Multi-racial Family

I have a multiracial family. Mostly when I stop and think about my wonderful, perfect-for-me, blessing of a family, I am overwhelmed with gratitude, love, and joy. And sometimes when I stop and think about it I have a slight panic attack. We didn't ever "seek" to be a multiracial family, but we definitely also didn't have any apprehension about becoming one. 3 years into being a family, I feel like I have learned so much, through life experiences, workshops, support groups, meeting so many other special families similar to ours, and definitely extensive reading--of blogs, books, articles, and more.

 I was not raised with even the slightest influence of racism, either good or bad, and I think when we first were asked the question "the baby girl is African American, are you ok with that?" by our caseworker the day we learned about Ashlyn, we felt in our hearts so strongly that this was the baby for us, that we didn't hardly give that question a second thought. And still now, if I could go back, I would do the same thing. BUT the one thing we learned really quickly is that although at first we thought we would just be a "colorblind" family, the world isn't colorblind. And I don't say that in an all-bad way, at all. But my eyes are opened to a lot more now than they were before my family became what it is. Sometimes it is wonderful, sometimes it is challenging, sometimes I panic thinking about the type of situations I may have to "man-up" and deal with some day. Sometimes it is so, so discouraging. But overall, day to day, race isn't an issue for us, in our hearts. It doesn't change the love in our family at all. And I really don't write or blog or even talk about it that much because I feel so inept at putting my real feelings or thoughts into words, and also I am still really fearful of making sure I say the right thing. Yes, I know there's not always a right thing to say.

 Most of the time when I think deeply about it I end up turning to my Heavenly Father in prayer to have enough faith and strength to deal with challenges that may come our way, or just my duaghter's way. I know she was sent to our family for many reasons, and it is really humbling to try to figure out why Heavenly Father saw us fit to deal with some things. On the other hand, already our lives have been blessed in so many ways that often are because of our chance to learn and grow as a special family like this. Mostly, I know that my daughter is a really special, strong spirit. I am humbled and become tearful when I think of the faith Heavenly Father put in me to be her mom. I hope I do ok. She is here to do some special things, and we're so blessed that it was our family she came to. I know that race doesn't define her, or us. So by posting this I hope you don't think that I do. But race is the topic of my post today, so that's why I'm writing this.

Anyway, like I said, I read about all things multiracial, racial, racist, etc., mostly applied to adoptive families, when I can. But I have to take it in small doses, because it overwhelms me sometimes. I just finished a great book about adoption, and lucked out because it was written by a transracial adoptive mom, which isn't super common, yet. I am putting this excerpt of a chapter straight onto this blog post because I feel like it is exactly my words--written by someone else! So just imagine me saying this, because it's really right in line with my feelings. It was so wonderful to read it from someone else. And please don't anyone think that I'm pointing fingers at anyone or anything, because I'm not. We are all lilly-white Idahoans or Utahns that read this as far as I know, and stuff like race is not something I think any of us have dealt with or thought about much. But with the beautiful child at the center of my universe, it is  now something I think about, a lot. (ps-I changed "son" to "daughter" in this for obvious reading reasons)

Friendly Racism
  
I was invisible at the mall once, when I overheard one teenager ask another if "that little black kid was here alone." Three feet apart, we were unrelated. In a way, my black daughter is on her own. Regardless of my commitment, notwithstanding my devotion, and despite my love, my daughter is alone in a way I never had to be.

To some, I look more like my child's social worker than her mother. We get smiled at and glared at, but always stared at. Adopting interracially is like donning a permanent sandwich board that advertises your adoption (and your infertility too). Granted, ours doesn't resemble the families on Hallmark cards, but must we explain and re-explain ourselves to strangers--as if it is OUR responsibility to sort out the situation for the confused observer? "Where did she come from?" "Is she yours?" "Did you adopt her?" "Is her father black?" "How did this happen?" I've had to get used to uninvited questions and unwelcome attention, though I sometimes wish that we could be inconspicuous.

Loving my daughter as I do, I have become an acute barometer of bias: I notice where race makes a difference, and I can't find a place where it doesn't. Attuned to the slightest suggestion of discrimination and prejudice, in even the most innocent and mundane places, my antennae are always up. I've seen racism on playgrounds, in swimming pools, in glances, in books, on applications, and at the doctor's office. 

Much of the racism I have seen firsthand is what I'd call "friendly" racism: one of the most virulent strains by virtue of its unwitting perpetrators. I am taken aback that people ask my daughter if she wants to be a WNBA basketball player when she grows up, and ask me if she's from Africa. On her behalf, I am offended when complete strangers reach over to touch her curly hair or call her "sister," and I've heard more than one child ask her why she's black.

Were I to challenge any of these friendly people, I'd surely be accused of delusion or, at the very least, overreaction. "Oh, you're just reading into things," or "Don't be so paranoid," or "When did you become such a super-sensitive zealot?" Racism, I believe, is never innocuous, no matter how slight or unintentional. It is one thing not to speak about racism but another not to recognize it. The first is unhealthy; the second, malignant.


--Jana Wolff
"Secret Thoughts of an Adoptive Mother"