To outsiders, we may not look like the typical American family.  We often get stared at in public.  It used to bother me at first, but I hardly notice it anymore.  On the other hand, it’s more difficult to ignore comments.  Once, when the little ones were just infants, we were dining in one of those chain steakhouses.  A woman approached our table, looked at the babies, then glanced at my husband and exclaimed, “You have a lovely family.”  Not long afterward, she returned to our table with a couple of other women in tow and said to one, “Look, Margaret, here’s that family we saw in the mall earlier. Aren't they precious?" I suspected that were our babies white, we would have gone completely unnoticed.

Then there was this past April.  I took four of my sons to the beach for Spring Break.  It had been a long winter with my military spouse away, and I thought some good ol’ sand and sun would be a special treat.  While venturing in one of those large beach stores that sells everything from beer cozies to hermit crabs, a sales clerk comes up to me and asks, “Are these your kids?”  I responded with a slow and quizzical, “yessss?”  I had been carefully watching them….nobody had broken anything or snuck a lollypop in a pocket, so I wasn’t sure where this was going.  “All of them?” she continues.  I suddenly suspected the destination of this line of questioning.  “All four” I responded with a little bit of a smart-ass tone of which I’m well versed in using.  Her next question almost floored me.  “Where did you get them?”  Oh, the responses that danced through my mind….”from the gettin’ place….they just showed up on my doorstep….I found them….mail order catalog…”.  “I adopted them.”  She started to press further, but I quickly cut her off and we abruptly left the store.

When the boys were younger, it wasn’t such a big deal.   It’s not like they don’t KNOW that their skin is a different color than ours, it’s just that this scenario plays out nearly every single time we venture out in public.  I keep threatening to buy us matching shirts that read, “We’re not circus freaks”.  The thing is, I’m just as guilty as the next person when it comes to making observations that sometimes take on a judgemental undertone….”what’s SHE doing with HIM…..those are ugly shoes….nice car….fake boobs…fat…bald”.  I see and I think.  But I stop there.  I don’t walk up to strangers and ask none-of-my –business type questions.  I spare them my critique of what I think of their hair style.  In a nutshell, I’m polite.  How nice it would be to get a little of that in return.

More than once, I’ve been compared to Angelina Jolie.  Unfortunately, it’s because of the number of adopted children I have and not because I resemble her.  We were hardly inspired by her.  She was still wearing Billy Bob’s blood in a vile around her neck when we adopted our first son.  Nor did we bring home kids like souvenirs from all over the globe.  We are quite simplistic in our thinking.  We just happen to feel that every child deserves a parent and too many of them are growing up without one.  I was fortunate to have been adopted and I believe in karma.

Race never came up when we decided to adopt.  We like to think that a higher power intervened and chose the children that were meant to be ours.  I have learned a lot from my young black sons.  For instance, I have learned that their hair requires quite a bit more attention than my own.  I also learned the hard way that most white folks can’t cut it.  I have learned that dark skin can get ashy very quickly if it’s not properly lubricated.  We use tons of lotion in this house.  There have been many lessons so far on this journey and I suspect there will be many more to come.  Most importantly, though,  I’ve learned this: love comes in many different sizes, shapes, and yes, colors.