Adoption Myth III: "Race Doesn't Matter"

By: Elizabeth Redhead Kriston

            
The next adoption myth I want to bust is a controversial and complicated one. It is so complicated that I can’t even find an adequate way to summarize into a title except to say it has to do with the misguided belief that when adopting, race doesn't matter.

Adopting transracially is a topic that needs to be talked about, debated, and taken seriously. How can we do that without ruffling feathers and possibly, though unintentionally, offending many?

I am not an expert on the issues and concerns regarding race in America. Yes, I have my experiences, my insights, and my opinions, but that does not give me free reign to talk in-depth about it. There are plenty of resources from experts that you can read to find a way to understand the pros and cons of transracial adoption.

Books on Transracial Adoption

Educating myself and being realistic about my role as a parent who planned to welcome and love a child of a different race or ethnicity into my family was a commitment I took seriously. I understood that bringing a child into a predominantly white community and extended family would be difficult on many levels. I wanted to be sure I understood all aspects of the experience so I could support my child, my friends, and my family.

Why Race Matters


Despite my efforts at self-education, none of my reading prepared me for what happened when we brought our second child home. My first daughter, M.E. begged us to provide her with “a little sister.” My husband and I debated on whether expanding our family was what we wanted. After much discussion and soul searching we decided to approach the same agency that matched us with our first child to see if they could help us grow our family.

Without going into detail about the arduous and painful process, eventually we were matched with another baby girl. I met her long before she was officially placed with us (another long story) and I fell in love with her instantly. Her flawless skin was the color of light brown sugar, her eyes were dark and filled with love, and her head was topped with soft brown curls. In short, she was perfectly beautiful.

My husband and I are descended from Mediterranean ancestry so we have olive skin, brown eyes, and dark hair. My hair is frizzy and when the weather is just right it is curly. Our first daughter, M.E., has porcelain skin dotted with freckles, bright blue eyes, and thick, wavy hair that vacillates between dirty blond, strawberry blond, and light brown (yes she has perfect hair, the brat). When M.J. came into our lives M.E. was three and a half and very articulate. At about this time she started reading and she knew more about life than any three year old should.

We had fulfilled M.E.’s wishes and provided her with a baby sister just as she had ordered so we were quite surprised when after a few months of living with her new sibling, M.E. had nothing nice to say. Of course we expected a bit of regret on her part as the attention an infant requires took away from the attention M.E. received as an only child. No, her complaints were deeper than basic sibling rivalry.

One day she looked at me with sad, tear filled eyes and proclaimed “nobody’s the same as me anymore.” At first I was perplexed and then I realized what she was seeing. It was the middle of summer so my husband and I were tanned. My hair was curlier than usual thanks to the humidity of July in the mid-west. 

What M.E. saw was three people who looked alike and then herself with her pale skin (thanks to the vats of sunscreen we spread on her), her light hair, and her blue eyes. The rest of her family had dark skin and dark eyes. We looked more like the new baby, M. J., than we looked like her.

I was heartbroken by this. I never wanted my children to feel different. I just want them to feel loved and safe and wanted. This was a shock! I never imagined that my child who was not the minority would have feelings of inadequacy. I was and am prepared to support my child who is black with the world she has to live in everyday, but who would have thought that my white child would have doubts too.

In response to what M.E. expressed, I took her words and wrote a piece to acknowledge her feelings in hopes that it would help her understand that she and M.J. are loved equally regardless of how they look and that all people should feel the same. Enjoy:

Nobody’s the Same As Me

By: Elizabeth Redhead Kriston, MS/CCC-SLP

My name is Madeline and I am four.

Nobody’s the same as me anymore.

I have a new sister, she is smaller than me.

We brought her home when I was just three.

Her hair is soft and curly. Mine is silky and smooth.

Her eyes are deep, dark, brown. Mine are just plain blue.

They all say my eyes are big and bright.

All I see is that they are not right.

Her skin’s brown. Mine’s white as can be.

Nobody’s the same as me.

Being different makes me want to cry.

Mommy and daddy wonder why.

I am so sad I cannot even play.

Mommy and daddy don’t know what to say.

They think and think of what to tell me.

All I wish is that I was still three.

Nobody’s the same as me.

Then all of the sudden I realize,

We all have two legs, arms, and eyes.

We all like to play, run, and walk.

We all like to sing, read, and talk.

We all have so many things in common.

So many that we can’t even count ‘em.

Mommy and daddy stop and think for a while,

Then look down at me with a big, big smile.

They tell me with soft loving words.

They love me for me, that I am superb.

They love my silky hair, blue eyes, and soft skin.

They make me feel special, I’m their Madeline.

Nobody’s the same as me anymore.

And I couldn’t be happier to be ME at four.

Eventually M.E. fell in love with M.J. and now they treat each other like true siblings, ones who argue over every little thing but protect each other from any perceived injustice. They are family to the core, we all are.