Being White

 

When Bob and I were considering adoption, there were pages upon pages to be completed.  It was arduous, but appropriate considering the weight of the decision we were making.

There was a form that talked about race and we had to check off the box for the races we would consider.  We checked them all.

We did talk about it.  We knew that raising minority children could be hard and we had long discussions with our social worker about what that would mean, and what it would look like.  We also were clear that if a child wanted to be adopted by a person that looked like him or her, that we would never want to stand in their way.  The child’s comfort was the more critical thing.

This was about seven years ago.  The world looked very different then. I was naïve, thinking that I could reconcile any differences with love and care. 

When we learned of Isaiah and Ciera through an email, I’ve talked about in past blogs that Bob responded that we wanted them before I could even get back to my desk to read the email.  There was such zeal and excitement.

Later, we learned that the children were Hispanic, of Mexican descent.  They were adorable and loving and sweet and messy.  They moved in, and every day since has been messy and loving.

I entered parenthood with the naivety of many, even though our journey looked a bit different.  I agreed to parent C and I, assuming incorrectly, that I could protect them.  I assumed that with hard work and love and resources, they would rise.   I took complements that Ciera looked like me with such thankfulness, as that somehow made adoption feel less complicated and simple.   She and I would smile to each other, sometimes sharing a piece of our story and other times just keeping it to ourselves.

Make no mistake, I knew we were a multi-racial family, and while we mentioned it, we did not talk about it much.  Until lately. Now I feel it in my bones in a way that I never thought possible.  I am part of population of multi-racial families.  And I am angry and saddened on behalf of all minority people and families.

I have been able to question the person who says “Just hire a Mexican” -especially in front of my kids.  I have spoken up when people comment that some people do not belong here in America and share why I disagree.   I have swallowed hard when someone sees the kids’ photo for the first time they say “Oh, they are Hispanic”, knowing quickly that person is inwardly making assumptions.  I have even found the words to talk with the kids about a wall that is being built to keep people that look like them out of our country. 

I now seek to find words-that I am sure are wrong- to explain to the kids why black and brown people are experiencing such prejudice, because I stupidly thought that we lived in a time that was progressive.  I never thought I’d get a bit nervous when Ciera proudly tells people at the pool, she’s so brown in the summer because she’s Mexican.   My heart ached, learning the number of people dying of COVID in the Hispanic community is well beyond the ratio of the population, due to lack of access to healthcare and essential service roles.  It is frankly embarrassing in this country that our minority populations are not cared for appropriately.

I have learned in the past few months that hearing people and their stories matters. The truth is, we like to say all people are equal because it makes us feel good, like everything is fine.  But inequality is everywhere, I see time and time again..  I am not a person of color, but listening my friends and neighbors has made me understand that as a nation, we say one thing, but we take the easy way out a lot.  We hurt people.  We keep people low, when they deserve to rise because it might be a risk to us.  I hear often that people should pick themselves up, but how can they do that if the privileged don’t offer our neighbor, even a stranger, that support?  Shame on me if I do not help. I do not get to say what some else’s experience is and I sure do not get to judge them.  I just hope I get the privilege to listen.

Truth be told, I have had it easy.   I was born to white parents in an upper-class neighborhood.  I lived white privilege.  I went to college without loans and I had several job offers upon graduation.  I was golden.  I was also stupid and sheltered.  I did not have a minority friend until I was an adult and I never heard the term unconscious bias until about ten years ago.  I had the luxury not to pay attention.  I am frankly disappointed and disgusted in myself- that it has taken me until this point to look and see what is really going on.  And I am especially sorry that it is taken my minority children to make me pay attention even more.

The news and the fallout have brought me to tears every day for weeks, seeing the hurt and judgement that’s being inflicted.  But I am far more fortunate than those who have directly experienced bias, racism, and prejudice.  I am sad for it, and I am so sorry for it and any role I have played.

I see your color and I celebrate you. I am sorry it has taken me this long to pay attention.   I also know you have a story and I always want to hear it and I want to help.  I promise.