20 Questions: The Junior Version

Yesterday I had a first: I listened to my oldest daughter comfortably and clearly explain her families and her heritage, under a barrage of questions that had me uncomfortable. She was across a quiet swimming pool, so I could see (and hear) most of the conversation, but I was not part of it. It began with an acquaintance about her age (6) asking, “So, are you two related or something?” indicating Jaja and Gretel.

“We’re sisters,” Jaja replied. Without even asking Jaja’s name (or Gretel’s), this girl continued. She said that my girls couldn’t be sisters because they aren’t the same color. “We are sisters!” Jaja answered cheerfully. This girl then asked if Jaja was adopted. Jaja said yes, and then I missed a few sentences of their conversation.

The next I heard was Jaja saying proudly, “I’m biracial. One of my birthparents is Black and one is White.”

And then this girl says (more than once, so I know I wasn’t hearing things), “You’re not biracial. If one of your parents is Black, you’re Black.”

“I’m Black and White,” Jaja says, apparently unfazed (at this point, I was getting a little hot under the collar–who does this kid think she is, questioning my daughter like this?)

Then the girl says, “Well, if you’re adopted that means you’re not biracial.” What!?

“Well, I am,” Jaja kept saying, standing her ground without moving an inch. She never said ‘you’re wrong’. Instead, she just kept repeating her own truths. They played together in the pool for a while, and later I heard this girl start up with the color/race/adoption questions again.

At dinner last night, we were talking with all our kids about their favorite parts of the day, and Jaja brought up this girl. “She wanted to talk about skin color a lot,” Jaja said with a sigh.

“Yeah, like brown, tan, mixed,” Gretel chimed in.

“But I liked swimming with her,” Jaja said. She talked a bit more about their initial conversation, and all the questions the girl had asked her.

“You know,” I began, “if someone outside our family asks you a question–about anything–you don’t have to answer it.”

“I know.” Jaja said confidently. “Sometimes it’s good to answer people’s questions, though.”

“Sometimes it is,” I confirmed. “But the questions this girl was asking you were about your personal information. You do not have to share your private information with anyone. You can, if you want to. That is your choice.”

“I know,” Jaja said again.

“If someone asks you a question, you don’t have to tell them the answer–even if you know it. You can say, ‘That’s none of your business’ or ‘I don’t want to talk about that’ or ‘My mom says I don’t have to talk about that if I don’t want to’. If they keep asking you, you can just leave.” I wanted to give her specific things she could say and do.

Jaja nodded. I turned to Rico, “Same goes for you. You don’t have to answer any questions you don’t want to,” I started in.

Rico interrupted me, “I heard everything you said to Jaja. And that’s the same for me, right?”

“It’s the same for you.”

For several hours I was internally focused on my initial shock and annoyance at this child (and her parents). Where did a six year old learn that families/siblings must match? Why is adoption the only connection she can see between brown-skinned Jaja and her tan-skinned sister? And the biggies: Where did this little kid learn that if you have one Black parent and one White parent then you must be Black? And where does she get off telling my child that her racial self-identity is incorrect?

Hours later, after all the kids were in bed, I began to feel really impressed with Jaja. My sometimes shy little girl aswered this litany of invasive questions with confidence and clarity. She knew her facts and did not seem a bit rattled by this other child’s insistence that Jaja was wrong. Jaja knew she was right: she’s biracial; she’s both Black and White; she was adopted, and Gretel is her sister.

My daughter had the facts and the words and the answers at hand when she needed them. And she was so mature in the way she handled the whole situation–she made me proud.

What Are You?

I have heard this question in my life more times than I care to, and I know that for my children–one in particular–this line of questioning has just begun. I have a pocketful of pre-formed answers, responses designed to catch the questioner off guard, to get them to examine their own assumptions, and to (sometimes) get out of answering the question all together. The problem for me–and for many others, I suspect–is that when an adult singles out one of my children and asks me, “What are they?” I know what the questioner means.

I am better–and more practised–at fielding and deflecting such questions from White parents/adults. When the questioner is an adult of color, I slip a little. When the questioner is another parent of color, I’ve already let my guard down a bit. With a Black parent of color standing alongside their young daughter, I have to admit–I am not expecting this question. I am also not going to call out this person I’ve just met, possibly embarrass them or make them look dumb, in front of their child.

When I was introduced to this particular questioner by a mutual acquaintance (that made all three of us adults of color at this event standing together) I was holding Teri. I was grateful I had brushed out, re-parted, and re-styled her hair that morning. The one thing this person said to me about Teri was that I have to ‘get her used to sitting for long periods of time because of her hair texture’ (don’t I already know it). This was not said in a complimentary way about Teri’s beautiful hair, even though this parent’s child has a similar hair texture. Then Jaja arrived, practically wordless, clinging to my legs (as she always does around strangers). My new acquaintance practically glowed in her presence. Thankfully, Jaja quickly skipped off to play near Dad with Gretel and a friend–and that’s when the questions began.

First, the adoption questions. I offered only, “We have two domestic open adoptions. We know and see our children’s birthparents. We were there on the days they were born.” (Yes, I know, to those of you who know our full stories this is a slight exaggeration–Teri was four days old when we met her–but I was going for the short version at this point. I was beginning to see where these questions were going.)

My answers to the adoption questions (which included some version of the ‘where are they from?’ question) did not give the information that was really being sought. Which brought on, “What is she?” There was no mistaking which ’she’ we were talking about; Teri (still on my hip) hadn’t been offered a second glance. Still, I played a little dumb (I do after all have three daughters). I refocused on my children as a group. “All my kids are multiracial,” I answered. “So am I.” I was just about to start in on the ‘We have Black, White, and Cherokee heritage in our family . . .’ when I was stopped.

“What is she?” the questioner repeated, pointing across the grass at Jaja.

I sighed. I knew what this person was asking. They were not asking if my child is human. They were not asking about her gender. They were not asking about her ‘nationality’ (As usual, that one had been covered with the, “Where is she from?”) I caved. “She’s biracial. She’s Black and White.” I said.

“She doesn’t look it,” this Black parent responded.

Do you know any biracial kids? I wanted to ask, but I kept my mouth closed.

With their daughter standing right next to them, this parent went on. “She [Jaja] is so beautiful. She looks like a little doll.” I had pretty much tuned out at this point. I excused myself (with four young children, there’s always an excuse) and walked away. I was disappointed. I had been excited to meet another parent of color in my community.

There are a couple things I want to point out here: (1) I never would have even let this line of questioning begin had any of my three older kids been within 15 feet, (2) Teri and Jaja have almost the same skin tone, also very similar to the skin tone of the questioner’s daughter, and (3) All four of my kids are physically striking–they get complimented on it all the time–in completely different ways (bragging mom here, sorry).

The questions and comments about Jaja–which, unfortunately are not going to stop any time soon–are because few people can racially place her. (Although in cities with large Black and White populations–Philly, St. Louis, D.C., for example–Black/African American moms seem to know that Jaja is multiracial, that she has Black ancestors. The same thing can’t be said for White moms in the same cities. We got the most inane comment ever from a White mom in Philly, who said Jaja looked ‘island-y’. My husband reported this comment back to me. “I wanted to ask, ‘which island?’” he said to me. Perhaps racial segregation–including isolated parents of color in my current community–is a big piece of the story.)

My oldest daughter has medium brown skin. Her smooth dark brown hair gently curls. Her facial features are a complete blend of her birthparents’ faces; she looks so much like both of them. This racially-defining question, and all its accompanying baggage, is something she will likely have to deal with her entire life. Unlike her three younger siblings, she is not easily racially stereotyped/categorized by a combination of visual factors, primarily skin tone and hair texture. Rico, Gretel, and Teri will have a similar experience to mine (in this one way): they will have the option to ‘out’ themselves as multiracial, when and if they choose to. But they are unlikely to be questioned or challenged about their racial ancestry based on their physical appearances.

The comments that really get me are the ones after people ask an inappropriate question about my own or my child’s racial heritage, surprise or weasel me into answering their question, and then say I’m wrong or lying. I want to be able to answer these questions about my family’s racial heritage without feeling that I am violating some sacred trust, without feeling as though I am talking about my sex life or my spiritual beliefs or my children’s birthmarks–with a virtual stranger. I want to normalize the multiracial experience, for multiracial families and multiracial individuals. I want people–this person–to know that multiracial people come in all colors and shapes and forms. That we don’t all look alike (anymore than two people of similar racial heritage look alike). And that saying “You don’t look like what you are,” is one of the most dismissive, condescending things someone could say to a multiracial person.

Seven

The last month has been a difficult culmination of the last two years–all in the quest for a seventh member of our family. We have been through two homestudies, six potential adoptive situations, and now the hardest part: a miscarriage. I had a great post brewing this spring about why we were not renewing our homestudy, why we are abandoning the domestic infant adoption system–and then we found out I was pregnant. My post continued to simmer, now with the added piece of pregnancy and why having a biological child was the way our family was finally expanding. Then came another first for me and for our family: our baby died and was born barely into its second trimester. We were devastated; we are all recovering. Gretel keeps saying, “Mama, I didn’t want our baby to die. I really wanted an alive baby.” And all I can say is, “Me too.”

The thing (just one? you may ask) that caught both me and my partner completely off guard was that this most recent event brought up all the potential adoptive situations of the past two years that didn’t work out. We are not only grieving the death of our baby, we are also regrieving some of the closest–and saddest–adoption situations of the past two years. The hardest are the kids who are now in foster care (instead of with their birthparents or with a family chosen by their birthparents), the children whose parents were unable to get their damaged lives together enough to make positive choices for their kids. I don’t blame those parents, but I am so so sad for their children. Months and years later, I am still sad.

Losing this bio baby, and contemplating the rollercoaster of the past few months, I have (however temporarily) inadvertently achieved a sense of peace about life–a kind of internal peace that usually eludes me. I am at a place where I finally know that if I have my partner and my children, all else is just icing on the cake of my life. I have spent a good part of my adult life theoretically/intellectually believing this to be true while behaving and feeling as though I needed countless issues lined up just so for me to be okay. I want a lot of things for my children, my family, all children. (You know, world peace, socioeconomic justice, interracial unity, not much.) Although I haven’t lost my drive to make the world a better place for everyone to live, I have narrowed down what is most important for me, for my life. I often get lost while trying to take care of everyone else in my immediate family, in my extended family, in the limitless family of mothers and people of color and parentless children everywhere. I lose myself in what I think the world needs–and I totally forget to consider what I need.

The physical and emotional slowdown that losing this baby required helped me reaffirm the essential elements of myself, my life, and my dreams. For me (aside from the health and companionship of my partner and four children) I want only two things; they are separate but related. First of all, I do want a bigger family–two, maybe three more children–no matter what our life looks like, whether we must remain in a virtually monoracial town, are able to move to our dream town, or finally become organic farmers. With this pregnancy, we had moved into the big family mindset: test driving a 12-passenger van, thinking about bedroom configurations and years more of diapers. I was lurking over at Lots of Kids, pleased to find families who feel that four or five children is at the smaller end of family size. At the same time, if our family is in fact complete with these four brilliant, beautiful, wild children–that is okay too. A plan is nice to have, but it doesn’t mean that whatever else happens in spite of the plan won’t work out at least as well as the perfectly executed plan might have. (This would be one of my big revelations–my husband thinks it won’t last. I am such a planner.) Part two of my wish involves moving to a more racially diverse community: for me, for all our kids, for our Black daughters (no surprise here), but suddenly I don’t feel so frantic about it. I know it will happen because my husband and I are both committed to moving. The sooner the better; but if it’s not tomorrow–I can live with that.

Right now I am purposefully entrenching myself in the day-to-day job of being the primary parent to four bright and active children. I am working on our homeschool plan for next year, wrapping up this year’s ’school’ work, and focusing on being in the moment with my silly three year old who tonight at dinner requested a “pink zucchini with a little skirt” (that would be a bikini, as her brother pointed out) and my six year old who said to me this afternoon, “I’ve been thinking a lot about this question for a week: Why do Gretel and Rico get to see their birthparents everyday, and Teri and I don’t?” I’ve got a double fulltime job around here; I have to remember that daily and give myself a bit of a break: for serving mac and cheese for dinner again (what can I say–it’s their favorite) or for letting the ten loads of laundry sit clean but unfolded on the couch. It’s when I start to get on everyone else’s case that I know I’m really in trouble–because what that means is that I’m not satisfied with my own performance.

Being a parent is a hard job–and so is being a kid. If I can cut myself as much slack as I do my five year old (”He’s doing the best he can!” I argue on his behalf at least once a week) then I’ll be okay. I have a quote by Max Ehrmann tucked in the corner of our bathroom mirror. It reads:

Be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars. In the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul.

The Adoption Industry, Part 1: Demand

In exploring the industry of adoption, it is fundamental to first explain why there is a market for children in the first place. Why do adults choose to adopt babies and children who are biologically unrelated to them?

1. Infertility: A heterosexual couple is unable to create and/or carry a biological child. This includes secondary infertility (infertility after the birth of one or more biological children.)
2. Need help: Parents are unable to have a child without reproductive assistance. This includes infertile couples that do not wish to use medical assistance, lesbian and gay couples, and single parents.
3. Health: Concerns about passing on a genetic disorder in the mother’s or father’s family. Pregnancy could cause the health of the mother to be seriously impaired. The mother and/or family have been exposed to certain elements (chemical, medical, etc.) that may cause birth defects.
4. Choosing gender: A family with two or more biological children of the same gender adopt in order to parent a child of the opposite gender. The adopted child is almost always a girl. (These families usually choose international adoption because the children are already born, although some domestic adoption agencies allow adoptive parents to specify gender.)
5. Personal beliefs: Parents who adopt for religious or philosophical reasons. This includes preferential adopters.

The domestic infant adoption system caters to one group of prospective adoptive parents: heterosexual, White, middle and upper class, infertile, married couples (the great majorities of groups 1 & 3, and much of group 2). This system has broadened itself a bit; certain agencies now accommodate same-sex couples and/or single parents (mostly mothers), and a handful of infant adoption agencies actively recruit parents/families of color (The Cradle and Pact are two of the biggest nonsectarian names). Still, virtually all agencies are focused on families who cannot have children without assistance (groups 1, 2, & 3), and many agencies actually will not work with fertile couples.

Adoption fees rule out most potential adoptive parents who are not at least middle-class. Current domestic infant adoption fees for a healthy* baby, of any race, usually run in the $18,000-$30,000 range. This includes homestudy, paperwork, agency fees, legal fees, and living expenses for a pregnant woman. Travel costs, medical expenses (for baby and mother), and legal complications can push the cost even higher. International adoption fees vary by country, but costs often run higher than domestic adoption. About 40% of international adoptions and 20% of domestic infant adoptions cost more than $30,000.

*A note on the domestic infant adoption system definition of a healthy baby. A baby who is classified as ‘healthy’ includes a baby who was prenatally drug and/or alcohol exposed, was born prematurely, has no birthfather medical/social information (i.e. ‘unknown birthfather’), has a birthfamily history of moderate mental health problems and/or a birthfamily history of moderate genetically-transferable medical conditions. When a baby appears to be healthy at birth (no apparent physical, mental, or serious medical handicaps), that baby is part of the mainstream adoptive placement system, including standard fees. Fees are often reduced substantially for infants who are born with clear disabilities, have been prenatally exposed to extremely high levels of alcohol and/or illegal drugs, or have two birthparents who have mental health diagnoses.

When calculating adoption costs, there is the often misunderstood $10,000 federal adoption tax credit. The funds from this tax credit are not available until after an adoption has been legally finalized (usually 6-8 months after the placement of a child); adoptive parents must come up with all the money for adoption fees and expenses up front. In addition, this is a non-refundable tax credit; the tax credit is deducted from the federal tax a family owes over a period of up to five years. In adoption literature, it is often noted that a family is eligible for the adoption tax credit unless a family’s income exceeds federal restrictions (meaning: modified adjusted gross income of more than $204,000). It is never noted that if a family does not make enough money to owe any federal income tax (total income of less than $45,000/year for a family of four) the family does not qualify for the adoption tax credit. If a family owes less than $2,000/year in federal income tax, they will not receive the full adoption tax credit ($2,000 x 5 years = $10,000). NOTE: 4% of families in the U.S. make more than $200,000/year, while 40% of families in the United States make less than $50,000/year.

The majority of prospective adoptive parents waiting in the domestic adoption system fit the description of the people to which the system caters: White, middle/upper class, infertile, married, heterosexual couples. The great majority of these prospective parents are seeking a certain type of baby: usually White (at least 80%), and often also with a very healthy** social/medical family history (**very healthy meaning not only apparently healthy at birth, but also including not prenatally drug or alcohol exposed, no mental illness or major medical issues in either side of the birthfamily, full-term delivery, birthparents not in prison, and often more). Even so, White newborns with health issues, premature birth, mild to moderate birthfamily medical/social history issues, ‘unknown’ birthfather, or minor disabilities are still very desirable to these prospective adoptive parents.

The domestic infant adoption system does not easily accommodate adoptive parents who are outside the target prospective adoptive parent population. (The target adoptive-parent-client population excludes portions of groups 1-4, and all of group 5.) In addition, if a prospective adoptive parent is prepared to care for a child of any race who has been prenatally drug and/or alcohol exposed or has moderate to serious, multiple, or unknown birthfamily medical/social issues, why would they choose domestic infant adoption ($18,000-$30,000 or more in fees) instead of foster care adoption (often less than $2,000 in fees)? The more open a prospective adoptive family is, the less likely they are part of the domestic infant adoption system.

Prospective adoptive parents who fall outside the targeted adoptive parent population (especially working or lower-middle class families, People of Color, and fertile couples) are more likely to choose foster adoption or toddler/older child international adoption-for many different reasons. Because they have family or personal connections to another country. Because they have lived abroad or traveled extensively. Because they know what it’s like to be involved with Child and Family Services. Because they themselves were in foster care. Because they are not afraid (rightly or not) of the issues and history children in foster care, older children, and/or institutionalized children may bring home. Because they have already raised their biological children from infancy, and would prefer to parent older children. Because they want to ‘help’ a child who has less opportunity for a family. Because they know how many children of color are in foster care or orphanages–and how long these children wait for a family.

This is where the domestic adoption ‘market’ becomes extremely unbalanced. Prospective adoptive parents are overwhelmingly White, and they are seeking White babies. (However, it must be noted that Black American families adopt at twice the rate of White American families.) There is a racial hierarchy of adoption. Certain babies, through the unearned privilege of their racial ancestry, are easier to place in an adoptive family. From most prospective adoptive families waiting to least families waiting, the racial hierarchy ranges from light to dark, from undeveloped White American history to most complex; the newborns who are most quickly matched with an adoptive family have White (also known as European American) ancestry, then Asian ancestry, Hispanic/Latino ancestry, Native American ancestry, and finally Black ancestry. In adoption, girls are also easier to place than boys; thus, the easiest child to find an adoptive family for is a White girl, the most difficult is a Black boy. Biracial and multiracial children are shuttled to their ‘darkest’ heritage in the racial hierarchy. Thus, finding an adoptive family for a biracial Black/White boy is similar to finding a family for a ‘full’ Black boy (full Black meaning two Black-identifying biological parents). Within the infant adoption system, it is still common to read or hear descriptions of pregnant women that include the shade of their skin, or even the fair skin-tone of a newborn biracial baby. (The latter could only be information offered by White professionals with no experience with infants/people of color.)

As long as the practice and process of adoption remains an ‘industry’, prospective adoptive parents will be regarded as ‘customers’. In such a system, infants, children, and mothers will necessarily continue to be viewed and treated as merchandise, objects to be marketed to the paying clientele (as in the misleading ‘light-skinned’ biracial newborn). It is an oft-repeated phrase in many corners of the adoption system nowadays that adoption agencies are looking for families for children, not children for families. This statement must become the blanket truth about adoption.

Following segments will address supply in the adoption system (including domestic infants, children in foster care, international infants/toddlers, international older children, and systemic birthparent/family coercion), whether adoption is necessary (including what can be done to lower the ‘need’ for adoptive families), adoption ethics and the rights of mothers (including pregnant women), specific coverage of foster care adoption and international adoption (including a more in-depth exploration of the reasons parents choose different types of adoption), gender choice in adoption, and transracial adoption (including the racial and country hierarchies within transracial adoption).

Please feel free to ask questions in the comments; I will try to address them within the upcoming series segments. A full bibliography for the entire series will be available.

Letter to an Unknown Mother

Many letters, web pages, and adoptive family profiles begin with the words “Dear Birthmother,” but you are not a vessel carrying another family’s baby, a start to someone else’s end. You may be a pregnant woman, a mother doing the best she can, a fellow mama making difficult choices for her children, her family, and herself.

This letter was written to you to say one thing: Hold on. Stand strong. If you have decided that finding an adoptive family for your child is what you must do, know there are all kinds of adoptive families.

If your baby is multiracial, biracial, Black, Latino, Native American, Asian, or a beautiful mix . . . If you want an open adoption, a specific kind of family, a family who shares your child’s heritage . . . This letter is to tell you the adoptive family you are seeking is out here.

You may have been told that the only adoptive parents ”willing to accept” your baby are White, are unsure about sending letters and photos, will not disclose to you their full names and contact information, do not want visits, have no other children or only White children, or are older than you’d hoped for–but that is not the whole truth.

This is to all the pregnant women out there who are considering choosing an adoptive family for their child, and who have been told there is no family like the one they seek. This is especially for the mothers who are carrying beautiful brown babies–I want to tell you that there are all kinds of adoptive families out here.

There are Black, White, Asian, Latino, and Native American adoptive parents. There are adoptive families with relatives and children of all races, with friends of all races. There are families strongly in favor of open adoption. There are parents who are aware of the unique joys and challenges of raising children of color and multiracial children, raising them to be strong, proud, compassionate, healthy, happy, independent adults. There are adoptive parents who want their children to have a connection to and a relationship with you and your family, now or in the future.

Don’t give up. The adoptive family you are hoping for is out here somewhere.

Peace and Blessings to all mothers, to all fathers, to all parents-to-be.