Stupid Question #4

“Where did you get him?” was the question of another Mom at the park as we watched our children run up and down the slide. “The hospital,” was the only answer I could muster (though another blogger had a witty remark, “Wal-mart.”).

When you adopt a child of another race or color, be prepared for the stupid questions. The Mom at the park then clarified her question, “Where is he from?” I told her he was born right here in our city. “Oh, that’s nice,” was her condescending reply and with nose in the air, she walked away. So, am I supposed to be apologetic for adopting locally?

Sorry, my story does not include an interesting transatlantic voyage with cloak and dagger and an exciting exodus to freedom as we saved our son from the grips of death. Oh, I do have one excerpt that might be considered exciting. I use to walk with my son in a stroller at the same time on the same route everyday. We always ended at a park.

There came a time when I noticed a strange car on our route. The first day I saw it, I did not think anything of it. The second day, I wondered if it had broken down, but then on the third day I saw it at another spot on our route. Day four and five, I noticed the same car in different spots. I tried to shake it off as paranoia, but when I saw it at the park, all the hair on the back of my neck stood up.

I saw two heads in the car and started to turn the stroller around. My son then protested rather loudly. I stopped walking and tried to console him. As I talked to my son, I looked back at the car and the two heads. They were not looking at us. They seemed to be deep in conversation with each other. I must be paranoid, and I decided to go to the park.

My son jumped out of the stroller and ran laps around the park. I had almost forgotten the car and the two heads. I was pushing my son on the swing when one of the car doors opened and then was slammed shut. The two heads were arguing and one was trying to get out of the car. That was enough for me. Ignoring my son’s protests, I strapped him in the stroller. I could hear their argument now, “They are happy! Leave them alone!” I sprinted home.

I never saw the car or the two heads again. Of course, it took weeks for me to be comfortable walking outside with my son again. I now mix up our walks with bike rides at different times of day and we don’t take the same routes.
I struggled with whether I should report it or not. I struggled with even telling my husband. What would I report? Two heads that I cannot describe had an argument in a car that I cannot describe next to the park.

Maybe I am paranoid, but as a Mom, my greatest fear is the loss of either of my children. With my adopted son, fear of loss is a little more real. I don’t care where he came from; he is my son.