All of my daughters are beautiful girls. The oldest has corn silk hair, blue eyes and dimples that melt your heart. She has a playful sense of humor. My 17 year old has thick, blonde hair, blue eyes and a fantastic smile. This young lady is kind and thoughtful. She is about a size 3, not like her Momma at all. Our 13 year old has dark blonde, thick hair that falls down her back in amazing ringlet curls. Her eyes are hazel and she has a smattering of freckles across her cheeks and nose that gives her a mischievous look. This child has a melancholy personality, and takes things far more seriously than her older sisters. Then I have my 6 year old son. The Prince. The only boy in this estrogen-soaked sibling group. He is quite handsome with his dark blonde hair and blue eyes. His hair is thick, but straight as string. My son is autistic and interesting on levels I can’t even describe. I often find him to be fascinating in his view of the world and the people in it. Finally, I have the baby of the family. My four year old daughter has straight, jet-black hair and eyes so dark you can‘t discern where the iris ends and pupil begins. Her skin is the most gorgeous shade of brown. She is very tall for her age, (a full head above others in her preschool class) with a slender, athletic build. She is a whirlwind of giggles and tantrums.
Our youngest daughter is of Native American descent, and her looks are strikingly different than the rest of the family. At first, It was something I noticed. Having four pale, pasty kids that turn beet red with only a few minutes of sun exposure was all I had ever known. This sweet girl would get tan lines in those same few minutes! While still babies, I would often bathe my two youngest together and seeing their skin in contrast to one another, and to that shiny white tub would make me smile at the glorious differences God gave my children. But time all but erased the differences and I no longer noted lighter skin tones or darker hair. They were simply my kids and I was their Momma. However, the rest of the world still noticed…………. And had no problem blurting it out. I was confronted with questions that I had never dealt with when going through the adoption of the others. I found myself getting bombarded with statements and questions about her that I felt were offensive. “Where DID you get her?! Is she American?“ were common questions. Where did I get her? What kind of question is that? She isn’t a puppy from a pound or a pair of shoes from the mall! And American? Don’t get me started on how offensive I found that question. Her ancestors lived here long before any of ours did. She is the TRUE American. Also, if I am American, then wouldn’t it be safe to assume my child is, too? I often heard, “She’s beautiful! What is she?” Why yes, she is beautiful. And she is a little girl. Duh. Most of the time, my sweet daughter would happily munch her animal crackers or sip her juice and not pay a bit of mind to what folks asked. At her young age, she only knew that I was her Momma and she was my baby. I miss those days. Now she is older, and she does note when people question who she is to me or point out the contrast of our looks. She has noticed that our skin tones are different, and delights in the fact that there are so many different shades of humans in the world. When she sees someone about the same color as she is, she often will say, “Look, Momma! They are brown……..just like me! We are darker than you are, Momma. We match!” And most of the time this is met by a smile from the person who “matches” her. One time we were at Wal-Mart and there was a very dark skinned gentleman stocking a shelf ahead of us. My little girl blurted out, quite loudly, “Momma! LOOK!! He is browner than I am! And he is way, WAY browner than you are!” She was thrilled to match up against him and had me match up, too. Again, this gentleman was most gracious and met her eagerness with a smile. I admit that I was embarrassed until I was certain that he understood her exuberance was from an innocent place. I can honestly say that I have not a single negative experience with my daughter from anyone who “matches” her or is darker skinned. All of the negativity and stupidity has come from those who match me. It breaks my heart.
So this is my rant for the day. The request from my Mother’s Heart. This girl IS my daughter…and my love for her is intense. I would lay down my life for her without a moments hesitation. Don’t ask me where her “real Mom” is. I am her real mom. Don’t talk about her like she is a possession that I obtained. I didn’t “get her” or “buy her” or “take her” from another family. I believe that she was born to be my daughter. My heart looks at my five children and can’t remember which ones my body birthed.
I talk to my daughter about her Lakota heritage. She knows she is Native American, and that her First Mom was Native American, too. She knows she grew in her First Mom’s tummy, and after she was born God made me her Forever Mom. She will tell you she is Indian. She will also tell you she is mine.
I am not naive enough to think that our country has reached a point that color doesn’t matter anymore. This has been made very clear to me in the different reactions I have received through adopting outside my own race. I certainly didn’t get the looks and rude questions with my blonde haired, blue eyed adoptions. I have had a few instances of blatant racist comments as well………bad enough that I don’t find them suitable to repeat. I can’t say that I handled myself well in those situations.
I understand that my youngest does look different than I do, but that doesn’t make her any less mine.
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