My Son

Even though I haven't actually written a new post in five months, I have written one in my head dozens of times. The problem is these three children who always want to be fed, taken to school, helped with homework and then, if that isn't enough, driven all over the city for violin, ballet, church, voice, etc. SO needy...! ;-) I wouldn't have it any other way--in fact, I would welcome more of the chaos.


Okay, so this time of year in particular, I play the part of adoption advocate. Albeit I am not great at it because I am STILL waiting for you people to adopt! ;-) We are about to start November, "National Adoption Month," which makes me a bit more outspoken than usual. Today, I was about to comment on a Facebook comment where someone had said, "Maybe we'll adopt one day." I caught myself about to write, "Do it! You won't regret it!" But then I realized, that is a complete lie; there WILL be points where you regret it.


Never one to be anything but honest when it comes to adoption, I would be lying to say there have not been moments when I thought about life before adoption and longed for it. With that said, what about parenthood? If you have not dreamily thought about life before the short people owned your time and absorbed all your energy, chances are, you're a liar. Parenting, whether bio or adoptive children, is NOT all kittens, unicorns and rainbows--in fact it is often blood, sweat and tears. If your experience is more kittens, unicorns and rainbows, you clearly aren't doing it right! ;-)

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: Adoption is the HARDEST journey to the GREATEST reward. I am just emerging from the longest first quarter of a school year EVER. Since Kindergarten started in August, I have been Bren's shadow. I am pretty sure that all the faculty at Bren's school secretly call me the Mom Stalker. Bren had a very rough start to Kindergarten--the principal had me on speed dial for the first week and then his wonderful and amazingly supportive teacher and I just decided it would be best if I just stayed: in the back of the classroom, in the hallway, around the corner--anywhere to scare him straight. ;-) Seriously, I hung out every day at school and it worked. It was not fun--I cried most days. His teacher told me yesterday, "There are few parents that would have done what you did for your son." That is unfortunate. I believe in him; I knew he could do this. As a parent, I know one thing for certain: it isn't about me; it is about him.


Bren has had adults fail him. Building trust takes time--this past quarter I spent at school transferring my authority to the teachers so he could see that it was okay. His success in mastering the fundamentals of behavior in Kindergarten was my only priority. Believe me, I thought about pulling him and just homeschooling--it would have been so much easier. However, Jason and I knew that in the long run, he needed to have this success. Academically, he is just like his big sister and brother--super bright, but he needed something I couldn't give him at home: the ability to trust, respect and accept leadership from adults besides us. It was frustrating, heartbreaking and exhausting. At the same time, it was amazing and rewarding. I never had to do this with my bio children--they naturally made the transition to school. Unlike Bren, they went into Kinder with a solid, stable five years under their belts. With them, I took for granted what a huge step Kindergarten really is. It came so easy, I never stopped to even think about it.


There is so much I never had to think about before adoption. Everything fit right into a perfect box--it was all very neat and tidy. Adoption, especially transracial adoption, can open some pretty messy doors. Over the past three years, there have been moments where I have been completely overwhelmed by the things that no longer perfectly fit into my neat and tidy box. I have been angry at the way people sometimes look at my son or me or my family. I have been both shocked and saddened by some people's reactions and stereotypes of adoption, especially foster care adoption. I have been frustrated out of my mind with race issues--and exhausted having my neat world opened to these issues to which previously, I had been completely oblivious. Other times, I have been just unbelievably floored that I had actually lived 40 years and NOT realized the complexity and unfairness of race relations. Beyond adoption and race issues, I took for granted the true necessity and pure power of love and nurturing. I now remind people that not every one is loved from birth. Whoa. No matter what else you have or don't have, if you were loved from birth, you are truly blessed. Bren went almost three years without a family. Three years. Can you imagine? I can't. I can't--I think it would literally break my heart. There are moments when I mourn not having that time with him.

Three years later, I am stronger, deeper, better. We all are. That crazy little man is my son. My son. Not my "adopted son," my son. There are moments I never thought we'd get to this point, but we are here. The path has not been easy, neither is parenting a bio child. There are no guarantees made when it comes to children. Give them time, love and discipline and pray A LOT. I am honest about adoption in hopes that others will choose the same path. There are so many children that just need love and time. This is a path worth taking.

I Will Be Playing the Part of Parent

Last night I was sitting in the ballet studio hall reading to Bren when a fellow "dance mom" walked by and said, "I was told you would be a good person to talk to." Okay...not really sure where this is going. "How do you do it?" she asked. "How do you manage Aidan's school and dance and a family?" She continued, "How do you justify all the money spent for training and intensives? How do you revolve your whole family around her? Do you REALLY want her to be a professional dancer?? Isn't she losing her childhood? Wouldn't he [pointing to Bren] rather be playing football with his friends than sitting here every night?" Whoa.



Yes, I spend every night of the week, except Sundays (and sometimes Sundays), in the dance hallway between studios reading to Bren while Aidan and sometimes Cole Patrick dance. This is a choice we made for our family; it is an investment. While Aidan may or may not become a professional, the training she is enjoying is teaching her life lessons of  grace, discipline and hard work. She has continually and consistently shown us the passion, determination and work ethic required to follow this dream. She already spends equal amount of time at ballet as she does at school and would welcome more, if it was available. This isn't a childhood we are imposing on her, this is a childhood she wants more than anything in the world. Aidan is blessed with many gifts; I have no doubt that she will do something great, but only God knows what that actually may be.



In the meantime, I see nothing wrong with teaching my boys to support and appreciate their sister. Being selfless, is a virtue that will serve them for a lifetime. I don't look at them as losing something, but gaining. Additionally, they know we support dreams--when they find theirs, we will support them, too. As for reading to Bren, what better gift could I give him? Yes, as a parent who doesn't do electronics for five-year-olds, he quite possibly may be the most read to child in the world! We always have a book bag with us ready to read, but I don't think he is missing out. Between the bonding and the love of reading, I see it as a gift. What actually concerns me is the fact that people continually comment on the fact that I am always seen reading to him. People don't criticize it, they notice it because the fact is, today, you are more likely to see a five-year-old with an iPhone or a DS then being read a book. Even as I write this, I am listening to Bren beside me playing with his castle and all the characters, absorbed in their storyline. What can I say, I like old school; I believe in it--I just don't see technology as a substitute for books and imaginations that have thrived for generations.



At the library this week, I overheard two moms with pre-schoolers complaining that they put computers in the Children's Section. It left them no choice but to allow their children to play the computer games when they come to the library. Not to judge, but really? Who exactly is the parent in your family? I have always firmly believed in boundaries, rules and clear expectations for children, but adopting really drove that point home for me. I think with Aidan and Cole Patrick I was just following my instincts and praying for the best, but when Bren became our son at two, with little to no boundaries, I realized that hey, I may be on to something. Over the past almost three years, we have slowly [and sometimes with much difficulty] watched a brooding, somewhat lost two-year-old become a happy, bright five-year-old. I truly believe that having boundaries and set family rules helped him feel part of something, to be part of our team, included in our family. I am just a parent, certainly not a child psychologist, but I am convinced that children thrive on structure and part of that structure is knowing your parents are in charge.

I left the dance conversation feeling uneasy; I felt sorry for the other mom. I think I had believed that everyone who had children that found their dream was happy with their position. I love seeing Aidan follow her passion; seeing the joy in her eyes when she performs always brings me joy. Though I know it is work for all of us, life is about choices, about sacrifices. Though I realized she wanted me to commiserate with her on how difficult this is, I just don't see it that way. In reality, I walked away filled with the joy of feeling completely blessed.

LIFE

This morning I was getting ready and Bren was sitting on my bed. "I don't know if I like my ears or my belly button more...I think my ears," he says. Then he asks, "Mom, what does a belly button DO?"

Bren is at a point now that he is quite aware of two things: he did not come from my belly, and he is not the same color as the rest of us. In turn, I am extremely aware that how I portray these two facts will guide his attitude about both being adopted and being black. Honestly, I don't know enough about either, so I just always try my best to be positive, learn from any one I can and have complete faith that God did not set me on this path to see me fail. We are just a work in progress.

Bren turned five this week, and on his birthday, I always think of his birth mother. We know so little about her, but as a mother, I know she must think about the little boy she carried. I wish I could tell her that he is thriving. That he can write, is starting to read, that he loves Star Wars, he has lost two teeth, he can ride a two-wheeler...most of all, that he is loved, that he is safe, and that he has such an amazing future--I just know it. His birthday also falls two days before the anniversary of Roe v. Wade, and this year, March for Life embraced the theme of adoption. Two themes that have deeply colored my life and who I am today.

Spring of my junior year in college, I found myself pregnant and scared--I didn't choose adoption....in fact, it didn't even occur to me. I have gone over the memory a million times in the last twenty odd years trying to figure out what I was thinking, but mostly I can only remember blurred fear. I didn't give life a chance, and I have never been the same person.

In hindsight, I have never grasped why I made the choice: I was raised soundly Catholic by a mom who was actively pro-life; I had never believed in abortion in any way, but when I found myself in that situation I only remember fear. I didn't feel I could turn to my family; my parents were often too consumed fighting their own demons. At the moment, I was pretty much a scared kid, but really there isn't an excuse. I am 42 now, and I have rarely shared this or even fully admitted it to myself.

The guilt I harbored was, at times, more than I could bear. I spent the next five years pretty much trying to destroy myself. I could not forgive or forget. When I was finally able to go to the sacrament of reconciliation, I chose a young priest at my parish in D.C. I hoped he would help lift the burden that was destroying my soul. Instead, he basically told me that I probably shouldn't be allowed to be part of the church since I committed a mortal sin; he only reinforced what I was already thinking. It took me years after that to realize that was just one young priest--a human--not Jesus. I still struggle at times to truly accept my forgiveness...or even to forgive myself. Faith and my family eventually pulled me through so I could weave something positive. I look back and see the struggles and the transformations and how in the end so much of my life was always in God's hands.

I know the choice--I know it is a positive word for a negative that can truly destroy a person. When I see the pictures from the news, I wonder how many who fight for abortion rights truly know what they are choosing? I cringe when people try to argue that abortion empowers women--nothing could be further from the truth. I have always tried to spin positives from negative.  I know what I did; I know I cannot ever change it, but that doesn't have to be the end of the story. I am an infinitely better mom because of the struggles I have overcome and even for the poor choices I have made. I am open and supportive, and I constantly remind them that I will be there for them and love them NO MATTER WHAT. I always have open arms for them. I often recall moments when I felt completely lost and connect with that when I see them trying to figure out their path in life.

Bren's birth mom had choices. I know she had to have been scared, but I thank God that she choose life. God has a plan. I explain to Bren that his belly button is where he was attached to his birth mom. That cord fed him and kept him safe so that he could grow to be a strong, healthy baby. When he is older I will share with him what I know of her, but for now I just want him to know he is wanted and belongs. I believe his birth mom must have loved him. She chose to give him life and then she chose to let him go when she realized she couldn't beat the demons in her life. We all have demons--it is how we chose to fight them that determines who we are and who we will become.

Maybe you heard? It's National Adoption Month!

If you actually read my Facebook posts, you may already be aware that November is National Adoption Month; I might have mentioned it once or twice...:-) Adoption seems to be becoming my passion, especially transracial adoption, but I really never intended it to be. Many who have adopted have this clear picture of being called. Not us, we have this sporadic chain of events that ended in our youngest son--I suppose that alone is proof that God was carrying us all along.

I actually don't ever remember Jason and I discussing adoption. After we seemed to no longer be able to biologically have more children, adoption just seemed obvious. In early 2009 we met with Catholic Charities in Seattle to pursue international adoption. I remember walking away from the meeting and just feeling overwhelmed. I remember being on the playground right after that and telling a neighbor about it. I think it was the first time I had mentioned the thought of adoption to any one. My neighbors response was basically, "God bless you; I could never do that!" I remember wondering, "Why?"

Shortly after that meeting Jason left for Iraq on deployment #3, and well, adoption was just pushed aside for a year. One day at Fort Lewis, a friend of mine casually suggested we try adoption from foster care, where they adopted their children. This profoundly struck me because 1.) I didn't know her children were adopted, and 2.) I was amazed in all the years of thinking about adoption that I had NEVER considered the U.S. Foster Care System. Next thing I know, we have PCSed to MacDill AFB in Tampa, and we are sitting in an informational meeting on adopting from Foster Care in Florida, which basically began a three-month weed-out process for families, who were deemed good candidates to adopt and begin a home study.

Once we were through all the qualifications, background checks and home study, I began some serious soul-searching. I have always been intrigued by nature vs. nurture. My siblings and I weren't exactly raised in ideal parenting conditions, and yet, for the most part we demonstrated the ability to intelligently thrive. Because of my background, I always tended to side on nature being a stronger determinant of success. This belief immensely scared me when it came to adoption.

I am fairly open about Brendan's history, but at the same time, it is my responsibility to protect him. Bren himself was not a "crack baby", but his birth mother did chose drugs over him. I have never judged her--many folks lose battles to addictions every day. She did her best to protect him during pregnancy, but after he was born, she lost her strength, and her sister called Social Services. She nor his father were selfish--they did not fight to keep him when they knew they could not best provide.

As we were in the match process, I knew that drugs were prevalent in the causes for termination of parental rights in the U.S. Foster Care System, and I searched for studies on the long-term effects of prenatal exposure. At the time, nothing was available--drug-exposed babies was a fairly "new" topic. This summer a team from the Children's Hospital of Philadelphia concluded a 25-year study: "The years of tracking kids have led Hallam Hurt, chair of neonatology at Albert Einstein Medical Center, to a conclusion she didn't see coming. 'Poverty is a more powerful influence on the outcome of inner-city children than gestational exposure to cocaine,' Hurt said at her May lecture."



True Blessings

Nurture. It seems that nurture ACTUALLY is the greater factor. We know little about Bren's birth parents: names, birthdates, prenatal/medical history. Enough for peace of mind. I know they are both super tall, which is why not a day goes by that a person, a.k.a. "Master of the Obvious", doesn't say, "you sure are tall for your age!" I imagine there was some significant intelligence that sadly, never had the right opportunity or situation. Brendan is super smart--he has no problem intellectually hanging with Aidan and Cole Patrick. He is read to and talk to and loved. He embraces knowledge. He is curious and inquisitive always testing rhymes and letter sounds. He remembers every detail--if I change anything in the house, guaranteed, he will be the first to notice. He is bright.

I suspect he is just a sample of the amazing potential trapped in the myths of foster care. Recently someone was asking me about our experience and she wondered out loud, "What if families like yours really are the key to finally solving the race issues in our country?" I had never really thought about it, but she may be onto something. We never planned to adopt a black son--I remember in our home study when we were ask, "Race?" And we were like, "Uh, human..." It had never occurred to me that people wanting to adopt actually cared about the color of the child's skin. Perhaps I am naïve, but I was shocked to learn that in actuality, most do have strong feeling on the topic.

Our path to Bren was not thought out; I can't even clearly verbalize it (as I may have just demonstrated). Much of it is a blur--and much of the time, I was fighting God's path for me. I am blessed that He had faith in me, and I pray, especially this month, that others will be inspired and blessed by this amazingly difficult and absolutely wonderful journey. :-) In order to thrive, children need safe, loving families--it really is that simple.

 

Two years ago...

On October 18, 2011, we met our youngest son. On November 5, 2011, he came to permanently live with us. As we are marking our time together, and as next week begins National Adoption Month, I have been reflecting on our journey--the good, the bad and the ugly.

The first picture we receive of Brendan at disclosure

One of the reasons I write this blog is to be completely honest about my adoption experience. I can honestly say, adoption really isn't THAT much different than parenthood...it is HARD. It isn't rainbows and ponies. It is consistent, repetitive, HARD work--just like parenting bio children. Early on in this journey, I adopted the motto, "We can do hard things." Simple, to the point...we can. There were days that these five words alone carried my faith that this day would come.

I have always been honest about my adoption struggles. Jason never struggled; Aidan never struggled; Cole Patrick and I...we struggled enough for the whole family! On my darkest days, I believed I had failed everyone--that Brendan would be better off with another family. I struggled significantly with attachment, which as a Mom, is, honestly, just pure hell. There was a time--a long time--where Cole Patrick completely rejected Bren, and I agonized over why God had brought us here.

Race relations was just another layer to our new, complex lives. I often cursed the fact that there was no privacy to the fact that Bren was adopted. Every one knew--I imagined people's judgment when he acted out in public. I  was embarrassed by the staring when I went to the store...or pretty much anywhere in public. Some people had obvious judgment, others gave me smiles of pity. I hated both the judgment and the "pity"...I still do, but either I see less of it, or I am just no longer so sensitive. I think it is probably both--I think Colorado is actually a more tolerant area than Florida was, and I have also learned to proudly "own" my family's new identity.

This morning--I watched as Cole Patrick woke Brendan up by laying on top of him and giggling together. There was a time that Cole would not even touch Brendan. We have come so far. By the grace of God, so far.



Bren with Preschool Homework. So proud!

Today, I cannot even believe the difference. Bren is a different boy than the defiant little guy that came to live with us two years ago--he is just amazing! He is so smart--he can definitely intellectually hang with Aidan and Cole Patrick, which honestly was my only request during home study beyond keeping birth order in tact. He is sweet, loving, funny and I am so proud of him--so proud of what our family has experienced--and it is just the beginning.

Yesterday I had Bren's first parent-teacher conference at school. I heard a lot of "Brendan is the only one that can do this...Brendan is the only one that understands that..." Then his teacher said, "I love how he tells his friends, 'We can do hard things' when there is a challenge." :-) That's my boy!

 I don't think our story is remarkable or too different than others who have chosen this path, but it has changed my world in ways I never imagined. I do pray that someone who has watched our journey is inspired. Adoption is beyond amazing, it really is. There are so many children who just want a family. Time and love--that is all it really takes--just like parenting bio children. Honestly.

Adoption Loss, or my attempts to keep Bren "normal"

Gosh, time sure got away from me, I will blame it on a PCS quickly followed by a deployment: brutal. Any way, we are settling in Colorado, and Jason is settling in Afghanistan, and it is as awesome as deployments can be, which means I have kept three kids, two dogs and a kitty alive for over a week—yes, don’t mind me while I pat myself on the back!

I don’t know if it is the deployment, starting preschool, just his age or most likely a combination of all three, but Brendan is becoming more fully aware of what it means to be adopted. He is aware that he is “chocolate” and that we are “white chocolate”, and he is aware that he came from a chocolate Mommy. We have always had an open approach to the subject of adoption—being subtle really was never an option with our color extremes.

I am currently reading Twenty Things Adopted Kids Wish Their Adoptive Parents Knew, and I’ll be honest the book scares the heck out of me—quite frankly, it should come with some kind of disclaimer. This is one of THE books in the adoptive world, so I feel kind of obligated to read it…like maybe there’s going to be a quiz later. A large premise of the book is that children have to grieve the loss of their birth parents…or they may grow up to be angry time bombs who “steal, set fires and destroy property” and then turn violent. Okay, I am not sure I am totally buying all of this, but like I said, this scares the heck out of me, so I’d like to stay on the right side of this one, so let’s start grieving!

Since the day Jason deployed we have had behavior problems in preschool. I suspect part of it is he is reacting to someone leaving him, and he doesn’t know how to process it. He is strong-willed and wants to control; I don’t really blame him. So, the other day, I decided to sit him down and have the adoption talk with him. I explained to him that sometimes mommies and daddies can’t take care of their babies—either they don’t have the ability or the resources. Maybe they don’t have food or even a house. When that happens, God calls in his “Plan B” mommies and daddies. I don’t know that he understood. His immediate response was, “We have a refrigerator AND a pantry! And we had one in Florida, too!” He also tells me, “Before I was Brendan Michael Wright, I was Brendan Michael Foster,” and I realize that all along when we have talked about the foster family, he thought it was the Foster Family! I had to laugh…I say no, you weren’t even Brendan Michael. “What was my name?” he asked. I paused, “I’ll tell you all about it when you are a little older.” I don’t have the heart to tell the little guy he was named after our worst president ever—Thank God we saved him. J

In all sincerity, I do totally buy into the loss. Absolutely. His is a loss greater than any I have known—we will face it, and I will do everything needed to help him through it and know he is loved and wanted. I don’t necessarily believe, according to this book, that everyone who is adopted feels this huge hole and uncontrollable anger toward the adoptive parents at some point. The book seems to focus on trying to fill a void that makes adoptees not feel normal. Seriously, my biological kids aren't normal...wait, we may be on to something...Seriously, I am not overly concerned, although this book may give me nightmares. Brendan appears really well-adjusted; he REALLY likes attention—I think he actually enjoys being the different one in the family—the special one.

Yesterday we were in the car talking about how when I was pregnant with Aidan she was a constant kicker, so we named her Aidan, which means “fiery one”. Bren said, “I am sad because I was never in your belly.” I don’t know that he is really sad and ready to grieve, but I am trying really hard to let him talk out any feelings he has about adoption (you know, so he doesn’t grow up to be a violent criminal…). I went on to explain to him that we chose “Brendan” for him because it means “brave.” He is, and he will need to be.

My Journey to a New Reality

Aidan, Bren & Cole Patrick

I was at the doctor a couple weeks ago, and she mentioned that a friend of hers was told in the adoption process that if they choose to adopt a black baby their adoption would move much quicker. This is absolutely true. In fact, until we were in our home study, I did not know that many adoptive parents are not open on the issue of race. I vividly remember being absolutely floored by this. It seems contradictory to me. You are willing to adopt a child that is not biologically yours, but you want to pick out the color? This astounded me. I was naïve--so incredibly naïve.

First of all, not everyone adopts because their are too many children that need a loving family; in fact, many people adopt because they need a child. Now, you think I am master of the obvious here, but in actuality, everyone lives within their own scope of reality, however narrow or wide that may be. My reality wasn't that I needed another child, but I really wanted one...or two or three more, and I was aware that there were a bunch that needed homes, so it was pretty logical. Adopting a child of another race, I learned just how narrow my scope really was. As I was talking to my doctor, I told her, I felt almost ridiculous that I had lived 40 years only truly seeing part of the world. In fact, she said, you can apply that to so many instances. For example, say you were opposed to homosexuality and you had a homosexual child, suddenly you might view things completely differently. This is a valid point,and it could be applied in several instances. Absolutely--once it is personal, it changes everything. It is truly humbling.

ADORABLE!!!

I am currently reading, Why Are All the Black Kids Sitting Together in the Cafeteria? by Beverly Daniel Tatum. First of all, yes, I do pick my books by how awesome the title is--just like I pick my wine by how creative the name is--the crazier, the better. I am a simple person. Seriously, this is a phenomenal book. Amazing eye-opener. As I have previously stated, as parents of a black male, Jason and I feel enormous responsibility to realistically prepare him for how society will see him, both WITH us and on his own. I will confess that I am extremely diligent about manners and behavior with him, probably even overboard, but any little edge I can give him, I will. I am fully aware that the world will be harder on my little brown baby than my two blue-eyed, fair-haired children. As their Mama, it absolutely breaks my heart, and I cannot always wrap my head around it, but I fully know that denying it is not doing Brendan any favors. It is Jason's and my job to raise him to be the best man possible and ignoring racism is not an option.
 
I am only a few chapters into the book, but already it is bleeding pink highlighter. I really like how the author defines racism in America. She explains that it cannot be called an expression of prejudice alone, but rather it is a "system of advantage based on race." Now, I was raised with little exposure to people who looked different than me, and I did not hear my family speak negatively of other races, so perhaps I am an oddity in that I am more intrigued by differences than I am fearful of them. I have always been drawn to better understanding people's differences, whether it be physical, beliefs, politics or religion. In the past almost two years since Brendan became part of our lives, it has been a flood of new knowledge for me. At times, I have felt nearly overwhelmed by the wide scope of differences in my previous reality vs. actual reality (or perhaps current reality).

Yes, the advantage is undeniable. As I prepare Brendan for school, I am much more nervous than I ever was with Aidan or Cole Patrick. As whites, in complete honesty, there are so many advantages we never even notice--that is our reality. For instance, I sent both Aidan and Cole Patrick to preschool and then on to Kindergarten with complete confidence that they would be treated fairly by their teachers--it never occurred to me that they might not be. On the other hand, that is currently one of my greatest concerns for Bren--selecting a school/teacher where he will not be treated with any discrimination for either being black or being adopted.

"Because racism is so ingrained in the fabric of American institutions, it is easily self-perpetuating." True words. Perhaps I wouldn't have seen this two years ago, but I am acutely aware now. As the author describes, most of us think of racism as a vile image of men in white hoods--to be called a racist would be like a punch in the gut. In actuality, racism is a thread through most of our lives--whether we are aware of it or not. In many ways, media is a significant perpetuator of racism--more and more, media defines what is good, bad, beautiful, ugly, right, wrong. I see it in books, magazines, movies, social media, every where. Previously, I might pick up a book or magazine and never notice a lack of diversity or positive images of non-whites. Now, I notice it immediately.

Perhaps I really am naïve, but what torments me the most is why? After almost two years with a black son, I cannot figure out why the fuss over black and white? Our differences are truly miniscule--in actuality, even being non-biologically related, Bren has acclimated to us to the point that nurture is truly outweighing nature. His only differences are colors of skin/hair, hair texture and that he is a better dancer. The similarities are much greater--he talks like us, thinks like us, jokes like us, he has developed the same interests of reading, drawing and sports. Would he have been different in another family? Probably, but not necessarily because of the black and white, but because families are different. 

One of my hopes for my family is that we will touch peoples' lives that perhaps had never considered the issue of race or didn't even realize the choke-hold racism actually has on our society. I hope that people will read what I write and maybe increase their awareness. I do realize that not everyone will be drawn to us--some will see us as too different--I've seen that already, but many people will see beyond our skin. I hope with each life the Wright family touches, we will open doors and minds.

We are Different!

Bren & Me

A few days ago, Aidan told me that she was upset because a boy saw Brendan and me at school and said, "Hey, look at that white mom with a black baby!" I asked Aidan if she responded. She told me that she turned to him and said, "Hey, that's my Mom and my brother." (I am certain there was more attitude in the actual response than was displayed in the re-telling). "Okay, and how did he respond to you?" I inquired (I have learned from years of parenting to have all the information before giving any guidance). Aidan said he replied, "I'm sorry. I'm not racist." So, I asked Aidan what his race was, and she said he was African-American.

I told Aidan that some people really can be mean, but often times, people are just curious. I think this boy was just vocalizing his curiosity about what he saw. I don't think he was trying to be mean in any way. Either way, I let her know that I was super proud that she stood up rather than just pretending she didn't hear what he said.

Bren at Aidan's School

Every transracial family is different. I have heard of ones that do not discuss race at all, but we are absolutely open. Brendan knows his skin is a different color than ours. He has already expressed dislike of his skin color and a realization that "black" is often associated with bad or evil in media. I am a very straight-forward person--I face these issues head-on. I read him lots of books to encourage him to be proud of his race and to be confident in being adopted--any media that portrays differences as positive, I grab onto it!

I feel that the best way to prepare our family for comments of any kind is to talk openly--to be comfortable in our own skin (pun totally intended!). Aidan still struggles to comfortably say the word "black"; she feels it is offensive and whispers it--so we continue to work on that. The best defense we can have if, and more likely when, a truly mean comment is made, is to be knowledgeable, prepared and confident about who we are.

Bren looking dapper for Musical Theatre

By nature, people are curious. As we prepare to move, now to Colorado, we will likely experience more eyes watching us. We have spent a year and a half as a transracial family, and overall, most people here at MacDill, at least on base,  no longer look at us too differently. Going to a new post, we will likely see an influx of curiosity. I know even Bren is starting to notice when people look too long. At Mass this past Sunday I noticed a little girl staring. I looked down at Bren to see he was giving her a "what are you lookin' at?" look in response. Bren is strong; I am certain he will learn to hold his own. But as we all learn to own our identities, I want him to be proud: proud of his race, proud of his story, and proud of his family.

We ARE different. As I tell the kids, "If we were all the same, it would be boring." We sing songs about being different; we read books about being different; we watch episodes of Sesame Street that celebrate differences. We embrace being different, hoping our children will grow up to feel comfortable, confident and loved.

Second to None

Last weekend, Aidan and I watched "First Position". If you aren't familiar with this film, it is an amazing documentary following six dancers as they train for and compete in the Grand Prix, widely considered one of the world's most prestigious ballet competitions. One of the six youth is Michaela DePrince, who was adopted from Sierra Leone by white parents. Michaela's mother discusses how she has to change all the "flesh" colored portions of Michaela's costumes because that is only some people's actual flesh color. She continues to discuss how other dance moms have told her that she is wasting her time because blacks never become ballerinas. She aptly comments, "I don't know if they don't think I love Michaela as much a they do their child because she is adopted or if they are really just that crass." Michaela DePrince is currently a professional ballerina.


Daddy & Baby Airborne Cole Patrick

I am not sure if it is just human instinct, but it is definitely challenging to put yourself in another's shoes if you have not truly walked the journey. For instance, before adopting, I didn't notice "flesh" colored. I didn't notice how many books don't have diverse skin colors, and that cute black dolls are virtually impossible to find. It is fair to say, with my fair-haired, light-skinned children, I was oblivious. Completely.

In the beginning, I was super naïve. I did not protect Brendan's birth story and shared with any one who asked, completely unaware of what I was doing. Our new identity was so sudden I didn't stop to think. I looked at blacks in a whole new way--I must have thought our new son automatically brought me new knowledge. I belonged to a new club, and soon they were going to teach me the secret handshake. No one taught me the secret handshake...I don't even think there is one. About the only thing I did right was realize that yes, I had a new identity. The rest of it I blame on the sheer insanity of being a new adoptive Mom.

Daddy & Little Airborne Bren

I am thankful that I have learned early that it is our family's duty to protect Bren's story. There are people who will use his history to judge him and form preconceived notions him--as much as I am able, I will do all I can to prevent that. Recently, someone said to me, "He probably did that because of his "history'". No. He probably did that because he is a normal, healthy four-year-old boy.

Unfortunately, I don't believe we will ever be able to "hide" from the public the fact that Bren is adopted. We pretty much are a walking advertisement for adoption (and hopefully a positive one). Nonetheless, I am also grateful that we have learned early on the absolute necessity to being his unwavering advocates. I have noticed that there are people who treat Bren as if he is second to our biological children--they probably don't even realize they do it. Like I said earlier, it isn't automatic for us to understand the paths we have not walked. People say things to me about Bren that they would never ever say to me about Aidan or Cole Patrick. Do they think I love him less? I suspect they just don't fully realize.

As Bren grows older or more aware of his differences, we have a responsibility to protect him. Ideally, we will make all the right decisions, and we will surround him with enough love and confidence to outweigh the insensitivities of society. But, realistically, there very well may be a challenging road of figuring it out for all of us, but that just sounds a lot like parenthood! 

As I've said before, I do not believe that God designs children for adoption. I believe God made Bren for his biological parents, but when that didn't work out, we were Plan B. We are not saints; we are not perfect; he is not blessed to have "found" us. Each of us are a blessing to each other. Unlike so many other stories I read on blogs and Facebook, our adoption calling was not exceptional. We did not know from the time that we were 12 years old that we wanted to adopt, and we didn't slide down a rainbow into a barrel full of puppies on our journey to Bren. Like so many others, quite simply, we realized that we had greater capacity for love, and we did something about it. With this said, I blog on our experiences not to rant or to complain or be negative. I pray that I help others to understand a bit more what it is like to walk in these shoes--for all of the adoptive and transracial families out there. Each person makes the difference. When you have the choice to support a family or just look away or worse, judge, I pray you chose to be their friend. I know it sounds cliché, but truly, only by taking the journey together do we learn to respect and understand what makes all of us different.

Phase One: Denial

Lots of journeys have stages: grief, recovery, and yes, PCSing. Now, after fourteen years as an Army wife, the ridiculousness of saying, "Boy, that really came out of left field!" is not lost on me. Yet, that was my first reaction. I thought we were in for the long dreamed about, but never experienced, "easy move" (which, yes, is an oxymoron)...I thought we were just going north a little bit back to North Carolina. Last week when Jason came home and said Colorado is on that table, I was surprised; when Jason came home Tuesday and said Hawaii, well that was completely out of left field.

Now, I will say, Jason should know better by now then to shout after me "It's Hawaii" as I casually ask him if he heard anything on my way out the door for the evening. He knows by now that I have to be gently patted on the head and told I'm pretty before you spring things on me. Okay, so first reaction: wow, that's different, exciting....thirty minutes pass...that's big, scary, isolated, volcanoes, tsunamis, I'm going to die in Hawaii!!! I have officially entered Phase One: Denial.

Now, the denial stage of PCSing can be brief or last months. There are still fingernail marks from 2008 when the Army dragged me from North Carolina to Fort Lewis. ;-) Tuesday night I googled PCSing to Hawaii and the first link I get is this: http://armywife101.com/2010/09/hawaii-one-army-wifes-thoughts-on-why-she-hates-living-here.html. Now, I know I shouldn't read it, but it is like a train wreck...though I can feel my fears taking over, I can't stop reading. Let me say this, "Army Wife", writing negatives on a location is so wrong--so un-Army wife--you are not doing yourself or your fellow wives any favor. We live uniquely challenging lives--if we can't support each other, we are completely lost. It isn't like we have a choice. I have yet to meet an Army wife who said, "Yeah, this move/deployment/etc. just isn't going to work for me," and the Army responded, "Oh, sorry about that. Okay, how about this awesome assignment instead?" That ONLY happens in our dreams.

Wednesday, I woke up full-strength denial mode. Maybe I'll stay behind with the kids, maybe the Army will decide to send us somewhere else, maybe if I don't say the word "Hawaii" we won't get orders. I spend the day with a cloud over my head, a heart that aches and wearing my pity party hat.

Thursday, I am absolutely certain that God is punishing me. This might be a Catholic thing, but yes, we do this crazy guilt thing: I have sinned; I know I have sinned; and now I have to atone. I am being sent to Hawaii because I haven't behaved well. Okay, that sounds completely ridiculous even to say--I can't even type it without laughing, but you get the jist of my complete crazy state-of-mind on Thursday.

By Thursday night, I am starting to realize because I have been an Army wife for fourteen years that I need to embrace this and make this the best, most positive experience possible. We have overcome challenging housing and schools before...we are going to Hawaii, stop bellyaching because my babies depend on my lead to color this move. So, Thursday night as I am driving home I see this guy's shirt,the back says: "Money can't buy happiness, but it can buy bacon, and that's close enough." Wait, I remember that Hawaii was wild boars, bacon right in our back yard...boars=pigs=bacon=happiness! We can have bacon and be happy--this is going to work!! (P.S. IF you followed my logic there, you really should be deeply concerned...)

Denial stage official ends--only two days, not bad for me! ;-)

Friday, on to Phase Two: Acceptance. We are going to Hawaii!!!! Aloha!!

Come Rain or Shine

Our family is currently resting in that uncomfortable spot known as "waiting for orders". Now, waiting for orders is never pleasant, but it is even worse when you don't know where in the world, literally, your orders will take you. This is particularly painful for Type A planners, like yours truly. But, alas, we are at the whim of Uncle Sam, so fussing is pretty much futile. Hopefully, in April, we will know where we head this summer, and then I can begin the planning that I must confess, I do love. Until then, we are in a holding pattern...sigh.

Our efforts to adopt again are pretty much on hold as we wait, too. We are reluctant to move forward until we know what the future holds for our family. We have mulled over so many possibilities in the past few weeks, but until we know a destination, we wait.

As we are watching a number of families adopt from the DRC (Democratic Republic of Congo), we are reminded that adoption is a waiting game, too. There are so many starts and stops. Last week, we were at the starting blocks ready to go! Then we had a conference call with the adoption facilitator, and learned that they are becoming an agency because independent adoptions (which we were hoping to pursue) are no longer being allowed as of 2014. Becoming an agency doesn't change any thing per se, but the price increased and the time to complete an adoption in the DRC recently increased. So, again, we step back and re-group a bit.

As we continue to wait and watch at the sidelines, I am intrigued by the families I watch adopt for the first time. I am reminded how naive we were...and likely still are in some ways. I am currently reading a new adoption book entitled, "Come Rain or Come Shine" by Rachel Garlinghouse. What I love about the book is that it is written by a mom--a white parent, who has three black children, and it is tagged "A White Parent's Guide to Adopting and Parenting Black Children." Unlike so many other "experts"on adoption and most of the "authorities" on adoption during our own adoption, who often don't even have adopted or biological children, she is the real deal. She has been there, done that!



Wright Clan at Epcot

First of, she makes me feels like I am not crazy/paranoid. I am not. Really. :-) In the Prologue, she says, "We weren't the couple in the room with the darling newborn--swaddled in a pink blanket--sleeping in her stroller. We were the couple with the brown-skinned, afro-headed, coffee-colored-eyes, darling newborn. The reality is that despite popular pronouncements, the world is not colorblind, prejudice didn't evaporate after the civil rights movement, and being White still comes with many privileges that brown-skinned individuals do not have." She continues to say, "Particularly in the case of transracial adoption, adoptive parents will face scrutiny from both individuals of their own race and of the child's race." Amen! Not amen that this is true, but amen that we are not just imagining this. As Bren became ours, we literally watched as some people distanced themselves from us, some of them college-educated, Christian folks--people we thought were just like us. This is one reason that even as much as we love our life here, we are eager to move to a place where no one ever knew us before Bren was our son. In theory, we will not watch any one drift away and wonder what happened. What you see is what you get.

One wonderful aspect of the military is diversity. I would be remiss if I did not acknowlege the MANY others that wholeheartedly embrace our family and support us. For the most part, people in our lives are extremely open-minded, tolerant to differenes and amazingly supportive. Over Spring Break, we spent some time out and about at various Disney Parks, and we definitely saw some of the ugliness that does still persist in our society, and not just from Americans. At this point it is mostly judging, negative looks. I can tell you without doubt that if you put our adorable 4-year-old son next to any white 4-year-old, most adults will be drawn to the white child. It breaks my heart. As he grows older, it will not improve unless we change our perception of different races, particularly blacks and espcially black males.



Cole Patrick, Aidan and Brendan's Jam Session

As I read further in her book I found a checklist: "You might be a good candidate for transracial adoption if..." followed by several situations. The one that most piqued my interest: "You intend to adopt more than one minority child." Ah, validation! So, I no longer feel so guilty that my primary reason to adopt again is for Brendan to have a sibling that isn't fair-skinned, fair-haired and light-eyed. For some reason, I felt like that was a poor reason to adopt--like getting Bren a puppy. Apparently, that is okay (not the puppy, the sibling! ;-). Not that I am not eager to have one more loud child running through my house, jumping off the furniture and bickering about being touched by another one of the loud children...I am (not). ;-) Really, at the heart of my pull to adopt again is Bren. While I can point out all the ways we match: two eyes, a nose, two legs, a heart, ears, etc. I know a day will come where our ONE difference hurts like hell for him. If adopting a sibling will ease that, I'm in.

I pray that families like ours make a difference in the way races see each other. I hope that we touch lives and continue to evolve in our relatively new position as a transracial family. Soon we will know where we are headed, and we can start again, in so many ways. Only God knows what our future holds. What ever it may be, we plan to embrace it, come rain or shine.





Heart for Adoption

Heart for adoption...I hear people say it all the time, especially, "I don't have a heart for adoption." Well, truth be told, I don't have a heart for adoption. I don't. God called me to adopt. He called me and called me until he carried me when I didn't even know he was carrying me. It is only looking back that I see clearly and know how truly divine our journey was.

In the past year+, I have learned a tremendous amount about myself. I faced darkness I had not known; I found holes where I had thought I was whole. Like "they" say though (whoever they are), that which does not kill you, really does make you stronger. I am definitely stronger than I was before adoption. In the end (er, not really the end I guess), I am not the mom I thought I was. I am not the person I thought I was. We are not the family we were two years ago.

Daddy and Bren's first meeting

I am not close to saintly: I lose my patience, I yell, I judge, I am awkwardly and imperfectly human to the core; I am a sinner, plain and simple. What I do have is a defining sense of right and wrong. My world is often black and white, and often it is that clear to me. There are children in this world not only without families but also without food, shelter, medicine, safety and LOVE. My psyche and I have already had this argument; Jason and I have already had this discussion: we've adopted; we have Bren; we did "our part." Right?

Had I not taken baby steps each time God pushed me closer to His plan the first time around, we probably never would have adopted. Jason never felt particularly "called to adopt", but unlike me, Jason has an undeniable heart for adoption. His love didn't have to grow. He didn't question our journey on a daily basis, as I did. His heart didn't struggle and struggle...and struggle. He is my rock; he is Bren's rock. He is the one who held it together and unconditionally loved while my heart grew to adoption.

It is no surprise that six months ago when I first mentioned I felt the tug to adopt again, Jason looked at me like I had two heads. For a number of reasons, I put it on the back burner. Like the first time we adopted, the feeling does not subside. While the noise of our every day family life can keep it a bay for a while, one thing I know is that when God has a plan for me, He will persist louder than my worries...he will mold my heart to His plan. 

Despite not having a heart for adoption, I have a heart for God's work, for the greater good, for the need to be a part of something much bigger than me. I know there are millions of children out there who need a daddy with Jason's heart and a mama who God is growing each day. I know despite our worries about money, school, family, job, etc., etc., and our human imperfections, that we are truly blessed beyond measure. As long as we can keep giving back, it just seems like the right thing to do.

Keepin' It Real

I never ever considered myself to be racist. Who does? Are there people who actually admit to being racist?? I suppose there are, but I think more people are like me--they see themselves as completely civil and accepting until the day that is challenged.

We adopted a black male because quite frankly black male children are the hardest to place. Never to shy away from a challenge, during our homestudy we said, "We can do that! Bring it!" When Brendan actually moved in, I was not quite the person I had hoped. I struggled: he looked different, he felt different, he smelled different. It didn't come naturally to me like I thought it would. I worried about crazy stuff. I remember one day only a week or two after he moved in actually thinking: "Is it possible he will kill me one day?" I know you are thinking I am crazy--I beat myself up over it. Why am I so uncomfortable? Would I feel the same if it was a white child we adopted? Is it because he is adopted or because he is black or both? I agonized for a long time.

Now, for clarification, I share all these pretty personal details of my thought-process not because I am an over-sharerer and like to make others feel uncomfortable (I do not. Really.). Rather, I really am hoping to help others, especially those close to us or others going through adoption, to understand our challenges as well as our triumphs.

Of all the things I thought I would experience with adoption, it never really occured to me how much I would have to become an advocate--not just for adoption, but for race relations. All those feelings I didn't expect in the beginning helped me to grow to the person I had thought I was all along, and then some. So, this a.m. I asked Jason, "Do you think I am overly sensitive about race?" Without a beat, he responded, "Yes. Absolutely." Now, I get this--Jason and I have two very different approaches to life in general: I am usually the one planning for college while Jason is pretty content that we just kept all three happy and healthy one more day.

Okay, so, yes, I am overly sensitive, let me ask this question a different way. "I saw this on Facebook yesterday, and it infuriates me, do you think I am justified?"

So, me being me, I comment: Hey, this offensive. Okay, some of these are somewhat amusing and certainly may ring true, but first of all: C'mon, just be nice. Blowing out someone else's candle, doesn't make yours burn brighter, people. More importantly, "white girl with 3+ multi-racial children" is offensive and completely inappropriate. Well, the response I got from a "friend's friend" who doesn't know me from Adam, was that I need to just lighten up, afterall, it will be St. Patrick's Day in a few weeks and we will all tell Irish jokes and no ones going to get bent out of shape about that, and then the kicker: I should learn to take a joke, so all my friends don't end up "unfriending" me.

Okay, first of all, if my choice is between not having a friend and having a friend who makes jokes at the expense of others, then I'm okay without friends (we are all adults here, right, this isn't high school any more...) My being bothered by this post only grew more after such a response from what I do assume is an educated person. Really? There IS a responsibility that comes with social media. This bingo sheet clearly paints multi-racial children/families as a negative. I don't believe I am reading into that in any way. If you perpetuate (aka, "share") that, you most certainly do have responsibility to it.

I do think that I can take a joke: humor is a key component to making it through each day because, believe me, the insensitivity and racism isn't confined to Facebook. When we started our adoption journey, we thought we were being led to give a family to a child. We didn't realize the responsibility we would take on in being an advocate for Bren, multi-racial families, transracial adoptions and pretty much any one who looks different. That, we absolutely do take seriously.

 

Moving On

A unique characteristic of an Army family's life is that every two-three years we prepare for a permanent change of station (commonly used as the verb, PCS). This is when movers pack up all our belongings, we pray that nothing gets lost or broken, we say goodbye to all our friends, and we move to a new location. Many civilians find this absolutely crazy--many in the military, however, actually enjoy it. I am one of those. We have been assigned to five different posts and are currently preparing for a summer PCS. I love the change, the excitement, the challenge. After 14 years of being an Army wife, I only get better at PCSing.

Our Family

Our upcoming PCS holds some different feelings for me. Yes, I am excited--I will, hopefully, be even more excited once we actually know where our orders will take us. I also feel somewhat unsure. You see, this will be Brendan's first PCS. He is a absolute trouper, so I am certain he will handle the move fine. I am more concerned that we are leaving behind his place of birth. I know that I have done this twice before--leaving Aidan's and Cole Patrick's birth towns, but somehow this evokes more complicated feelings.

As I drive Aidan's middle school carpool each morning, I pass Tampa General Hospital, where Bren was born. I know next to nothing about his birth parents. Despite the fact that Bren is our son and part of our family--there are biological ties out there, presumably in this city. Knowing where you come from is significant. I completely expect Bren to one day want to know more about his birth parents--while it may hurt when that day comes, I understand the importance.

I recently read a book where adoption was compared to reading a book with the first chapter ripped out. You really like the book, but it would sure be nice to know what happened in that first chapter. But then again, what if you had the opportunity to read the first chapter, and it completely changed the way you felt about the book? You might end up wishing you hadn't read the first chapter. Tough choices for anyone. Know that very little about adoption is uncomplicated. Think about it...what if you didn't know your medical history, where you came from, where you got your eyes or those adorable dimples (where did Bren get those adorable dimples??) I would imagine it feels a lot like finishing a puzzle only to find that one piece is missing.

I have no doubt that Bren's life in our family will hold more opportunities and love than he would have had with his birth parents. At the same time, even I am really curious about his history as well--more than anything, I would love to just see a picture of his birth parents. Today I googled his parents' names again--it isn't the first time I have done this. I have a few leads, but I am incredibly hesitant to go down any path--it may turn up more than I want to know. I wonder how many other adoptive parents have felt the pull to know more. In the end, I want to be strong and understanding for Bren if or when he needs to grieve the loss of his birth family--I would never underestimate his need to do this at some point.

When we PCS this summer, it will be bittersweet. I think a part of me may grieve leaving his place of origin and most importantly, the place he came to our family. At the same time, I am super excited to start over with him--a new post will be a place where no one ever knew us without him.