Black and White

This morning Cole Patrick and Brendan were bickering about Legos--squabbling as brothers will, when I told Cole Patrick that I was going to sell him to gypsies for 27 cents (a frequent "threat" given to C.P.; no offense intended to any gypsies reading this blog). Cole Patrick gave me an ornery look and said, "You wouldn't do that because I am one of your REAL children."

Cole Patrick knew exactly what he was doing as he looked for my reaction. I know he is testing boundaries in our "new" family. Fortunately, being three, Brendan did not understand what C.P. was saying, but Cole Patrick was clearly advised that such talk would not be tolerated in our home. The vehicle by which our children came to our family does not matter--whether birth or adoption, the end result is the same--they are each equally members of our family.

Cole Patrick has clearly mastered his new role as "middle child". In eight months, we have all quickly shifted roles. We went from what Jason's grandmother calls a "king's family," a boy and a girl, to a transracial adoptive family, complete with a classic middle child. Now I will tell you, I am not much for labels--I don't really like them, but I do understand that people have the need to describe life around them, so, I am not personally offended that to some on our Base we have become, "You know, that white family with the little black boy."

Before I go further into becoming a transracial family, let me say that I do not intend to offend any one--if I do offend you, it is not intentional. Please keep in mind that this is all new to me--these are just my feelings and recently formed opinions. In fact, I would not be surprised if I read this in a year, and felt completely different. Mostly, I am just being honest about how it is right now.

To me being a transracial family feels a bit like standing over a chasm with one foot on each side, and each side hesitating to pull you over. Now I probably feel this way mostly because it is still fresh for me. Living 40 years as a white person, and then becoming mama to a black child has left me feeling a bit unsure of where we fit in. We even struggled with words--is black or African-American more appropriate? At first, Aidan would whisper "black," unsure what to say--we are figuring this out ourselves, and we will stumble. Right now, some people are clearly supportive--and many, I just can't read yet. Fortunately, I have not yet met anyone who was obviously opposed to our choice, but I am aware those folks are out there.

Unlike many adoptive parents, I don't receive many questions--lots of looks, yes, but not questions. I recently mentioned to a friend, who is black, that I am most wary of what blacks think of us. She responded, "You are right to feel that way. That is where you will receive the most criticism." Ugh, I had been hoping my intuition was wrong!

When we began our home study, one of the first sessions felt like a test of character. We were presented a battery of questions to determine match later. Among them, of course, "Would you take a child of another race?" We were always open to a child of any race--that was never a question for us. We read at least as many books about "transracial adoption" as we did about adoption itself. That being said, books only prepare you so much. I have had many people--always whites--say to me, "Times have really changed. Being a different race isn't a big deal anymore." I don't really agree with that. I don't mind people being curious--our family receives looks, we probably always will--but not all the looks are the same.

Going into this I was prepared for the obvious: the hair, the skin, the staring. Thanks to a few awesome black and biracial moms, I believe I have conquered the hair and skin. As for the looks, like I said, the curiosity will always be there--we're different. The area I had not aptly prepared myself for is being a mom to a black male.

The shooting of Trayvon Martin happened here in Florida, just two days after our official adoption of Brendan. I remember late one evening feeling complete shock as I more fully realized the responsibility we had as Bren's parents. Being white, in many ways, I am completely naive; I had not realized how differently people can be treated based on race. I had just read a New York Times article written by a young black student about how he has to dress certain ways when he goes to certain places, and how young black men always receive "the talk" from their parents. I do not mean the birds and the bees talk, but the talk about how to act when stopped by police--and how that can mean the difference between freedom and jail or even life and death. As a white person, I found this infuriating--I mentioned it to a black friend and she matter-of-factly replied, that is just the way it is.

I imagine I will continue to struggle with this--especially as Brendan grows, and we have many more experiences with how the world sees us--both positive and negative. In our own family, I have pretty much reached the point where I look at my babies, and I hardly notice the difference in color--Aidan, Cole Patrick and Brendan are our children--our REAL children. Period.

Journey to Mama

"Mommy! Where are you?" called Brendan as I transferred a load of laundry from the washer to the dryer. "Just hang on, Sugar Bear, I'm coming right back upstairs," I replied. But he came down and found me. Many moms may sigh, longing to lose the shadow for a moment. Even I have been known to "hide" in the laundry room for a few moments of serenity. Ah, but not with Brendan--at last he is seeking me out! Praise the Lord!

When we were going through certification to adopt, I often thought it would be so much harder for the parents who were adopting without already having biological children. Afterall, they would have no basis for "normal"? They would constantly wonder whether behavior was "normal". Well, I don't mean to brag, but I am pretty much par for the course in being wrong about adoption...already having children, you know the behavior isn't normal, and as a mama, that can be devastating...not exactly better.

The first day Brendan came to his new home.

Closing in on eight months since Bren joined the Wright clan, and I believe I am just now seeing signs that when he calls me "mommy," he really means "Mommy". Aidan & Cole Patrick nearly cling to me. They are always close, wanting to share, to be touched and held. Sometimes I think if they could, they would climb right back in!

Bren didn't look for me; he didn't reach for my hand; he didn't call out "Mommy." He was independent, but not in a good way...in a way that made my heart ache. He would wander aimlessly through the house, playing by himself and never seeking me out. In the car, he didn't converse with me like Aid and C.P., he stared out the window with a look beyond his almost three years. I already had children, so I knew these behaviors weren't "normal," or at least not for bio kids.

I don't really know any one else who has had a toddler/preschool adoption, so I have no basis for comparison, but I believe adoption at this age is unique because he is at such a key developmental stage. Parents adopting from birth know their children, well, from birth...parents who adopt "older" children can at least (possibly) communicate more effectively with them. Brendan is three--he hasn't developed the capability to commuicate in-depth feelings, and what he does communicate may not be complete reality. He is trying to figure out himself and how he fits into this world. He doesn't totally understand...and either do we. I am trying to walk the fine line of encouraging him to develop the natural independence that comes with being a three-year-old while simultaneously learning to depend on us. If not walked correctly, I know this can be a contradiction. I am desperately trying not to mess up.

I've said it countless times: adoption is a journey. There is no instant gratification--unlike what a part of me expected, rainbows and ponies did NOT come with the adoption decree. Adoption is a slow, hard-earned reward, the kind that you cherish the most. Tonight I tucked Bren in, and he could not sleep. He came down looking for me and asked me to lay in bed with him. He clung to me and caressed the skin on my arm. We're not there yet, but we are miles closer than we were.

Before Being Wright

I am a huge overthinker...and I can overthink ANY THING. Add that to adoption, and you have one of my greatest struggles. I have limitless questions that have impossible answers; it is enough to drive any one crazy, but mix that with an overthinker, and you have the recipe for many sleepless nights.

My questions started even before Brendan was our match. I would endlessly wonder about "nature vs. nuture." I would call my sister, who is a scientist, and pick her brain wanting to know what is pre-determined and what is influenced by how you are raised. Genetics vs. enviroment--you know, light stuff. As you can imagine, I would always end up more lost and confused (she uses REALLY big words)...and of course, these are impossible questions. All the time, I knew I just had to use faith to calm my fears, but sometimes I am more on the way to being that person than I am already that person!

The first photo we ever saw of Brendan

Once we were matched, the overthinking shifted into high gear. Now I had specific questions, fears, thoughts...I know nearly everything that has ever happened to Aidan and Cole Patrick. I know what they like, what they don't like, what scares them, what movies they have seen, what foods they have tried, where they have visited...every thing. I also know what I did and did not do before they were born. I wondered about his birth mom and dad, who we know very little about. What did they look like? Did they still live in this city? Were they still alive?

One of our dogs spent a year as a stray before we adopted her. Sometimes I look at Emma and say, "Emma Bean, what were you doing for a year??" If I am wondering that about our pup, you can imagine the questions pinging through my head about our new son. Beyond the obvious of what do you like and not like. I would wonder about all the unknowns--I would overanalyze everything--I still do. At first he kept confusing our two dogs: Emma is black, and Sophie is brown. I would be perplexed, asking my husband if we should be concerned. He can't tell the dogs apart--is there something wrong with him? He pointed with his middle finger instead of his pointer--why would he do that? He threw a tantrum--is he aggressive? He doesn't know his colors--is he developmentally delayed? It did not help that I couldn't, still haven't fully, conjured up my memories of how Aidan and Cole Patrick were at three-years-old. I suspect that lack of memory about three-year-olds is much like the memory of childbirth, programmed by God to be quickly forgotten so that we will actually reproduce again.

Last night, I was fixing dinner, and Aidan asked me to come in the living room. Brendan was telling her something she didn't understand, and she thought he was saying "mommy." It turned out Brendan was actually talking about the little girl he was raised with from birth. He was talking about her being at "the other house" and some of the things they did there (although he mentioned doing donkey kicks at the other house, and I am a pretty sure the donkey kick IS a Wright signature dance move, so I think some of his memory was him just trying to figure out reality).

Bren has been with us since last October, and this is the most he has ever talked of his foster family. We thought it was odd that he never asked for them (Was there something wrong with him??). Every once in a while he would briefly say something, but it would pass quickly. I was caught off-guard. I had no idea what to say. Along with the foster family, we had decided not to maintain a relationship--once Brendan moved to our house, they were not seen again.

To be honest, Jason and I have just hoped that soon enough he would never remember a time before being part of our family. At first I panicked, my heart was racing, and I was tempted to just ignore it or act like he was crazy...but that wouldn't be right. I am his Mom; I had to acknowlege it and comfort him. He finished talking and gave me a big hug. I explained to him that he was a part of our family and always would be. I don't know what triggered last night's thoughts and memories for him...maybe it was Jason packing to go TDY, maybe he misses his foster family, maybe it is just...normal. Of course, I am overthinking it, but I realize I will never really know what happened before us. With time, the past and even our transition will fade, and we will all struggle to remember a time in our family before Brendan.