Walk a Mile in my Moccasins

Despite accusations to the contrary, we do not think "race" every minute of every day.  We do, however, do whatever it takes to ensure that our home, and the world that touches our kids, is as safe for our children as possible.  Our family - our ENTIRE family - is multiracial and multicultural.  My black kids are growing up with First Nations sisters, my First Nations kids are growing up with white brothers, and my white kids have black brothers and brown sisters.  And they are ALL family.  My family.  Our family.  

But their histories, their races (even if race IS a social construct), their historical cultures are important pieces to their individual identities, and to our identity as a family.  I can't "love away" their race and raise my kids to be color blind, nor would I ever really want to.  Our differences make us unique, interesting and they are very, very real. 

I love the things that tie my children together with sameness, like our shared experiences, our shared love of our extended family, our personal family history, our faith, our love of taco night and Space Mountain.  I can also equally love and respect those things that make us different.  That St. Patrick's Day was my Irish grandmother's favorite holiday and that Daddy's Norwegian grandma made excellent lefse and that slavery directly impacted my sons' great-great grandparents, and that my girls' great-great-great grandfather was a Chilcotin Warrior, and that three members of our family immigrated to Canada and that six of us were born here. 

I can honor and respect that all of my children have unique, complicated and different histories that affect their present day realities.  That doesn't make me race obsessed, that makes me honest. When my minority children walk out my front door and face the world the first thing that others will see is their race.  That's not right or necessarily wrong it simply is.  And when that happens, I want all my kids to be proud of who they are, and who they were, and who they will become.   I want them to know that white, brown or black and they are valuable, important and worthy of being treated as such.

We don't teach our kids to look for offense, but we do teach them to expect respect.  We identify prejudice when we see it, and explain to them the faults in those that think that way.  We talk about the differences between being a black teenage boy and being a white teenage boy.  We don't talk about those differences because we LIKE them, we talk about them because they exist.  I HAVE TO explain to my kids about racism, prejudice and the complicated histories of all their ancestors because if I don't I fail to prepare them for the real world they will have to live in without my covering and protection. 

Teaching your minority child - or in fact ANY child -  to respect their own history and to be prepared to deal with a majority world that disvalues all things "different" cannot begin when they enter the school system or as they prepare to leave for college.  It's not one conversation, or one picture book or that single token black friend.  As a parent, it has to be a conscious decision to become aware, to become uncomfortable, to challenge your own perceptions and prejudices and to accept, and even grieve, that your child's reality is not your own. 

My daughter wears moccasins.  Not because she doesn't have shoes (she has many, many pairs of shoes), not because there is anything wrong with shoes, but because it is a symbol of her history and a nod of respect to her culture. And that is me, her mother, consciously laying a foundation for her to grow up to first know, and second value, her personal and sacred history. 

I will teach her to respect that personal and sacred history.  I will teach her to expect it to be respected by you, and what to do when it's not.  I will also teach her to fight to protect the value of your personal and sacred history.  From that can come no harm.  

Racism and Advocacy

I am stopping the series on openness momentarily to address racism from the white, euro centric perspective.  On another blog I commented that the portrayal of First Nations people by white people who appropriate their traditional dress for Halloween Costume, or to dress of their children for silly pictures,  is at best insensitive and at worst blatently racist. 

I am being shouted down as someone who is looking for offense and is going to raise my children to be offended by anything and everything.  Added to their logic is their "proof" because  Disney did the Pocahontas movie so HOW can that be RACIST?

So if you are stopping by as a result of that discussion I will let you take the time to read about my perspective yourself.  You want to raise a child who isn't racist?  Subscribe to these two sites

http://loveisntenough.com/    http://www.racialicious.com/

If you are interested in reading about the true story of Pocahontas click the link.

If you really think its still ok to to dress up in costume of another group of people I will simply ask you to read this which comes from a larger article found here

American Indians (With or Without Cowboys)


Considering the backlash against Native American mascots in sports, it should be no surprise that donning an American Indian costume is likely to rub some the wrong way. Whether you’re a kid dressing up as an Indian during a Thanksgiving play or an adult rooting for your favorite sports team while wearing faux war paint and a headdress, you’re likely to get a reaction because these costumes typically paint Native Americans as cartoonish and savage.



Throwing cowboys into the mix only adds insult to injury. When European “cowboys” settled the Americas, they not only set out to appropriate Native lands but to decimate or neutralize the indigenous population. “Cowboys and Indians” parties make light of the atrocities committed in the name of manifest destiny. A January 2009 editorial written by college student Tefari Abel Casas Fuchs reveals how emotionally damaging “Cowboys and Indians” parties can be to Native American students.



In addition to these issues, the sexy Pocahontas costumes on the market for women are racially offensive as well. Not only do they sexualize Pocahontas, a young adolescent girl, but Native American women generally. All too often, the sexual relationships Native American women had with European settlers were exploitative or abusive, with Native women regarded as the derogatory term “squaw.”

Being respectful costs so little.  Why not try it?

*I am not approving comments that tie the conversation directly back to another website.  This blog, my blog, is a record for my children of their adoption and journey to our family.  I have explained my POV, I have stated I was sorry if anyone was offended by my explanation, as I was by the racist use of historical regalia for silly entertainment.*

When Your Kids Get It

Tanner was born my first and only son and, of course, our oldest. He then became our third son and youngest, and finally became one of the middle sons of 4. Now he proudly takes on the title as the middle of six. Tanner is sweet and sensitive and very, very calm. He reads with a single minded obsession only matched by my own childhood. Tanner is passionate about injustice. He reads books about World War II and has taken an interest in understanding the Civil Rights Movement. He loves sports but extreme competition is not for him. He would rather let you win so you could all be friends at the end of the game.

He is also a very typical twelve year old boy. He can't find the socks on his feet or the shoes he left in the hallway. Brushing his teeth or his hair is a chore that his mother inflicts upon him. He tends to assume everyone else thinks like him.

One of the interesting parenting dynamics of being part of a multi racial family is teaching your caucasion children that their experience is often different than their own siblings. This is a very hard concept to fathom when you are young but slowly Tanner is beginning to understand. Tanner understands that noone ever asks him where he is from, but they do his brothers. He understands that on the ice he might get some trash talk from other players just like his brothers, but that it never crosses the line to talk that devalues his personhood, equal to everyone else on the ice.

Yesterday my 12 year old was playing games on miniclips, a weekend only privilege at our house and time that is coveted. Miniclips is a relatively kid friendly web site with lots of arcade style games that I have never had any sort of problem with. Tanner had been playing for a few minutes when he suddenly shut the computer off and walked away.

"Mom" he said, with a look of deep concern on his face, "I think that game I was playing was racist. I didn't know right away, but once I did I stopped" Making certain I knew he would never willingly participate in anything racist.

"WHY?" I asked, my mind jumping immediately to worst case scenarios.

Tanner went on to explain to me that the game (based on a Winter Olympic Theme) had various teams you could choose to play. The characters on all the teams but one were all white and all had positive names like "Champion" or "Challenger". The last team was made of a single black character and under his picture? OUTSIDER.

Yes. Racism. Sometimes its overt with name calling or spray painted slogans. Sometimes it's subtle like identifying anyone not white as an outsider. I was proud of Tanner for being able to recognize that. I am not sure alot of 12 year olds would.

Dear Editor: Thoughts on Racism

In response to this article about a despicable act of racism that happened to a family near us, I wrote this little piece and submitted it to our paper. Pass it on.


Dear Editor;

It was gratifying to read of the outrage of my neighbours and fellow citizens in the face of the racist slurs and violent attack against the King family in Forest Grove. I myself heard comments like “disgusting” or “how could they” or “I had no idea this could ever happen in this day and age”. Righteous indignation rising up against what was truly a despicable act of racism towards a family that happens to have African-Canadian members. Most certainly they deserve all our support!


As Canadians, we often consider ourselves beyond racism because overt acts of prejudice like this are rare but I honestly wonder how many of those same people who expressed horror at this attack have laughed at a “black” joke? Commented on “Chinese drivers”? Forwarded an email or two that attacks immigrants as not being Canadian enough? Ignore the woman passed out on the sidewalk and justify it to themselves that it’s “Just a drunk Indian”?


I want to challenge my fellow community members that were horrified by this overt act to take a stand as well against the little acts of prejudice that happen around us every day. Do you know that your teenager calls his friends “Nigga” on Facebook? Do you let your child imitate an Indo-Canadian neighbours’ accent? Do you stop jokes, or sweeping generalizations about our friends and neighbours when you hear them? Do you stop yourself from making assumptions about the people you see at the park or at the mall?


It’s not ok to steal a little, or drink and drive a little and it is not ok to be “racist a little”. ALL prejudice and ALL racism hurts, and sometimes the little things hurt more because they are not acknowledged by the community.


Some will say that their prejudice, comments or jokes are justified because a certain group is prejudiced against them. My response? Be responsible for your own house! There is never an excuse to do something wrong just because someone else is doing it too. My children deserve better and so do yours, no matter the color of their skin, their language of birth or the composition of their family.


If you are not part of the solution on ENDING racism you are part of the problem. I want to be part of the solution so that we are just as horrified by the racist jokes as we are by the spray painted home.

Jennifer

Silent, Never Again

My husband, who makes very few demands on me ever, wants to see his parents. And we are going half way across Canada in a truck with 6 kids to do that.

Today we leave on a ten day adventure that involves 24 hours of driving EACH WAY to end up in a tiny little town in Saskatchewan.

Its beautiful there with rolling grass hills, golden fields of wheat that stretch farther than I can see. His parents are wonderful, warm hearted and giving people who love me and love my family. His family runs an art house, a music cafe and a hosts a large music festival happening this weekend. All good reasons to go.

And yet I pause and lie awake sleepless. We have not been back since a family reunion 4 summers ago. And 4 summers ago at the town's local pool we had "incidents". Racist, stupid, mouthy kids calling my then little boys awful and horrible names. And I failed them.

My inlaws home and property is a sanctuary, literally. It's a converted rectory that has become an amazing showcase of art and music, we know there is safety and peace on their property. We will leave their home at times and venture into town.

This town is as white, and as small, as you can imagine. Without a doubt, my sons will be the only two black people for miles around the entire time we are there. To a certain extent they are used to it, but its taken me 4 years to get the courage to go back and I am not sure they even remember what it was like last time we were there.


Day one, local pool. It was the first time we had ever faced blatant racism, and I am ashamed to tell you I let it happen. The fear of embarrassing my inlaws, the total stress of not knowing what to do, the lack of confidence as to what was the right approach and total and complete shock. Racist names called at my children and I simply moved my kids away. Got between them and the perpetrators. In the face of it I was silent.

Day two, I fought with my husband. DO SOMETHING. Do SOMETHING! And he didn't. For fear of embarrassing his parents, the total stress of not knowing what to do and the lack of confidence as to what was the right approach. We failed our sons. We fought hard that night and I was angry. Angry at myself for not speaking up, angry at him for not protecting us, angry at the world that there were kids like this saying things like that. We were silent.

Day three. Again we fought. DO SOMETHING. Do ANYTHING. Fear, politeness, horror and shock froze me. Briefly this time. I could not live with myself and my lack of action the previous two days. Sleepless nights, seething rage. And I did something. Those 3 teenage white boys from small town Saskatchewan will probably never forget the day the crazy white lady in the bikini verbally destroyed them. I am not sure that it was the RIGHT approach, but it was SOMETHING and at that point, something was better than nothing.

I told them they disgusted me. That their ignorance would end them up dead or in jail at some point. I told them their words were stupid and wrong and that no GOOD person thought the way they did or talked the way they talked. "LOOK AT YOU" I half screamed, "LOOK AT YOUR STRINGY HAIR, YOUR STUPID TOWN, YOU THINK YOU HAVE ANYTHING TO MAKE FUN OF THOSE BEAUTIFUL CHILDREN FOR"

They nodded silently a look of awe, shame, horror and fear on their face. One child, the obvious ring leader argued back before I threw out the ultimate threat in a small town. Their new Principal? MY BROTHER IN LAW. I have no idea how they faced their first day of school in September, but I hope they were at least quiet.

As I said, probably not the best approach, but I was new at this.

I have never been silent since nor will I ever be silent again but that town holds for me a feeling of shame. Shame of my silence. I need to face the place that holds me in its grasp.

I tell you this story so that you can learn from my mistakes. Be the change you want to be. Don't be silent when you hear a racist joke. Respond to the senders of those so not funny joke emails or ugly racism hidden under the guise of patriotism.

As I tell my sons, if you are not part of the solution, you are part of the problem. Speak up. Don't end up living with the guilt of a choice you made many years ago that still keeps you up at night today.

Outrage at Racism

I have heard it once said that the only ones surprised by racism or deny its existence are the racists themselves. It's a shocking statement but one that presses in on our white privilege thinking because if you have managed to get this far in life thinking racism and prejudice are figments of the collective imagination, you are, simply, white and privileged. Even if you are AWARE of racism, hate it with a passion and fight against it when you see it, if you are of the majority, you are still privileged.

You don't think there are any privileges to being part of the majority? Read this old but golden list from Peggy McIntosh and check to see what applies to you.

Now go back and re-read number fourteen and think of my sons while you do it.

14. I can arrange to protect my children most of the time from people who might
not like them.

On July 3rd while my family and I were relaxing in the relative racial utopia that is the Harambee Summer Festival, Jay Phillips was attacked in a parking lot of a McDonald's on Vancouver Island. Stop. Go watch it here. He is someone's son. He is someone's father.

On that same day, in response to the presence of 60 families from my precious, amazing and much loved camp a coward under the cover of darkness wrote horrible, awful, disgusting and without question racist messages across the picnic tables of the beach where we spent each day.

"Run N----- Run"
"White Pride"
"Ashamed to be Human With You"

Discovered (and destroyed) the next morning by parents before our children saw for themselves, we seethed.

And you, I am sure are shocked. Shocked at the attack on Jay and shocked at the attack on our precious children.

I am still at a loss for words as to how to express this and so I give you Kelly Diels' words. A blogger I recently discovered, she says it far better than I could. Please, go read the whole article. Here are some excerpts I find most important.

... I feel great tenderness for white people who are shocked by this
attack. They've got good hearts. They truly, madly, deeply believe
in equality - and the very fact of their whiteness insulates them from the
everyday knowledge that racism exists. That's why this assault is such
a shock. When you're white, you don't notice racism, because you feel
racially neutral and you think that this racially neutral experience is the norm.

It is not.

Some dearly loved people in my life are
uncomfortable with the fact that I identify my children as black. They're
biracial, after all. Calling them black erases their white mother, their
white family members, and the acceptability and the privilege that comes from
not being black. As one of my friends told me recently "It's okay to be
black as long as you don't act black" (he's black). That's usually the case -
except every once in a while, the very fact of your blackness, your otherness,
your not-whiteness, will make you a target of physical violence. And
nearly every single day, your blackness will be noted but it may be ignored so
long as your behaviour and demeanour doesn't coincide with stereotypes and
assumptions about black people. In other words, in the words of my friend, so
long as you act white.
This is why I identify my children as black. I'm
choosing to identify with reality. I am preparing to be an ally for my
black children as they make their way in this still very, very white world, our
true north strong and free, our grand multicultural mosaic. I don't want
to be shocked when they come home from school, work, baseball, dancing, life and
report the outrageous, covert or coded slings, arrows and slurs that have
been hurled their way. I want to prepare them. I want to be
prepared. I want to prepare the world. And yet I know that there is
no way to truly prepare. I'm scared. The attack on Jay Phillips
means that I am right to be scared. We all should be....
And I hope that all the good-hearted, mosaic-referencing, tolerant Canadian
white folk are willing to push beyond their own shock and outrage at this and
examine the ways that racism is present in our daily lives - to acknowledge
and challenge it.
Because when you're blind to the small stuff it takes the
big stuff to shock you. And in your well-meaning ignorance lies tacit
assent to all the small stuff and thus your permission for the big stuff.
These three young men did not just wake up racist one day: it took 19-25 years of their small acts of racism being tolerated by other oblivious white people for them to feel entitled to physically attack a black man.
Thank the gods and goddesses or the deity of your choice that Jay
Phillips is big and strong and physically powerful and no stranger to the
gym and could physically defend himself although he should not ever have had
to. Imagine if he had been a frail, elderly man. Or a less
physically-strong woman. Or my two beautiful little girls.
Imagine that.

And now, white people, think back to every single time another white person said something 'off' that you didn't challenge or educate with humour or love or just SOMETHING. Or a resume came across your desk with an 'ethnic' name and you didn't call that person back. Or when you chose to rent your basement suite to a white family instead of a South Asian one because you thought the house would smell like curry. Or when you sigh over traffic in Richmond when you really mean Asian drivers. Start seeing those things; and see the connection, the continuum, the path from those things to three racist men in a McDonald's parking lot threatening to lynch a black man. Start seeing that if being black, or Chinese, or South Asian can be a disadvantage, that by the same token, being white translates into advantage.

Someone I know once said to me that he didn't want to live in X neighbourhood, because then his (white) daughter would go to X school; and the reason he worried about this was because he didn't want her to be a minority.There is truth in that unexaminedly racist statement. He didn't want his daughter to be a minority, because to be an ethnic minority is to be disadvantaged. He didn't want her to have to rescind her white privilege, her advantage.

Being privileged because you are white does not mean you are evil; it does not mean you are racist; it is just the fact of the matter and it means that you can choose whether or not you see racism. And if you choose to see it, and really, really want to confront and eradicate racism, start by examining - and acknowledging - the fact
that there is an advantage to being white.

Start seeing the privilege.

Start articulating it.

Stop being shocked.

Continue being outraged.

Continue Being Outraged. Please.

On Being Visible

When you go out for dinner, do other patrons frequently glance your way? Waitresses make inappropriate comments about you or your children?

When you walk into a store, does the staff frequently watch you and your family, sometimes following you for no apparent reason?

When you are at the park or pool or playground, do other families there often ask you inappropriate questions about your family makeup, your attachment to your children or your parents and expect you to divulge your history?

When you were growing up, did your friends ask highly personal questions about your family and your history, including your genetics?

Do people frequently touch you without your permission? Particularly your hair?

Do people think its cool to use slang phrases with horrible racial overtones they don't understand the history of to describe you or befriend you on facebook or other such sites?

If you were able to answer no to most or all of those questions, I can assume you are white, probably your parents are white and also, your kids are white. You aren't disabled or visibly different from the "majority" in any way. You are, in fact, invisible to the majority of other white people. Trust me, it's true. When people see you, they see themselves. They assume your family is like their own family. They assume the kids with you are your own kids. They assume you gave birth to them. They assume you have a right to be where you are doing what you are doing. You are not questioned, you are afforded the privilege of invisibility.

This is not a right afforded to minorities. Didn't know that? You should. You have a responsibility to understand what it is like to not be YOU.

Even for me, a woman who was prepared for being part of a trans racial family, the shock of suddenly becoming VISIBLE when we adopted our sons was a difficult transition. I had been an invisible mother before of a beautiful white baby - but noone thought to ask me how long I had had him for, or what his history was, or where he was "from". Noone touched him without asking me first, noone expected him to want to go home with them because he was so cute. The comments, the stares, the looks, the questions, the touching and even the overly enthusiastic fawning over my children was new. The assumption that other people have a right to know your history, THEIR history, to judge or evaluate your parenthood, your right to act like a family was constant.

If you can imagine how difficult it was for me, now imagine being 4.

Going through a difficult transition into a new family and everywhere you go people ask questions, comment or want to touch you? You can imagine then how much you would enjoy finally, eventually as you become more well known in your town and community, being slightly less visible. You know that being followed in a store as a ten year old doesn't happen to your white friends. You know their mother doesn't have to explain that how you dress, and act in a store will make a difference between how you are treated. You know that other kids have no idea about racism or how awful it is. You understand this all because you have to. You are visible wherever you go.

People know you, people know your family and eventually the questions become less. You head off to high school, and it's an entire new crowd of people. Kids who think they have the right to ask you about your "real" family, your history, where you are from. Kids, sometimes white ones sometimes other minority kids, think its cool to call you "nigga" or call your other friends that too. They simply don't understand that its not a cool new nickname but has a horrible and awful history to it that you hate. It hurts, but you don't say anything.

And then your parents ask your opinion on fostering two different racial minority children. And you say no. No. No. No. No. And finally ok, but you aren't going to like it. And your parents are confused. Someone did this for you, didn't they? You got to stay with your brother because your foster parents were willing to take you in. You should pay it forward. You should understand the need. You should want to do this. But what you know, but can't express, is that this will make us MORE visible.

Greg and Eric were both resistant initially to us bringing the girls into our family. Eric's resistance lasted less than 24 hours, Greg's about 3 days. Both have warmed up completely to the girls, as I knew they would, which is why we chose to proceed but I could NOT understand their reluctance to foster and in Greg's case, his initial extreme reaction to the possibility.

What I now understand is that having foster children threatens their place, their role in our family and worse, it increases their visibility. We are now a tri-racial family. There is great resistance in our area from the racial community to which my girls belong to having their kids in white families. We now deal with high visibility from both a minority group judging our right to be cuddling, parenting or being with the girls, as well as being noticed continually by the white community, and of course, they are dealing with being black in a mostly white town.

Also, to my sons, there is a definite hierarchy of family. Being a "foster kid" is something they would never, ever, ever want to be thought to be. They know that foster kids have social workers that visit them at school. They know that foster kids don't have the same name as their parents they live with. They know that foster kids aren't permanent. That foster kids can be taken away by anyone at anytime. They know that foster kids are less than full members of the family they live with, because the government dictates that they be so. They know because they lived it.

My kids are intensely proud of their right to be fully, completely and permanently part of our family. That is why they HATE the questions some feel they have a right to ask. They are simply OUR sons, and part of our family, unless they choose to share differently with you, that is their right to live and be. And now we are a foster family.

And yesterday, I overheard a conversation where Tanner was asked if his brothers were his foster brothers and I understood, at least a bit, what my boys face. They don't want ANYONE ever questioning their place in our family. And fostering makes us visible, once again, where everyone feels they can ask questions. Questions that make them visible. Questions that make them feel not fully a part of our family.

Fostering the girls was still the right decision to teach our sons compassion and kindness, to love children that need loving. It was right to teach them the sacrifices that are involved in opening your heart and home. But there is a cost that I need to acknowledge.

I know I can never understand, fully, what it is like to be them.

I really don't know what to say ... so I wrote.

December 5, 2008

Dear President and Board of Fort Saint John Minor Hockey, BC Minor Hockey Executive and all it may concern,

Tonight, December 5th 2009 in Kamloops at the PeeWee AA Rep Hockey Tournament, a player or players on the Fort Saint John team were heard addressing a player on the **** AA PeeWee Team by the term “Nigger”. The child being addressed happens to be African-American and the only visible minority player on **** team. Racist hate speech has no place on the ice at any level and we would like to know that Fort Saint John Minor Hockey and BC Minor hockey considers this to be an extremely serious offense and will be taking immediate action.

As the player being racially attacked also happens to be our son, we demand an immediately inquiry by the association into both the behavior of this particular team and its’ players, as well as Fort Saint John coach who endorsed this sort of behavior from the bench by not preventing it or addressing it when it occurred.

We would like our son to receive a formal apology from the Fort Saint John association and an acknowledgement that verbal attacks of this sort are never acceptable by any player at any time, no matter how intense the game. We would request confirmation that the entire team has received anti-racism education and that the player or players specifically involved in this incident have received appropriate disciplinary action, including immediate suspension.

We anticipate a timely response,


Shelby and Jennifer *** (parents of Eric )



I AM BEYOND ANGRY. A COACH NOT ONLY LET THIS HAPPEN --- HE ENCOUARGED IT BY NOT PREVENTING IT AND ALLOWING HIS PLAYERS TO USE LANGUAGE THAT GOT PROGRESSIVELY WORSE AS THE GAME WENT ON UNTIL IT DESCENDED INTO RASIST HATE MONGERING. There will be hell to pay for the players that did this. BC Minor Hockey says that this results in an immediate suspension and you can bet we will be following up. JERKS.

Walking in the Promised Land

Today I weep with joy and honor those who fought this battle for equality with their lives. We are living history my friends. TODAY IS A DAY OF SIGNIFICANCE

"I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation.

Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of their captivity.

But one hundred years later, the Negro still is not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languished in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land. And so we've come here today to dramatize a shameful condition.

In a sense we've come to our nation's capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men, yes, black men as well as white men, would be guaranteed the "unalienable Rights" of "Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness." It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note, insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check, a check which has come back marked "insufficient funds."


But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. And so, we've come to cash this check, a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice.


We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of Now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quicksands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood. Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God's children.


It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment. This sweltering summer of the Negro's legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end, but a beginning. And those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. And there will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges.


But there is something that I must say to my people, who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice: In the process of gaining our rightful place, we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred. We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again, we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force.


The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to a distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny. And they have come to realize that their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom.

We cannot walk alone.

And as we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall always march ahead.

We cannot turn back.

There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, "When will you be satisfied?" We can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of police brutality. We can never be satisfied as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. We cannot be satisfied as long as the negro's basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as our children are stripped of their self-hood and robbed of their dignity by a sign stating: "For Whites Only." We cannot be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until "justice rolls down like waters, and righteousness like a mighty stream."¹


I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow jail cells. And some of you have come from areas where your quest -- quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive. Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to South Carolina, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed.


Let us not wallow in the valley of despair, I say to you today, my friends.


And so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.


I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed:

"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal."


I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia, the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.


I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.


I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.


I have a dream today!


I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of "interposition" and "nullification" -- one day right there in Alabama little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.


I have a dream today!


I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, and every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight; "and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed and all flesh shall see it together."²


This is our hope, and this is the faith that I go back to the South with.


With this faith, we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith, we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith, we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.


And this will be the day -- this will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with new meaning:


My country 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing.
Land where my fathers died, land of the Pilgrim's pride,
From every mountainside, let freedom ring!


And if America is to be a great nation, this must become true.
And so let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire.

Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York.
Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania.
Let freedom ring from the snow-capped Rockies of Colorado.
Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California.


But not only that:

Let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia.
Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee.
Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi.

From every mountainside, let freedom ring.

And when this happens, when we allow freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual:


Free at last! Free at last!
Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!³" Dr. King



Thank You Dr. King, and every man, woman and child who did their part to change the world. To fight racism. To advocate for my sons. I thank you with all my heart.

Idiot of the week and other such nonsense

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.