I’m No Hero

Ever since we first announced our intention to adopt, we regularly hear various people tell us we’re wonderful, saintly people because we chose adoption.  They believe we’ve given our kids a much better life than what they would have known.  I’ve heard words like “hero”, “brave”, “angel”, and others used to describe our role as adoptive parents.

This sentiment amuses me and makes me uncomfortable.  I may be a lot of things, but I do not consider myself a hero – especially not because we adopted.  Look:  we didn’t adopt because we felt called to do it, found it our social/moral responsibility, or because we were inspired by Angelina Jolie or some other celebrity.

We did it so we could have a family.  Period.

The possibility existed that we could have gotten pregnant on our own, but the fertility treatments we tried weren’t getting the job done.  So we decided to trade the stress, expense, and uncertainty of fertility treatments for the stress, expense, and uncertainty of adoption.  With adoption, we felt fairly certain that we would end up with a baby (especially considering we are white, Christian, married, heterosexual, and financially stable).  With fertility treatments (the shots, the turkey baster, and/or the petri dish), we had no such assurance.  Even if we could get pregnant, there was no guarantee that nine months later we would end up with a baby.

As for our kiddos, I’ve had people tell me that our children are “lucky” and/or “blessed” to have us as their parents.  While we certainly try to give them the best possible life, it would be horribly conceited of us to presume that growing up with us gives them the ‘best possible life’.  Plus, that sentiment is highly disrespectful to their birth mothers.  I cannot begin to understand the circumstances that led our two birth moms to choose adoption – and it’s not my place to publicly discuss what we do know – but you’ll have a hard time convincing me that the lives of our children are automatically better because we adopted them.  If people think we give our kids the ‘best possible life’ that’s only because we have an unspoken obligation to our birth moms to raise these children as best as we can – not because our “status” as middle class white people* is somehow better than what they would have otherwise known.

*Yeah, I think there is a bit of an unspoken (and hopefully unintentional) race element to all of this.  And I know there is definitely a class factor.  I think society tends to make assumptions about birth moms (i.e. young, poor, uneducated, possibly minority), just as they make assumptions about my wife and I (white, educated, professional).  Whether or not they would ever vocalize it, I guarantee there are people out there who believe that our minority children are guaranteed to have a better life growing up in a middle class white home than they would being raised by a single black woman.  I think that notion is absolutely ludicrous.  Any “advantages” we may have are perception, and are likely offset by the fact that raising a child of color outside of his or her culture can lead to a lack of racial identity.

At times, I think the “hero” sentiment is a coded way of saying “I would never, ever adopt, so I applaud you for doing something I’m too scared/weak/unwilling to do”.  This belief comes from my feelings on being a foster parent:  I’m not sure I could do what foster parents do, so I have a high level of appreciation and respect for those who have chosen that path.  Does that make foster parents heroes?  In my mind, it kind of does, but my guess is they would be just as uncomfortable with that sentiment as I am when I hear it.

So consider me a hero if you want (although you certainly do so at your own risk), tell me how “brave” our choice was (even if that is a bit of a back-handed slap at adoption), and say how “lucky” our kids are to have us.  But know that there are no heroes in adoption.  The birth moms are the brave ones, and the adoptive parents are far and away the lucky ones.

Sorry, Whites Only

Last weekend, we took the kiddos on a mini-vacation to an indoor water park – one that my son excitedly referred to as “Grape Wolf Lodge”.

Everybody had a lot of fun.  The five-year old loved the water slides, the 2-year-old liked dumping buckets of water on people, and the 1-year-old enjoyed playing in the water.  Family fun for everyone, and something we’re likely to do again.

But one thing from the trip is sticking with me.

In the room, they had a little promotion for Shutterfly.  There was a sample of a photo book and a coupon to create your own for free.  As you likely know, Shutterfly photo books are a digital scrapbook where you upload pictures to create a very nice looking book.  I’ve created multiple Shutterfly photo books, as I make one at the end of the year showcasing pictures of the kids from each month.

Our kids love books, and love looking at the Shutterfly books I’ve created, so naturally they spent some time in the room flipping through the sample book.  The sample book was a scrapbook of a faux-family’s visit to Grape Wolf:  Here are the water slides.  Here we are hugging the costumed characters.  Here is somebody swimming in the pool.  Here are the kids and their new friends in some group activity, and so on.

I didn’t think too much of it until I was flipping through with our one year old.  That’s when I noticed something odd.  As I was going through the various pages, I was only seeing white faces in the pictures.  Friends and regular readers know that all of our children have at least one birth parent of color.

About halfway through the book, I semi-jokingly said “Let’s look for the people of color in this book”.  I kept flipping pages and wasn’t seeing anyone who wasn’t lily-white.  Not finding anybody, I started over at the beginning.  This time, I looked closely at each photo (probably three or four per page) and carefully scanned the group activity photos for any children of color (black, Hispanic, Asian, Native American, hell – anything other than white).  I kept coming up empty.

Finally, about two-thirds of the way through the book, I found a woman of color.  I couldn’t really tell her ethnicity (African-American?  A Latin America country?), but she was definitely not white.  This was good.

But wait…what is this woman doing?  Oh, she’s giving little Susie an ice cream cone.  The lone person of color in the sample photo book is an employee.  That is not so good.  But at least she looked happy to be serving ice cream to all those white kids at White Wolf Lodge* for minimum wage!

*White Wolf Lodge, where your ice cream choices are vanilla, vanilla chip, vanilla mint, and white chocolate!

Now, let’s clear some things up:  I’m not “outraged” by this.  I’m not sharing this to raise a stink, or bring negative attention to Shutterfly or Great Wolf Lodge – two companies whose products and services I will continue to use.

And yes, I have mocked ads and publications that use awkward diversity pictures – you know, that group shot of the black kid, the Asian kid, the Indian kid, the Hispanic girl, etc. all hanging out in front of the student union instead of in their own racially segregated groups?  (In the past, I’ve derisively called that a “United Nations” photo).  Trust me, I’m not saying that there needs to a specific quota of minority children per Shutterfly demo book.

I’m under no illusion (or conspiracy theory) that non-white, non-employee faces were intentionally excluded, or that either of these fine companies is racist.  I’m pretty sure that the only color they really care about is green (which helps to explain the expensive prices at the lodge:  $4.99 for a side of fresh fruit at the pool bar?  Really?).

But it sure would be nice if my kids, or the dozens of other non-white kids we saw last weekend, could see themselves represented in the sample “My Awesome Vacation at Grape Wolf Lodge” photo book – even if they’re just hanging out in the background.  I don’t want them to think that the only way they could ever return to Grape Wolf Lodge (without their white parents) is as an employee.

Oh, Shirt

I came across a site selling the t-shirt shown below:

Do you love your adopted kid?

The designer explains the shirt on her personal site:  “So many people misunderstand or don’t understand what being an adoptive parents is all about.  I think adoptive parents should completely own being an adoptive parent. Be proud of it and confident in it.”  That makes sense.

I’m not going bash on the person who designed the shirt, and is selling it.  To each their own.  But I would not buy this shirt for myself or anyone else I know.

Why?

It’s not that I’m ashamed or embarrassed by our adoptions.  It is the complete opposite:  the choice to adopt is easily one of the best things my wife and I will ever do.  Our lives, as well as those of our family and friends, have been forever enriched because of our three kiddos.  I may not have enjoyed the paperwork and expense of the adoption process, but I have pride in making it through that process three times.  I have confidence in who I am as a parent – regardless of if “parent” needs to be qualified with “adoptive”.

It’s not that I don’t want to talk adoption or advocate for it.  The first thing you learn about adoptive parents is that we LOVE to talk adoption.  We love to tell our stories, share advice, and many of us will speak up to remove misconceptions or correct outdated language.  I’m no exception.  I’ve written a ton about adoption, and will continue to advocate for it whenever the opportunity arises.

And obviously, it’s not that I don’t love my adopted kids.  They are my world.  My pride and joy.  I love them with all my heart and would do anything for them.

So why would I never ever wear this shirt?

Because when I look at my kids, I don’t see them as “adopted”.  I see them as amazing little people who happened to arrive in my life through adoption.  I will raise my kids to have pride in their adoption – as it is nothing to be ashamed of – and to respect the strength and love shown by their birth families when they were newborns.  But I don’t want “ADOPTED” to be the label that defines them for life.

I accept that when we’re out in public people probably see my children as adopted (I’m very white.  They are very much not white).  That is the reality of living in a society that tries so very hard to be colorblind that we notice every little difference.  So why should I reinforce that singular, impersonal label by wearing this shirt for the world to see?

If the world really needs to pigeon-hole my kids, I’d much have them defined by their amazing personalities (loud and proud, sweet and shy, loving and laughing) than by a generic label that really doesn’t tell you anything about who they are.

Borrowing an analogy I’ve seen elsewhere, would parents of biological children proudly wear a shirt that says “I LOVE MY C-SECTION KID!” or “ASK ME ABOUT MY TURKEY BASTER BABY!”?  Probably not.  I mean, sure, there might be some folks out there who are oddly proud of the marvels of medical science that helped bring their child into the world, but most people don’t choose to define their child as C-Section, breech, the result of a fertility treatment, or anything else.

I like that the designer of the shirt is an adoptee, as it tells me that she has pride in being adopted and wants to be an advocate.  But I’m guessing that she views herself by other terms (talented designer, independent businesswoman, etc.) instead of having adoption be her identity.

Now, if she comes out with a shirt that says “I LOVE MY KIDS”, I’d consider wearing that – if for no other reason than to see if my soon to be six-year-old rolls her eyes in embarrassment.

The Super Bowl of Adoption

Author’s note:  I’m a little late to the party on this, but I wanted to share my two cents…

As part of the non-stop hype and build up to last week’s Super Bowl, media members from all over the country explore every conceivable story angle on the players – especially those in starring roles, such as San Fransisco 49’ers quarterback Colin Kaepernick.  Kaepernick is a pretty interesting story:  not widely recruited out of high school, becomes a star QB and helps boost Nevada football to respectability.  Gets drafted by the 49’ers and takes over the starting job midway through the season, helping to ignite the team, leading them to the Super Bowl.  Kaepernick was also adopted by white parents, adding another level to his already unique story.

Although progress is being made, adoption is still a rather mysterious subject for a lot of folks.  Add in the layers of open adoption (where the adoptee has some level of contact/relationship with their birth family) and transracial adoption (my wife and I are white; our children are not) and it definitely makes for an interesting angle for the hundreds of media members looking for something new to report/write/talk about*.

*As an aside, Kaepernick was not the only transracial adoptee playing in the Super Bowl.  Baltimore Ravens tackle Michael Oher was also adopted by a white family, but his story (or at least a Hollywood version of it) has already been told in the Sandra Bullock movie The Blind Side.

One of the questions Kaepernick was asked during the Super Bowl media day was if he was in contact with his birth parents.  Kaepernick was placed for adoption by a 19 year old woman, who knew that she would not be able to adequately provide for him.  He said that he had not been in recent contact with her (she had sent a letter for his 18th birthday), nor did he have a desire to do so.

This is where ESPN columnist Rick Reilly comes in.  Reilly adopted one of his daughters from Korea, and in a recent column he related a personal story of how his daughter reunited with her birth mom and biological siblings during trips to Korea.  According to Reilly, the experience has been very positive for his daughter.  Terrific.  I am a big believer in open adoption.  And hearing about positive and healthy relationships between adopted children and their biological family makes me happy.

But then Reilly expresses confusion over why Kaepernick refuses to meet with his birth mom.  He cannot understand why Kaepernick is not behaving like other adopted kids who are “crazy curious about their birth parents”.  Reilly offers a pet theory for why Kaepernick does not want contact:  Reilly thinks that a relationship between Kaepernick and his birth mom would be disrespectful to his adoptive parents.  Maybe he’s right.  Maybe he’s not.

*A side note – the other thing about Reilly’s piece that drove me up a wall was his use of “gave him up” to describe the birth mother’s decision to place her son for adoption.  I’ve never met Colin Kaepernick’s birth mom, but I can guarantee that she did not “give up” on him, and to imply that any birth mother “gives up” on their child is insulting to the birth mom and the child.  If you use a variation of “give up” when talking about somebody who was adopted, please stop.

But here’s the thing:  Colin Kaepernick gets to choose what level of contact, if any, he has with his birth family.  He gets to decide if he is “crazy curious” about the woman who carried him for nine months before making what was likely an impossibly hard decision.  He gets to decide how he processes and handles that loss.  And he definitely gets to decide if he discusses all of this in front of the national media before the biggest game of his career.

Look:  I hope that Kaepernick can have a strong relationship with his birth mom, just as I want my own adopted children to have good relationships with their birth families.  I’m very proud of the relationship we have built with my daughter’s birth grandma, great-grandma, and half-sister.  And we continue to make every effort to establish a better relationship with our son’s birth parents – when they are ready, we will be readily oblige.  While they are young, we will do everything in our power to establish those relationships, develop them, and always ensure they are positive and beneficial for our children.

But I acknowledge that a time will come where the decision to maintain or break contact will no longer be mine.  I’ll certainly encourage them to maintain some level of communication, but if they choose to break contact, I’ll listen to them, try to understand their reasoning, and respect their decision.  And I won’t have a lot of patience for outsiders like Reilly who tell my kids how to live their lives.