Fifteen years into parenting in a transracial family, I thought I had heard it all—with appropriate comebacks at the ready—until an interaction with a racist (former) boss left me simply dumbfounded.
The day we became a transracial adoptive family was the day we lost our anonymity in our community. We’ve learned to handle the extra attention with some advance prep before going public, some choice words, and some perspective.
Isaac is 14 years old, but he’s six feet tall and almost two hundred pounds. He’s also black. He hasn’t been a discipline problem since the day he came home, but someone who doesn’t know him could see him as a threat. So what was I to do on a recent evening when he asked to bike home alone in the dark?
Adoption kismet paired my moody, socially awkward self with an upbeat, sociable son who volunteers to wear his school mascot costume, runs for student council, and is unfazed by the thought of speaking in front of his whole school. Every day I am awed (and exhausted).
When my transracially adopted son was teased about adoption at school, he came home upset—and also bewildered about how his friend could have known. When I heard this (and when it came out that he wasn't wholly innocent in the exchange), was it wrong that my reaction turned from anger to laughter?
When we adopted our son as a toddler, he rarely displayed emotion and wouldn't show us any affection. How far my big, cuddly 10-year-old has come!
After meeting a man who thought he might be our daughter’s birth father, we were all invested in the idea of an open adoption relationship—but how would the test come back?
When our daughter was born, her birth mom listed the birth father as “unknown.” Ten years later, he found us on social media and reached out.
As the parents of four black children, we drop a small fortune on lotion and products and build time into our schedule to style their hair, all the while questioning whether we know what we’re doing. A recent conversation offered some much-needed reassurance.
Have you ever been at a baby shower where they play a home video of the mother-to-be surprising her partner with news of her pregnancy? As we grappled with infertility, my wife and I hated those videos, even as we desperately hoped for one of our own.
With such a spectrum of opinions about adoption, it’s hard to know if we talk about it too much, or not enough, and in the right way. But watching my son navigate adoption comments at school reassured me of his comfort with it.
My wife and I may not match our kids, but we found a group where we all fit in.
When people have kids, they are often hoping their child will be just like them. In our case, we're happy our son has beautiful characteristics that are all his own.
My wife and I were nervous the first Sunday we attended an African-American church. Would they welcome us? Would they stare? We should have had faith.
After years of grappling with infertility, I could only focus on what might go wrong during our (in hindsight) perfect match and my daughter's birth.
After a bump in the relationship with our daughter's birth mother, we're learning lessons about love, patience, and acceptance.
My wife was deluged with questions at a new moms' group, each one more personal than the last.