Token Diversity Family

Shortly after Isaac came home, a friend – a white friend – said to us, “This is great! Our child doesn’t have any black friends.” Immediately, the phrase ‘token black child’ rang in my ears. I was struck by visions of social events in which people fixated on what made our family stand out. As a multiracial family, Laurie and I both recognize that we stand out. In almost any crowd, we are treated like a novelty.

We know that as the parents of these kids we have signed up for a lifetime of explaining and educating people, and we try to approach new people with optimism, and hope they will use discretion and tact when asking questions or making comments. We’ve learned that inappropriate questions and comments typically catch us off guard because they can come at anytime and from anyone – strangers in the grocery store, acquaintances, and friends and family with whom we thought we’d be safe.

We recognize the importance of giving people the benefit of the doubt but only up to a certain point. Often times, the oddest comments have come from people who seemed uncomfortable and didn’t know what to say. When someone at work found out I adopted my son, he offered that his Japanese teacher had adopted a newborn but the birth father was contesting the adoption. I failed to see the relevance, so all I could think of to respond was “Okay.”

To be honest, I had a really hard time in the beginning with all the blatant staring and attention. I had to remind myself that if I saw a white man chasing a small black child through a crowded restaurant who was crying and screaming “I want my Mommy!” I’d stare too. But as his parent, the staring made me want to claim him all the more. “I love you, Son” or “Hold Daddy’s hand,” I’d announce. My wife and I don’t suffer the same kind of inappropriate conversations. My lot is to endure blunt questions like “Why did you adopt? Do you shoot blanks, or something?” and “Is your wife barren?” A lady once asked me, “Do you wear boxers or briefs? I’ve heard briefs can really mess up your count.”

Meanwhile Laurie gets asked, “How much did it cost?” and “What if their ‘real’ mother comes back for them?” Then, after she discretely avoids answering the questions, someone says, “I’d love to adopt. I don’t think I can handle another pregnancy.” Then Laurie gets to listen as the group discusses baby showers, breast feeding, and many other aspects of parenting we’ve yet to experience.

While Laurie and I prefer to be accepted as normal parents, as time has passed, we’ve accepted the attention that comes with having such an interesting family. At parties, hosts who know our kids nonchalantly introduce us, adding, “They have the cutest family,” ultimately forcing us to whip out pictures of the kids. For a while, it felt like we were being labeled; the couple who just got back from a trip, the couple who sells real estate together, and us, the couple who adopted. Inevitably, we became the center of attention, and I felt the eyes of the entire room on us as we talked about the same mundane things everyone else’s kids do.

Just a few weeks ago, Laurie and I attended a wedding shower where we knew only the groom and his immediate family. The mother has known Laurie for years and took great pride in introducing us to the other guests. “Come on, Laurie,” she said to a group of couples, “I know you keep a little photo album in your purse. Let’s see those little darlings.” It’s hard to feign modesty when you keep a small photo album handy for just such an occasion. But the guests genuinely perked up with interest: “Oh. My. Gosh.” “Aren’t they precious?” “You all are just a bunch of saints. Saint Billy and Saint Laurie.”

It might have been too over the top, but this was nothing we haven’t heard before, even the “Saint” part. Years ago, we might have felt awkward pretending to be humble. We’d feebly thank them, but we usually made them feel embarrassed rather than encouraging. But I’d like to think we’ve grown past that, to a point where I can humbly accept their adulations, where I can reach out and hold Laurie’s hand, put my other hand on my heart, nod my head, and say, “You’re right. We are terrific people.”