Growing Family

Does an Explanation Void an Apology?

I have a bad habit. When I've hurt someone, and I go to apologize, I usually end up trying to explain myself because I think that if the person really understood where I was coming from, they wouldn't have been hurt in the first place. I think it comes partly from my compulsion to have the full truth out there. I don't want to leave someone with misconceptions about what I really meant or intended. I'm about to do that here.

Sometimes when I write something, I know that my tone is sarcastic, disrespectful, condescending, or judgmental. Lately I've been struggling with how to acknowledge that, knowing that right now, writing that way is serving a purpose in my life so I am not planning on editing myself in that regard. I don't want to hurt people, and I certainly don't want to convey that I think I know all about the topics I'm addressing. I don't.

Before I started blogging, I was talking to a good friend of mine. I told him I was thinking about trying my hand at blogging because I wanted a space to hash out what I was experiencing as an adoptive parent with a transracially adopted child. As wonderful and supportive as my friends were, when I needed to talk about the things I was seeing and experiencing, they just didn't get it. I don't blame or fault them, they just didn't. Instead of holding inside the things that made me angry or curious or sad, I needed a place to lay them out and process. So I came here.

I think so many people have already been through much of this process in the course of growing up. They have seen racism and white privilege in action, and have a schema for processing new information. Because I grew up as a home schooled kid living in the country, I didn't have those opportunities. I didn't see those things in action until I became mother to my son and it was very personal.

Discovering white privilege, the effects of Colonialism, current racism and stereotyping, discovering that adoption isn't conducted in an ethical manner much of the time, hearing for the first time that many first mothers suffer depression and grief and trauma for years after placement, coming to terms with my role in adoption, learning that many adoptees view adoption as a negative and damaging experience, navigating our semi-open adoption, all while bonding with my new son and parenting my new daughter, has been A LOT to deal with. Honestly, some days I am just reeling from it all.

What I spent my whole life believing about adoption, and aspiring to in adopting, has been totally rocked. I have learned and processed more information that affects me emotionally, in the last three years, than I would have ever imagined possible.

What I write here is an emotional release for me. After putting things into words I can let them go and move on to what I need to process next. Sometimes what I release is anger. Sometimes it's outrage. Sometimes it's sadness. Sometimes it's fear.

When I think about changing my tone to write this for YOU, to offend YOU less, and to garnish more readers through my honey-soaked, carefully weighed and measured arguments, I can't do it. Not right now. Right now I still need this place to come and rant once in awhile.

When I went to that school and they were playing music that was created to hurt members of my son's race, that made me angry. That they were playing it, yes, but that that kind of devisive evil is in our world. I need a place to scream that that is not okay.

I think I can also come across as aggressive sometimes because I am insecure here. As a blogger I am writing monologues. I can write something so personal to me and have lots of people read it but no one comment. It's like crying in public when no one asks you what's wrong. Sometimes I can handle that, and sometimes I come to the keyboard defensive because I have to get my thoughts out but I'm afraid someone will judge me for it or worse, that no one will say anything at all.

I'm sorry if I hurt you here. I'm sorry if I'm rude. I invite you to tell me so. I know that I am not always balanced and as my brother-in-law says in his Italian way, "I know I run my mouth." So, if me running my mouth bugs you, please tell me so that we can work it out.

Back to our previously scheduled programming!

Meeting Cloudscome

A couple of years ago I didn't read any blogs. I thought they were a silly fad - anyone and everyone publicizing their every thought? it did not sound appealing to me.

My first foray into the world of adoption online took place when we were adopting Small Sun. I spent a lot of time at the web forum Bethany Christian Services provides. There I was often struck by the poignant additions by a certain Cloudscome, also waiting to adopt (for the second time). She felt like a kindred spirit and we've been friends in the blogosphere for nearly three years.

Last week, during our holiday travels, I had the honor to meet Cloudscome at my grandparents old farmhouse. Our boys were a good match and while they spun leaves into the air and climbed a fallen tree, we snatched at conversation the way mothers of busy boys do.

I'm glad to know that I'm not the only one who lies awake at night, concerned about the implications of current adoption practice. Glad that I'm not alone in sometimes feeling panicked at the immensity of being a white mother with black sons in a culture that does little to help them, glad that another person wants to write seriously and get blog recognition but doesn't have the time to carry it through. Glad I'm not the only one that can have too thin a skin. Glad that in the world of adoption, where other adoptive parents are supposed to "get it" but miss me, that she and I could share an afternoon of talking, not explaining.

I'm thankful our boys took so quickly to each other. Thankful that they played the piano loudly, all three on the bench. Thankful that they climbed up on the couch under quilts to hold hands and read books. Thankful that they enjoyed the indoor fort we built, desperately trying to stretch their cheerfulness so that we could keep talking.

In the space of a holiday and family that leave me feeling conflicted, I am so glad that Clouds came. Thank you, for driving all that way.

Blogging, Causes, Spouses, Partners

For the last week or two The Captain and I have spent our nights together in the living room, each immersed in reading. I'm trying to catch up and keep up with blogs, he just started Infidel. I began to feel disconnected, each in our own separate spheres, bobbing in the living room.

It was only last night that I realized I am venturing deeper and deeper into the ideas of anti-racism and adoption reform, only to look by my side for my trusted partner, to find myself alone. I confronted The Captain, standing over him accusingly as he struggled to read in peace. "Don't you care about the racism in our country (for it is his country too now)? We're raising a child who belongs to a race that is routinely discriminated against!" I struggled against his calm.

He told me "whatever chip that you have that sees racism and wants to attack it, I don't have that chip. I'm just not wired that way." My instinct was to accuse him of not caring, of swimming in white privilege that gives him the ability to not care. But, upon a moment's reflection, I know that is not true. Something else is at play here.

The Captain is European. Dutch. He went to college in Amsterdam. He grew up in an international family, doing international things. He is not saddled with the history of our country. Though he has become a citizen, our roots, so compromised with corruption, aren't his roots. I guess he could worry about whether or not his ancestors were part of the slave trade, but he doesn't. That's not who he is.

He has an indomitable optimism. A clear eye for beauty and truth. I'm glad that as I'm raking around in this muck he is standing tall, breathing in the wind, and holding my hand tightly.

I'd really like to know what it is like for all you other bloggers (who are all women on my blogroll, incidentally)? Does the person that you share your life with share your passion for the cause you blog about? If not, how do they relate to your passion? Does it alienate you from each other?

I'm heading off for a long weekend of bathing in lakes, playing in dappled woods, and laughing with my children and several generations of my people. The freckled Irish and dark-eyed french that brought me to where I am.