I will start off this crazy, mishmash post with some humor just so all you not touched by transracial adoption readers can understand what our families deal with on a weekly, if not daily, basis. Heck what any person of color deals with on a weekly, if not daily, basis.
I ran into the mother of a child in my class down at the arena this week. She is a seemingly lovely woman and her child is a friend of Eric's. She is also a frequent visitor to the class, has met me several times. She has also met both of my son's at the school, and this time I was accompanied by all 4 of the boys and made the requisite introductions all around.
All 4 boys shook her hand, said hello and moved a ways off.
She then turned to me and said "What language do your sons speak?"
"Ah, English" (I mean she had just had a conversation with them)
"I mean where are they FROM"
By this time both Greg and Eric have turned around. Eric rolls his eyes and Greg does the requisite teenage snort.
I answer, "Here" And yes, I am not an idiot, I know full well what she means. She means because they aren't white ... where are they FROM. Because you can't be FROM here *here being anywheres usually * (from a white person perspective anyways) if you are shaded any color darker than peach.
She begins to stumble over her questions now, because I am not coughing up the information she wants, or feels she deserves to know, simply because we look different. Remember, adoption, birth, race etc NONE of that has been part of our conversation to this point. Yet she feels so inclined, a normally polite person, to inquire about the nationality, heritage and birth of two children (teens) she has JUST met.
"Well I just thought, you know, that maybe, you know they speak something else"
I reply, rather kindly but with a firm edge to my voice, "You can feel free to ask the boys where they are born, and if they want to they will tell you, but they are FROM here"
The conversation ends. Both boys are smirking. Some days I just hate white people.
In other news, my grandma is dying. Her rally from our last visit was short lived and we know the end is days or at the most, weeks away. Tomorrow I am sending my 7 and 13 year olds on ahead of me, alone, by plane for their goodbye visit. My mom will meet them and they will have a chance to say goodbye. Caden is a wreck. Greg is stoic.
I fly out next Friday, Thanksgiving, with the other two boys for our visit, if she lasts that long. I will be a wreck. I will fall apart. Into smitherenes. But watching her suffer is just so hard. Please think of the boys this weekend as they say goodbye to their Grandma Nan. They love her.