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.