Pinch Me

The Captain and I have had been fortunate to travel a lot. Knowing that we didn't want to stay in Nashville, for the last five years or so, everywhere we've been we've asked each other "could you see us living here?" Even in places we really enjoyed, the answer typically came back "no", with a very few exceptions.

I am not sure if it was brilliance or insanity that inspired us to pick a city completely across the globe, a city that we had never been to, to live the next phase of our lives. We talked about visiting first. Part of me thought that if we visited, we would not like it enough to follow through on our wild plan. On this side of the commitment, I wonder what my impressions would have been?

Again and again I find that my breath is taken away here. My inner response to living here is that I feel like I've happened upon the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. It is a constant gasp of "what luck!" I don't really relate to "luck" in general, but that is the best descriptor for how I feel. I feel lucky to live here. Time and again I exclaim to myself, to the kids, and to The Captain, "I can't believe we live here." I am giddy with pride and love when I say, "this is our city."

I don't know if it is the perfect coming together of right place, right time, right climate, right everything, or what. Everything just feels kind of...sparkly. Maybe that's waking up and looking out my bedroom window at the cove every morning and seeing the face of the sky mirrored in the texture of the water created by the wind. Every day is different and new, and even on the days when I am tired and lonely, it feels amazing.

So, here are a couple photos I took today of my city, on our visit to Taronga Zoo for Small Sun's birthday.

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Look in the far upper right for a tiny, tiny Opera House.

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The zoo is in Mosman, across the water from the Opera House and Circular Quay, on the north shore.

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To get to the zoo, we took a bus to Circular Quay, which is the major hub for water travel in Sydney. From there ferries, jetcats, and water taxis head off in every direction. In Sydney, sometimes the fastest way to get somewhere is on the water. So, bus, to ferry, to cable car was how we got to the zoo. Getting there was almost as fun as the zoo itself.

Say It Loud

A lot of transracial parenting is just simple parenting. Then there are these moments that are just kind of...odd.

Today we were having a dance party in the living room (ahem), lounge, like we often do. Even Sprouty is starting to wiggle and twist these days. So Small Sun and I are dancing hard to James Brown and we're singing "Say it loud, I'm black, I'm proud!"

Now we love James Brown at our house. But what am I supposed to say? "Say it loud, he's black, I'm proud!"? And what about the little Sprout when she gets old enough to sing along?

I've made a new acquaintance here. She is also an American expatriate, married to a European, raising a biracial child. She is black.  I don't know if I should attribute it to us both being outside of American culture, or the common bond of raising biracial boys, but we have talked a lot about race and what surrounds it in the couple hours we've spent together.

The other day she asked me what I tell Small Sun when he asks me "what he is." She said that even though there are other children of color and other mixed-race children at her son's preschool, his peers ask her son what he is and so he comes home and asks her.  He's 3 1/2.

I told her I haven't told Small Sun anything. He hasn't asked me anything.

We read affirming books about being black. Like  Shades of Black, that shows lots of children with African heritage, all with different skin tones, hair textures and eye colors. But honestly, I haven't spoken to Small Sun about his ethnicity hardly at all. I tell him I love his curly hair or his beautiful brown skin, but that's about it.

The reason I haven't is that I don't want to draw his attention to the difference between us prematurely. I am ready to discuss it when he notices or when he says something about it, but it doesn't make sense to me to say "did you ever notice that you're brown and mommy is tan?" In my mind, I can't really figure out where that conversation would go. We talk about adoption, and we talk about his mother, and he sees her picture frequently, but talking about her wouldn't really lead to any explanation for his ethnicity.

About two months ago Small Sun was looking at his foot and he said "hey mom! My foot, it's brown!" and I said something like "yes, good job!" because he still can't tell his colors with any consistency.

So to wander around this topic, I guess I'm saying that I'm trying to affirm the idea of being black, in hopes that when Small Sun starts to realize he is black, he'll know it's a good thing. At this point, I think I'll continue to wait until he's asking before I start explaining why we don't "match". I guess I'll just have to start singing "Say it loud, he's black, I'm proud" next time we're grooving with James Brown.

Being a Mother

It's funny how I am so enamored with what I've got, I can't imagine anything better.

We adopted Small Sun first, and then decided to try for a pregnancy. I tried to imagine what a little "us" would look like? My template for perfect was a little mocha baby with the shiniest, dark, curly hair. I was concerned that I might find our pale biological child to be wan or splotchy. I was worried that our white baby wouldn't be as pretty as our brown baby. It's laughable now, but it was my secret concern during my pregnancy. Not a huge one, but something I thought about.

In this whole process, trying to find a way to adopt again, the alternative is having another biological child next and waiting for an opportunity to adopt. We did plan on having a "blended" family that way and we haven't discounted having more children that I carry.

I found myself thinking "but if we have another child with our genes, it will be exactly like The Sprout. We want to have different children with different personalities and not little carbon copies." Hm. Someone shout some logic at me. It didn't dawn on me how silly my thinking was until I was looking at a blog where the author has a picture of her four biological children as the header.  It struck me that Tamara's children don't all look exactly the same. I don't know them personally, but it sounds like they each have their own personalities. Oh yea, and what about my girlfriend's twins who are so different from each other?

That's something crazy about loving what you've got. On one hand it's so great that I want more. On the other, I can't really imagine what "more" looks like. If the next child is adopted, I don't know where they'll come from or how old they'll be when they get here. If I birth the child, I really don't know what they would look like either.

Then there's always the fear that I think many mothers experience. Things are so great now, what if the next child would have poor health or a disability? What if adding to the family means changing the great dynamic?

That's the thing with kids. Each one is a risk. I think, for me, each one is worth the risk. In the case of special challenges, there are blessings to be found there as well.

I'm just laughing at myself that I didn't learn the lesson the first time around: each child is beautiful and unique and brings joy in the way that only he or she can.  And even though my two specific children nearly made me cry with stress when they decided to be ornery in a very serious, very long, very crowded, very un-friendly to children church service this morning, they will be the suns that I rise with in the morning tomorrow.

My Current Favorite

I can't believe that I don't have a dance category! I trained in classical ballet from junior high through college. Unfortunately, I haven't been dancing much since the kids entered my life, but I am still an avid enthusiast.  This piece is the most  aMAZing thing I've seen for awhile and I thought I'd share it with you.

Thanks to Carrie who turned me on to Singing in the Rain, which I'd never seen before she gave it to me a couple years ago! Lil, tell me what you think about this!

PS- The choreographer is Supple and the piece is from the Top 8 show on Australia's So You Think You Can Dance. Sorry, the video quality isn't great.

Update on Dissapointment

At first I assumed that the news I heard was a death sentence for the dream that our next child would arrive through adoption. After some more investigation, it isn't looking any brighter.

What has changed, is my attitude. After a night of grieving, I woke up the next day and started to slap myself around a little bit. One great thing about having faith, and speaking to God directly, and hearing from Him directly, is that He tells me things about my life and what I can expect in it. I'm not talking about the Bible, I'm talking about personal conversations.

So, in one hand I have to hold the truth of the situation while in the other hand I hold the Truth of what God has told me. I don't know all the details. I don't know how or when. I do know that we will be raising more children that we've adopted. 

It is disheartening that right now, in the situation we are in, it looks like a god 6-7 years before a child could join our family that way. But 6-7 years is a long time and so many things could change in the meantime.

To be specific about the details, for anyone interested in pursuing an ex-pat adoption, the issue at play here is the Hague Convention.  We have two outstanding questions at the moment: could we indeed fall under the clause of an adoption between two Hague Convention countries, finalized in the U.S. (logistics aside), and if so, could we fine ANYONE to be our social worker?

After extensive searching I've only come across one international social worker who could assist us with the home study and post placement assessments. They have just posted on their website that while they can still work with military families and families adopting from non-Hague Convention countries, they are unable to participate in Hague Convention country adoptions. So the one person I know of who could have helped us through that loophole, can't.

No Australian social worker could because the State Authority on Adoption views this kind of adoption effort as illegal.

It is rather ironic that all of the safeguards that protect children from exploitation and unethical practice are working together to exclude us from adopting. Me, the person who uses social functions as a place to set up my soapbox to explain to anyone who will listen about unethical practices! So, I am holding on to the dream. I am fighting for the dream. But as I butt my head into the wall over and over again, I am also thankful for the advances being made to protect children. We might not be feeling any difference in America yet, but they run a tight ship here.

So, I'll keep looking for answers, but if they are no I will just read that as "not now".

I could Just Cry

Well I FINALLY did some phone work that scared up some answers about our ability to adopt here in Australia.

What I found out was NOT what I wanted to hear.

The laws state that only adoptions pursued through Department of Child Services are legal. DoCS requires at least one adopting parent to be an Australian citizen. Citizenship would take over four years to establish.

There is a tiny potential loophole which states what I understand to mean "if you adopt as part of a Hague Convention country, through the equivalent of DoCS, and finalize the adoption in that country, then you can apply for an adoption visa, which would take 15 weeks."

I'm not even sure if we could find some way to adopt in that loophole. No DCS office would work with us as expatriates.  I don't think that living back in the U.S. for 15 weeks is part of our current plan.

So, I'm feeling pretty low right now, just crying on my keyboard. I've been ready to start the process for awhile now and suddenly it seems like it just can't happen.

Advice?

One Month In

So today marks the day; we've been here for one month. Because it's been a blur and I'm sure I'll forget, for my own history I'd like to record what we've done this month with the help of Grace and my mother.

Arrived
Drove on the left
Found rental house and moved in
Bought Car
2 trips to Ikea to furnish house
3 large rugs
Found local grocery, post office, bus stops (and which buses go where), florist, butcher, salon, baker, hardware store, Thai restaurant, Domino's, toy store
Set up Ikea furniture
Found library
Library cards
Great books & toys (they loan large toys!)
Storytime
Found and joined playgroup
Attended 2 churches, one three times
Went to "morning tea" at a new friend's house
Played in the park - a lot
Bought sneakers
Went for the first run of my life, and my second
Went to mall/play area
Joined Medicare (national health care)
Got car insurance
Found garage
Had car fixed
Blockbuster cards
Bank cards/accounts
Found diaper delivery service
Called a new friend
Registered for a woman's conference
Found a job (Captain)
Got 2 preschool applications and toured the facilities
Bought the mother load from Cat on Craigslist
Laundry, laundry, laundry
Gave Sprout a bowl and spoon
Cleaned up huge mess
Cleaned up huge mess
...
Set up tent in backyard
Ate in tent with kids
Bought pots for front
Planted Snow Flowers
Got Internet
Filed stuff in file cabinet
Watched movies and TV
Gave kids lots of baths
Small Sun pees by himself
Sprout falls asleep in my arms on the bus
Run home in the rain holding her
Almost die from mother-love
Gymnastics in the "lounge" with Small Sun
Spontaneous crying on Friday night thinking about Calypso Cafe and black beans
Start to own my kitchen
Miss my stuff really badly
Think about my bed a lot
Miss my toe-nail polish
Get wet ankles in tall grass
Arrange for a lawn-mower person to come
Plant herb and veggie garden
Eat fresh herbs on everything
Comfort Small Sun when he misses his "Momma Bird" (my mother)
Miss her myself
Read friend's blogs when I'm lonely
Feel thankful I haven't been too lonely
Go to Darling Harbor and see U2 in 3D at the Imax
Choke on how much everything costs
Take the ferry to Manly - Sprout's first time at the ocean
Drive all over for everything
Botanical gardens and the opera house
Sydney at rush hour
The Anzac bridge and how much Small Sun loves it
The Aquarium
Bondi beach on a cloudy day
Look over the fence to the cove
Airplanes overhead all the time
Look at the cove from my bedroom window every morning
Find the beauty of an inlet
Think I can never live out of sight of the water again
Think this neighborhood might be too white for us
Get sick of my clothes
Buy killer dress
Eat Anzac bisquits and Tim Tams
Marvel at the new flora, fauna, and wildlife
Still have breast milk
Think about adoption a lot
Read "It's the Little Things" and "Conversations with Bono"
Read the Captain blogging
Celebrate Queen's Day with a bunch of Dutch people
Small Sun switches from birds to horses to tigers in his family identification
Feel proud when I see "my city's" skyline
Love this place so much and wish my friends were here to love it with me.

What a mess of tenses...it's been a busy month.

Hand in Hand in Hand

You know that cliche phrase so often used at Christian weddings? "A cord of three strands is not easily broken", meaning, that two people alone are not as strong as two people bound by God. I'm feeling that now.

A move like this strips so many of our supports away and it is a great (ouch) way to take stock of ourselves and our marriage.

I've been hitting a wall this week, and like many other things, I know that it isn't something for me to take up with the Captain, but something for me to take up with God.

To preface, I am a stay-at-home mother. I think that infancy and the years leading up to school build the foundation that the rest of a person's life stands on. I think that if a child is nurtured and carefully led in that time, they'll be on a good track for life. So, even though I have a strong passion to do other work, I am setting that aside for now to give my full attention to my children.  Many women succeed at working and nurturing their children. Knowing myself well, I don't think I would be able to do those simultaneously to my satisfaction. So, stay home it is (for now).

Most of the time I am at peace with my choice. Sometimes, I am not. When I'm not I re-evaluate and so far I've always re-chosen this life, what I'm doing now.

It's been hard during this move, where my schedule is void of the outside-the-home activities where I contributed to projects and ideas. It has been hard to support the Captain as he looks for jobs. It is sometimes  hard for me that his profession is a money-maker, while mine is not. It can be hard that his field is widely recognized as successful, with monetary compensation and prestige, while mine goes under-payed and overworked (that is, my work in children's welfare, before I came home as a mother).

Right now, the only roles I have here are wife and mother and neither are glamorous. My husband is taking his pick of jobs offered while I am ironing his shirts. It's not his fault that that gets me. If it was me interviewing, he'd be helping me out. And it's not his responsibility to make me feel better with my choice. He can play a role, but I have to come to a place where I'm secure in who I am and what I'm doing.

Right now I think that means plugging my ears to let in the inner quiet where I can hear what God has to say to me. It might mean that I need to change what I'm doing. It might mean that I need to listen for awhile to who I am.  Really, I think that sometimes I need to out-shout this voice that says what I'm doing isn't important. They are short years. Really short. They'll be gone before I know it. I don't want to miss it.

Working for (too little) pay can wait.

I just need to find my inner strength, here, while I'm wishing the Captain good luck on his first day at work. On Monday.

Choosing to Parent the Vulnerable Child continued

First of all, thanks for not flaming me. I wanted to come back and respond to some comments and expound on this a little bit more. Because a lot of people are reading who don't normally read here, and who don't have a feel for who I am, I thought I'd fill it in a bit.

I am a gut-wrenchingly honest person. In my real life, some of my friends call me "The Diplomat" because I say what I think, but in a very careful way. Here, this blog, this is my place to open my mouth and let what is fighting around in my brain tumble out. I try never to swear because my mother reads, and I try to never hurt any friends through the airing of my frustrations, (and unfortunately I still have) but I consider this my place to work out my process. That's not always pretty. It also means that it is a PROCESS, and that I will admit here, the extremes of my thinking, not necessarily the thought out, measured, end result.

Thank you very much for your comments. I'd like to pull out bits and pieces to respond to.

Susan said:

...She managed to make real connections with her children's (Korean) community. I think she is a true inspiration and role model in this area.

(If I don't want my child's community peering over my shoulder as I parent, I can just adopt a child in complete isolation from their culture. That's a choice I can make.) Yes, you can, but please don't do that.

Real connections are what I'm after. I think music, food, holiday traditions, etc are important, but they are not what actually connects a person to their culture. Time spent with others is. I also think that a familiarity of the language of origin, if not fluency is also extremely important. Inability to communicate with kinsman is huge in people not connecting with their roots.

In regard to intentionally adopting a child in alienation from their culture for my comfort, I would never do that. It goes against everything I believe in. My statement came from my emotional reaction over realizing how much power of choice I have.  I've thought about it a lot before, but somehow being here, I am FEELING these truths on a deeper level and that is impacting me.

Cloudscome said:

...I feel the need for black friends who will call me on my blunders. One of the great things about the church we moved to a couple years ago - I'm building friendships in families that meet this need. In my old all white church I could go my merry way oblivious until my boys were old enough to realize what they were missing.

... I hadn't thought about the accountability side of things before, which strikes me as absurd now that you point it out. It really is a huge privilege to be able to avoid that kind of scrutiny, and therefore it's one to guard against even more assiduously.

In Nashville, when I was pregnant with my daughter, I was in the grocery store with my son. His hair was pretty long at that point and I'd run out without fixing it. It was a windy day and his hair was messy, but not a mess. The girls checking me out (in the fancy place I shopped, most of the staff was black but most of the patrons were white) were asking about my pregnancy and when they heard I was having a girl they said "well, if you're having a girl, you'll need to learn how to do HER hair."

That was the closest thing to a criticism I received from the black community.

Alice again:

...I also think that we give too little weight to *children's* lack of agency generally. Children who are born into a family also don't get a choice as to their parents...

Adoption has many, many additional elements at play that will factor in, but the fact that our adult relationships with our families are *all* built on mutual choice is an issue I see very few people discuss...

You're right, and I've argued the same point. The reason I think the dynamics are different in adoption is that my son has another family. Many people grow away from, or intentionally separate themselves from their families, but there is not the dynamic of choice between two families. I've heard so many adult adoptees say they waited to search for their first parents until after their adopted parents passed, or that they wanted to search for years but didn't want to hurt their adoptive parents, even when they say their relationship with their adoptive parents is a great one.

In open adoption where there is ongoing contact (visitation), the child is building real and meaningful connections to both families. And in the case where a child doesn't know their first family, the romanticization of their existence can grow even stronger. I think many children and teenagers fantasize about having a different family out there somewhere, but for an adopted child, that is true. That is why I think the relationship has inherent vulnerabilities, because there is another family out there and your child might ultimately find more in common with them. It's not something I'm afraid of, but I am aware that my child will have needs that I can't fill, and that his first family might be the place he turns to to have them filled.

Amie said all sorts of nice things about me (see, I told you she's the best!) but let's talk about these:

...I understand what you are saying about your white privilege in general. What I can't comprehend (probably because I have only lived here) is how that is different in the US than it is in Australia...I find it interesting that you feel your power as a white woman being deflated, and realizing how much privilege you actually had...

...is this a legitimate concern culturally when you think about the environment your child would be raised in? Will there be a stigma on the child that he/she is "adopted" in this culture, and therefore the child may be treated differently or even shunned by the culture? Will the CHILD be scorned if they are not up to snuff as a member of that community, and also would that also be the case if they were BORN into the community in the first place due to the whole collective culture mentality? Maybe the accountability factor would be there regardless.

I am sure that racism is here (I've seen a little already), and we all know that white privilege is alive and well pretty much the world over.  I think the difference was, in Nashville I knew what that looked like, how it tinged my interactions with others, and how I was trying to live outside of it. Here, I'm in a snow-globe that's just been shaken and I'm trying to sort out what's what.

I've never lived in a place with such a high ratio of ethnic minorities to european ancestries. So I think, for starters, I'm justing getting used to being in "mixed company" ALL OF THE TIME, if that makes sense? I'm sure my privilege is still there, I just can't see it at work for me because I don't know the culture.

In regards to adopting an Asian child and navigating the "collective culture mentality", it is a very interesting thing to consider. Back in Nashville, I never really considered adopting a Chinese child, one reason among many being that the only Chinese people I knew of in Nashville, were Chinese girls adopted by middle to upper class white evangelicals (Steven Curtis Chapman being at the front of that movement). So, as far as I could see at face value, THAT was the Chinese community in Nashville, and it didn't seem fair to bring a child into a situation where they had no peers or role models.

Beyond the issue of isolation, there are cultural values to consider. I know that adoption of a non-blood relative is a foreign concept to many Asian cultures, even though the informal adoption of kin is not. At this point I wouldn't begin to know what it would mean for a child from any of the cultures I mentioned to be adopted by white parents and then re-introduced to their culture here in Sydney.

Finally, Mayhem said:

...Not blowing off your concerns at all, but you did JUST move about two seconds ago to a new country and culture(s). Maybe in a few months or a year things will feel different regarding potential acceptance of you, your family, and a potential child by the community around you. Maybe it won't feel different. But don't be too tough on yourself or other people too quickly!

You're right that there is no one to hold adoptive parents accountable for keeping kids connected to their culture or community of origin. (Other than *maybe* the adoptees themselves once they're grown.) It is a privilege, and good to acknowledge.

Whew, thanks Mayhem Mama! I don't need to figure it all out today. :) But back to what I was saying at the beginning, this is not my POSITION or anything, just some feelings I had to get honest about before I could move foreword. It will be really interesting to find out how people feel about adoption here. We see lots of mixed race couples with their biracial children, and I feel like that is a good sign. I have yet to see any obvious adoption relationships though.

Coming to the realization that no one is holding me to my intentions, which I think are right on, was kind of shaking.

Well, this is about beaten to death, isn't it? I'd like to come back in a different post and talk about our choice to move here that took us away from a significant black population to a significant diverse population in general, and what benefits we hope our children will gain in being here.
 
 

 

 



Choosing to Parent a Vulnerable Child

Adoptive parents are endlessly pushing back against the public's assumption that the strength of their bonds with their children are less real or permanent. Ask about an adopted child's "real mother" and watch them recoil, or ask a family with adopted and birth children if they love all their children the same and you are likely to get cold silence or an earful. We are used to people questioning the strength of our relationship so we defend it with the intensity any parent would.

I find though, that from one adoptive mother to another, the conversations go somewhat differently. In like company, our fears and vulnerabilities surface. So right now I'm going to speak to you as if you were another adoptive mother, and skip the mother lion routine.

I think that the adoptive relationship has the potential to be inherently insecure. When people ask if I can love the son I adopted in the same way I love the daughter I bore, (and they don't really ask that) I can ask them if they love the spouse they married as much as they love their children. The relationship has power because of a mutual choice. Couples fall in love and make commitments.  The analogy might work for the way I feel about the son I don't share blood with, but he will have to decide if he feels the same.

Not right now, of course. Right now he is insanely in love with me and I am the core around which his little life orbits. In the future is when he will have to come to terms with the fact that his presence in our family was decided by adults and was out of his power.

That's been on my mind as I think about adopting again. As the choosers in adoption, we have so much power. We pick everything. Maybe our choices are limited by circumstances like which programs we qualify for, but we are still making choices that result in a child joining our family. In cooperation with agencies, social workers, and governments, we bring a child into our family that has no say, whatsoever in the matter.

Personally, I think that's messed up.

I don't know how it could be any different. That's the way of the world: people with power make choices they think will benefit the vulnerable.

I'm not saying that children won't be benefited by being adopted, especially children who will grow up in institutions if they are not adopted. I'm just saying that when a child gets old enough to understand that they were vulnerable and other people decided what would happen in their lives, that's got to be hard to deal with.

I've been thinking of this specifically in regard to choosing a country program, or another U.S. adoption of a black child.

We were at the park this week and my kids were playing with an Asian girl. There is a massive Asian population in Sydney that includes primarily people of Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Pacific Islander, and Vietnamese heritage, as well as a large Indian population. The area where we live and the places where we travel seem almost 50/50 Anglo/Asian or Indian. Anyway, at the park I was imagining how I would feel if I was parenting an Asian child and was at the park with this other mother.

I realized that I felt intimidated to parent a child of another ethnicity, right under the noses of people of that ethnicity, in a culture where adoption is uncommon. Back in Nashville I was interacting with the black community all the time (on surface levels), but adoption is not uncommon there. Here it feels like my child's community (if they were Asian or Indian) could really scorn me if I wasn't up to snuff as the parent of a child of their community.

As a white woman raising a (biracial) black son in the South, I think I was pretty isolated from criticism because of my white privilege.

Suddenly India (which was the more serious consideration) wasn't seeming to attractive and I started to think about Africa some more. That's when it dawned on me, how much power I have and how vulnerable children are. If I don't want my child's community peering over my shoulder as I parent, I can just adopt a child in complete isolation from their culture. That's a choice I can make.

I've always said that raising a child in close proximity to their cultural heritage is what I'm striving for, yet I find myself afraid of adopting a child from another country and being criticized and rejected by that community. I'm feeling the cushion of my power as a white woman in a highly racialist city deflated, and coming to realize how much it was there. I'm feeling myself accountable to the way I raise another culture's child. Before, cushioned by my whiteness in a white/black hierarchy, it was my aspiration and goal to raise my son to be connected and proud of his black heritage, but no one could hold me to it. 

So there it is, my nitty gritty dirty confession, talking to you like my closest adoptive mom girl friend who I know will listen with an open heart and help me find the high road. I'm talking to you like it's only Amie listening. Go easy on me, I'm trying to be woman enough to fess up to my own prejudices, even though I've seen others get flamed for it.