Growing Family

Assimilation and Acculturation: Tough Stuff

First of all, may I just say that you all are superb and I think I am spoiled with some of the best online friends!

I've spent a lot of time thinking about assimilation,  acculturation, and cultural appropriation. Go ahead, click and read if you're not familiar with these terms. They're good ones to know.

Most of my processing on these issues has been around my role as a white mother to a son with African American heritage. As I seek to connect as much as I can, and learn all I can, I try to remain cognizant that I am not black, I cannot innately know about the black experience, and I don't have the right to consider myself part of black communities. A lot of adoptive families believe otherwise. It's not uncommon to hear people say something like "now that we have a daughter from China, it's like we're Chinese too!" My son is not a pass. I can do everything I can to provide him a comfortable proximity to his culture, but it's not my culture. Having African art in my home, and books by African American authors on my bookshelf, and brown faces on our dolls does not make me black. Anyway, I digress... That is the context in which I usually think about assimilation, acculturation, and cultural appropriation, but today I want to try to talk about something else.

Because of the horrific history many countries have connected to these terms (think Native American and Aboriginal children separated from their families in forced assimilation programs, stripping them of their cultural values and practices in order to bring them into mainstream -European, "Christian", western- culture), I always think of them in a mostly negative way.

Since being here in Australia, I've heard a sentiment that was not at all uncommon back home, and one I heard often in Holland as well: "If you don't want to speak our language and join our culture, go home." Basically, assimilate or leave. The dominant culture can take what they like, via cultural appropriation, and reject anything that doesn't "fit". The difference, is that previously, I'd always heard members of the dominant culture expressing that sentiment, and here I'm hearing it from immigrants. Here are some examples:

When we were buying our car we spent several hours with the car salesman. Towards the end of the transaction, he started a more personal conversation with me about our move here. He asked if we had had any troubles, as foreigners and was pleasantly surprised when I said our experience had been positive. He shared that he moved here 30 years ago, from South America, and was tormented by his peers at school. He said that so much has changed, and now when people find out he has South American roots, they think it is interesting and appreciate his heritage. He said that there are two kinds of people migrating to Australia, people who want to leave the politics and problems of them homeland behind, to come and become Aussie, and people who try to drag their home country with them, refusing to assimilate and making all sorts of problems. "If you don't want to be Aussie, go home", he said.

A friend originally from Indonesia, and living in Sydney after living in the U.S. told me about the trouble her daughter is having in school. Her daughter is in a class with predominently Korean classmates, who don't speak English in the classroom. The Korean mothers do not talk to her, or make connections outside of their community. My friend feels that this is hindering her daughter's education and she is considering changing classes or even schools. The sentiment is, if you want to be here, speak English, make and effort, assimilate.

Most of our friends here are not Anglo Australians. Most of them began life in another country, speaking another language. Yet, cultural heritage doesn't seem to be a very big deal to them. They want their children to be Aussie. I don't know of any of our friends who are teaching their children their first languages (which is understandably difficult given many of them are inter-ethnic marriages with two first languages represented). And when I've asked how they help maintain their family's cultural identity for their children, within Australian culture, I've gotten the hairy eye.

Coming from a framework where I've only been aware of two modes: majority culture forcing assimilation on everyone, and minority culture/ethnic/religious/linguistic families struggling to maintain those things for their children, the attitude I see here seems quite foreign to me. People say "we came here to be Aussie." Basically, to live the Australian dream (which is pretty much the same as the American dream): a better life for our children, a stable political environment, opportunities, advancement. Nurturing cultural identity doesn't seem to be such a big part of that. When I look around at our friends, I can imagine that their children won't be able to speak to their grandparents except in English, they won't know how to prepare the dishes their parents make, they may find their grandparent's religion to be odd, and their frame of reference for the world will be completely Western.

I'm really trying to understand this sentiment, and withhold judgment. I wonder if this is the way migrants to American processed things for a long while? Leaving the home-country identity behind to become a proud American? Is the current focus in American that you can be "both", more of a recent development?

For the first time this has implications for my own life as well. If we stay, will I become Aussie? When my children develop Australian accents and this place shapes their world view (as is evidenced already in the insistence of "biscuit", not cookie, and "wee", not pee), will I be fine to let our Dutch and American heritage slip away? I can't imagine that I will...but then my situation is quite different from many people immigrating from hardship, persecution, or lack of opportunity. It's something I keep thinking about...trying to understand this fierce Aussie pride that is predominant over historical ties.

Hair: The Identifying Factor

Small Sun's awareness of his skin color and hair texture, as well as those of others, is just exploding right now. All of a sudden he is seeing differences, and commenting on them.

Today, walking in our neighborhood, we passed a(n Asian) couple. Small Sun exclaimed, "hey, they were like B and J!" (Aussie friends of Vietnamese and Chinese heritage) I asked "what was it about them that was like B and J?" Small Sun replied, "their hair!"

For my little guy, hair is the defining factor. Not twenty minutes later, at the playground, we sighted a biracial boy we'd met before. He was at a distance so Small Sun didn't get to talk to him, but he picked him out of a crowd and said "that boy has curly hair like me!"

I can't tell you how relieved I am that we made this move before his awareness started to really come into focus. The color palette of the people in our lives changed overnight. At a recent birthday party for The Captain, there were a couple other people of European descent, but the majority migrated here with their families, from Asian and South East Asian countries. We also have a number of friends in inter-ethnic marriages, parenting mixed-ethnicity children. I am so relieved that when he starts to wonder about our family not "matching", that I have lots of friends to illustrate that families need not match. We still haven't connected with any of the members of our church with African heritage, but for now I am content that in children's church, at playgroup, and at the park, rather than being one of the only beautiful brown faces, now his is just a lovely addition to a multi-colored group.

More Centered, Finding Calm

I feel badly for spilling my emotions all over the place, here. I know that you all probably want to hear all the confirmations that this was a good choice, to come here, and all the adventures we're having. These is plenty of that going on, as well!

A friend here lent me a "cultural training" curriculum for expatriates moving to Australia. In the section discussing culture shock it describes the effect of culture shock on the body, saying that when everything in your environment is new and you are processing new information, constantly, every day, it physically exhausts the body. From sending a letter to attending a party, everything is just different enough that you can never completely rely on your previous experience. It is tiring, and I felt comforted to know that I am experiencing a very normal part of a move of this scale. Also, that it will pass, and things will require less effort in the future.

In our service on Sunday the teacher spoke about finding the quiet place, where we hear truth, feel peace, and find bravery to walk in strength through our days. Hearing that was so restorative to my peace. Also on Sunday, a friend here who is growing more dear by the minute, called to ask us out to afternoon tea. We bundled up in our scarves and coats (so glad they finally arrived!) and met them at a nearby bakery/cafe for a hot drink before we turned the kids out of doors to play at the park. My new friend shared her vulnerability and fears with me, and I am so thankful for a friend that is going below the surface. The mens got along well too, and are meeting for lunch as they work close to each other, in the financial district, downtown.

My continued exploration into expatriate adoption is a big contributer to my stress levels! After getting close to nowhere talking to agencies, I set up an appointment with an Australian immigration lawyer for next week, spoke to the Consulate here in Sydney, and spoke to someone at USCIS (U.S. Citizen and Immigration Services). It's a bit of a game of hot potato, everyone says that what I am inquiring about isn't under their jurisdiction and hands me off to someone else, who in turn hands me to someone else! Each immigration authority points at the other, saying "it's their issue, you'll have to take it up with them!" No wonder the agencies don't have a clue.

So hopefully, after seeking legal council and hearing back from the detailed inquiry I submitted to the Consulate, I'll have a clearer picture. May I just say, I can't believe how much time and effort (and stress!) I have put into this process, before even submitting an application! It's hard to imagine having the energy to follow through an adoption process, which may involve preparing a dossier (gathering documents from abroad), coordinating the legal systems of three governments, and time spent in the U.S. Not to mention the emotional experience of adoption.

On Saturday, on the park bench, I was asking God "do I keep pushing on this, or do I let it go?" I was miffed when He said "both". I saw a pictures of pushing on the wind, like I do with my arm out of the car window. I saw that when you open your hands and let go, that doesn't mean that the surface you are pushing disappears. Sometimes it moves and you just keep pushing, open-handed.

Lately, a lot of my guidance from God has been puzzling. So I'm puzzling over it, waiting for the clarity to develop.

When people ask me why we've moved here, I sometimes feel foolish trying to explain what we want out of this transition. But foolish or not, I think we heard right. I think we're in the right place. And who was it that said, "sometimes you have a tough year and then a good future". We feel like this might be a tough year. However, even at the low points so far, it has been incredibly grace-filled.

So, here's to open hands, pushing on who knows what and stepping out, into the invisible. May the housing market and the immigration and adoption authorities smile on me!

Finally!!!

Our container is scheduled to be delivered tomorrow morning at 9 a.m. Hooray!

I may just have to give those movers a big hug and kiss!

I have had stomach flutters all day, just thinking about the possibility of sleeping in my own bed tomorrow night, setting up Sprouty's crib, using my cooking pans and my sharp knives!

As I'm getting ready, I can't help but think about fellow blogger friend Sster, whose house has been wrecked in the Midwest floods. She and her hubby and toddler are staying in a studio apartment and will never be able to return to their ruined home. She is working on her thesis and is a writer. She's lost all of her books. Can you imagine? My books are dear friends.

So rejoice with me that my ship has come in, and if you want to help a dear net-friend get back on her feet, go to her blog and request her info. They are going to set up a Target registry for house stuff. It's so easy to pop onto a registry and have something delivered.

I think having our stuff here will propel us into the next stage of adjusting here. I hope it's a fun stage.

The Church Search Comes to a Close

I really can't believe it. After only two months here we are already putting down roots in a church I am really loving. Oddly enough it is the church I wanted to avoid because it is a MEGA church, but it seems to be the right place for our family.

We are attending an "extension service" near our house, so the church is linked with the main church, but maintains the small congregation feel. There are about 300 members that attend two services (the building is not large enough to accommodate 300 people in one service) and people also go to events at the MEGA church.

In those 300 people, 30 nationalities are represented. There are several people with African heritage, a Dutch grandmother who has already taken us under her wing, no end of inter-racial couples, and inter-ethnic couples and their children, and I'd guess about 15% of the members appear "white" but there again, people are coming from lots of different countries. Second languages are normal, immigration is normal, diverse heritage is normal, connection to a big world is normal.

The theology embraced by the leadership and the members is right up our alley. Basically, God is good, and what is not good is not from God. Last week the teaching was on fear. I found myself on permanent head-nod as the pastor exhorted the members that a life filled with fear and anxiety isn't God's will for our lives. As a person who spent a childhood absolutely consumed in fear, is was a spot-on message.

The style of the worship is familiar to us, and the people are warm and genuine. In the last four weeks we have been invited to (and attended several of these) a home group Bible study, a games night, lunch after church, a movie night, a guy's footy night (Australian rules football - kind of a football, rugby hybrid unique to Australia), and dinner at a couple's house. Every week scores of people introduce themselves and take time to talk and get to know us. At first I assumed they were just very proactive in their "greeter ministry", but people are genuinely friendly and I can tell we are not part of a "new members program". Amazingly, the people just really are this warm.

One couple in particular has really taken us under their wing and they are just so kind. To be a world away from friends and family and have people take a sincere interest in getting to know us, AND following it through with ongoing interaction just means the world right now.

The children's service is so cheerful and the teachers kind. Our kids are enjoying it and they already have friends from a range of ages that they play with after church. The older girls take turns carrying Sprout around and Small Sun wrestles with the other boys and burns out his energy running laps around the hall after the service is ended. Person after person comment on how beautiful and kind our children are and they also seem very positive on adoption.

I'm pretty flabbergasted, really. I mean, there are some things I'm not so crazy about, but every time I assume that something is just staged or for show, I am amazed at the genuineness of the conviction behind different decisions and actions. I said in a previous post that "with God, nothing is too good to be true". My own assertion is shaking me up a good deal these days.

Waiting for my Ship to Come In. Literally.

We shipped a full container with 70% of our belongings in the first week of March. We sold our house, car, and a bunch of other stuff. Anything electrical had to go, except for our computers which we are running through power converters. We've been living out of suitcases for three months now. It's getting old.

What we're doing now is glorified camping. Since our house has no closets, we bought things like bookcases, a sideboard, wardrobe, and other large storage furniture at Ikea. We have a lovely rug in the living room, and one chair that we take turns sitting in at night. If we're watching a long movie, Captain and I take an intermission to get dessert out, and trade places so one person doesn't have to sit on the floor the whole time.

We also hit a Craigslist goldmine buying tons of stuff from a Canadian girl moving back home. So really, it's cushy camping but it's still camping. I have one sauce pan, one frying pan, and one baking pan. I've been experimenting with cooking pasta in the rice cooker. I brought some pretty plastic plates from Target and I have some cutlery from Ikea. The forks only have three tongs and the food falls off between them. Sometimes dinner is late because I have to let something finish cooking in one pan before I can get the next thing on.

Everything in our place is off-white. Don't get me wrong, it's a gorgeous place, but I'm a color girl. The bland walls are wearing on me and I curl up at night in my orange-pattern duvet and feel warmed by the color as much as the down.

Sprouty is sleeping in a pack-n-play, which is too small for her. We sneak in at night to wiggle her around when her neck it at an angle, smushed against the side. She doesn't want us to take any of her snugglies out so she has a blanket, a duvet, a large donkey, a doll, and her small soft blankie all tangled up in there with her. I would never have let Small Sun do that, what with SIDS and all...second children.

Not having our stuff is hard for me. I miss it. I sit and dream about what is in our container. I have a box of cake mix in the cupboard, just waiting for my cake pan. My bed! My sweet, wrought iron bed that I've been sleeping in since I was a teenager. Sprout's crib, of course, and the play kitchen still in the box from Christmas. Cloth diapers. My pure white china, simple and strong. My cutlery, bought in a shop in Holland. Vases for flowers, instead of milk jugs with the top cut off! And my clothes, oh I miss them so much!

I loved The Boxcar children growing up, and really, I can be very creative with just about anything. There comes a time, though, when the pleasure of the challenge wears off, and you just want it to feel like home. I need this place, our little house at least, to feel like home. I need the plants growing in the garden, and my earthly treasures on the shelves, for it to be home. For me to know that we're staying here. For it to be life instead of camping.

Our container has been part of a backlog in quarantine for three weeks. They're supposed to process it today. Cross you fingers with me, will you?

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.

Making a Home

Today marks the two week point. Yesterday I was crying like a baby, missing my friends. Tonight, driving around Sydney, I felt like this is "my" city.

Bit by bit our empty, echoing apartment is starting to feel like home. Our container won't arrive for another 2-3 weeks but I got some pictures up tonight, and thanks to another Ikea run, we've finally got enough furniture and basics to feel a bit more cozy. I'm going to post some pics of the things in the house that make me happy.

We're getting into a system. I've done a lot of laundry, and laundry is MY THING for feeling settled in a routine. That and I dug around in the back yard and started an herb garden. I don't want to invest in landscaping the yard when this place is so temporary, but herbs are practical.

Small Sun is feeling much better and now the Sprout is a leaky faucet of fluids. Poor girl. Even sick she is still spunky - wait, doesn't that mean something else here?

I've got a lot of things on my mind to write about. Things I've been pushing aside to make way for move related stuff. When our container comes and our desk is here, with our monitor and a real keyboard I'll start reading blogs and writing more. Laptops just don't satisfy me.

The Captain is on the job hunt in a big way. After being top stack at his old job for five years, the transition is shaking him up a little bit. But like he told me yesterday, "if you're not walking on the edge of a precipice, and there's not risk, then it's not a real adventure is it?" Hmf. Way to comfort a crying wife.

Well I'm off to bed. Did you know that my bedside tables are empty boxes piled on top of each other? And did you know that this house doesn't have heat or air, or a dishwasher, or space for a dryer? We are kicking it old school, and that's not unusual here. It's a lot like Holland that way. Those things are more luxury items. In America we call luxury items necessities.

Nighty.

Small Sun

Shortly after we got here Small Sun spiked a high fever. It got up to 105 (40.5C) and we were scrambling to find medicine before the shops closed, and I was searching for the nearest ER (I still don't know where it is). The medicine brought his fever down quickly. Over the next couple days he seemed fine but would have a sudden fever that would respond to medicine. He's been fine for about a week but today the fever's back and he has thrown up several times.

It's scary to be in a new place with no pediatrician and no known emergency resources. I am typically frightened and anxious on the rare occasions that my children are sick, and that is when I have all the resources available to me as a city dweller with good insurance and reliable transportation.

So much of this move is putting me into greater awareness of my privilege. As an immigrant navigating a new country, the evidence is constantly before me that my way is made secure by money. I don't think in a socialist-oriented system like Australia I could end up on the street, but the ease and availability of transport, food, housing, etc, is all accommodated by our ability to manage our budget in this expensive market.

Having a sick child and not knowing where to take him if a crisis were to develop gives me a small sense of the helplessness of being alone in a new place and having nothing, or having no resources to provide for the needs of your child.

I can't really imagine. That's privilege at its height - not even being in touch with real need.