are trying to make sense of it in the first place. It is their story. It is for them to share when they are comfortable. It isn’t mall material.
The best compliment someone can say about my family is this: You have a beautiful family. The end. I know that this is code for, “I see you and I know you are an adoptive family and I like it.”
In general, is the question you are about to ask something that you would ask any stranger? For instance, would you go up to a random less brown person and ask them if they speak English? Would you ask a mom with two blondies if they are biologically related? Probably not? I sense a guiding sentiment.
And if you want to strike up a conversation and aren’t sure…ask when the short people are out of earshot. I always appreciate that. It shows someone is interested in our family, but has the wherewithal to hold their questions for a more appropriate moment.
But adoptive mama bears, can we just not always be on the defensive? Can we educate in a gracious way? Can we look for moments to bring together instead of push away? Our stories are worth telling and we don’t want to miss it. Of course, protect. Of course, teach. Of course, be ready.
But…
Let our words inspire.
Let our words do good.
Let our words be better.
Let our words tell His stories.
