Honestly, I forget that I am white and my son is African American. When we are out and about, I talk to him just like he is my son, go figure. I also have a tendency to hug and kiss on him like he is my son, go figure. Oddly enough, my son does not hesitate to talk to me like I am his Mother nor does he hesitate to hug and kiss me. I forget about our differences until some puzzled passer-by stares a little too long at my child. I forget about our differences, that others see all too clearly.
I have learned to take a deep breath and ask, “Can I help you?” I have learned that if I can hold my temper most people are simply curious. I have learned that if speak directly to them, they realize that they have been staring and usually politely retreat.
Things have changed, but to see the change live and in person is still a puzzle to some people. I do my best to help solve the puzzle, but there comes a point when you are a stranger and do not need to know. I do my best to help solve the puzzle and have had many pleasant conversations about fostering, adopting, and transracial families.
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