I inquired, "and how was that experience for you?" She was shocked at that question. I dare bet she'd never been asked. She stared at me, speechless. I quickly said "you don't have to share, if it's too personal."
She paused. And started. And stopped. Then the floodgates opened. "I was adopted into a white family; they thought I was white," she said. "Look at this picture of my daughter; does she look like me?" (I didn't say anything because I didn't want to assume anything. But after a George Costanza moment, I later wished I'd said something about families being made in a lot of different ways and looking different. Not that her question required a "Comback," but I often find myself wishing my brain and mouth had a closer connection.)
She went on: "I was raised in the Netherlands Reformed Church. The pastor told me when I was very young that I am a bastard and I am going to hell. So I tried to be good. But I ran away at fifteen. My family disowned me because I married a black man."
"I didn't have any idea what my background was. I joined the army at 18. A woman I didn't know identified me on a form as white. Later, a drill seargent told me that people may look on that as trying to pass for white. So from then on I identified myself as multiracial."
"And now I have my own rainbow family. I don't need my adoptive family." I felt a stab of her pain via the look in her eyes.
We chatted a bit more, shook hands, exchanged names, wished eachother well and parted ways, each of us with our sweaty and exhausted kiddo.
It gives me a lot to think about. I appreciate learning.
I'm livid with that pastor. I'm angry at her parents for not accepting her, supporting her, preparing her. It may demonstrate the vast change in transracial adoption in the United States in the last fifty years.
It's a shame that her family wasn't able to help her. That the adoption agency didn't help the family. That she didn't even know her own race. That she didn't have loving people, of many races/ethnicities to hold her hand, encourage her, teach her to be a multiracial person in a racist society and to love her for who she is. Through Rhonda Roorda's work, I have learned much from adult transracial adopees. They say that they welcome their parents boundless love, but transracial adoptees need role models at church, at school, and in their neighborhoods that look like them, take them under their wings, teach them, support them. Love them too.
I hope to have many more such opportunities to connect, learn, open my mind.
I'm reminded of this quote that I appreciate; I first encountered it hanging in my friend Brandy's office:"The world in which you were born is just one model of reality.
Other cultures are not failed attempts at being you; they are unique manifestations of the human spirit." --Wade Davis
