“Is he yours?” an inquisitive stranger asked pointing at the bundle of joy nestled in my arms. My baby grabbed their finger, so I asked, “Is he yours?” The stranger snatched their finger back with a look of surprise and then nervously laughed and hurried off.
When you adopt a child of another race or color, be prepared for the stupid questions. I, the Caucasian, White Non-Hispanic, Mom, am very aware of how “mine” my African American son is. Just like any other Mom, he is my pride and joy and sometimes embarrassment.
My son is now a pre-schooler and very inquisitive. He likes to test everything. He is very curious to see what things do. He eyeballs every object closely and explores with a lick for taste, lots of touching for feel, a sniff here and there for smell and a knock for sound which is usually more of a bang against another object to hear it good and loud.
Last week at our Children’s Church program I was volunteering in the worship center, busy with crowd control of a couple hundred wiggly, giggly school aged kids. I saw my son’s teacher coming towards me. I saw my son behind her eyeing something. As the teacher was making the pass of his color pages and him to me, my son broke loose and darted for the wall. Before I could grab him, he pushed the button which turned off all the lights in the worship center. Of course, these lights don’t just come back on when you flick the switch. They go off in a blink but back on takes some warming up time. As I tried to control my son, I turned around and saw all the people in the center looking at us. Yes, he is my son, and I still love him.
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