A couple weeks ago we picked up a little girl, a second grader, to take to a kids’ program at our church. I had all four of mine with me, and we went to Wendy’s to eat. They laughed and chatted about all kinds of things. As we gathered up our trash, she asked my oldest, “Why are you different?” Emma said, “What do you mean?” She said, “Well, your hair is different and your skin is so white.” (The girl is white, too.)
Stifling laughter, Emma told her the other three were adopted. The little girl was shocked. Absolutely stunned.
Now, this sweetheart of a girl has been coming to this program for almost two years. She goes to school with DK and JT. She knows I’m their mom. And it never occurred to her that all my children cannot be biologically mine. (Unless I have several husbands. Which I most assuredly do not. One is enough.)
I have been watching this for thirteen years now, and there is definitely an age, and I think it’s about third grade, where this hits children. Until that age they have no clue. I think it’s sweet. There are kids from over probably 25 countries in the elementary school, so different faces on moms or kids is not an issue. They just don’t try to match them up until they are about ten years old. And even then it’s not a big deal. Usually they say, “You’re DK’s mom?” Then they laugh and go back to the important issues, like who did what when the teacher wasn’t looking.
Later that night at church, we were in small groups. Mira was my junior coach and we were joking with each other. I told the kids in my group, “You know she’s my daughter, right?” One girl looked at me and said, “She’s not your daughter.”
Me: Sure she is. She’s adopted.
Her: No, she’s not your daughter. Because he’s your son. (She points to JT in another group.)
Me: Yes, he’s my son. And she’s my daughter. And she’s my daughter, too. (I point to Dara in yet another group.) And the one with the curly hair taking pictures is my daughter, too.
Her: Ooohh-kaayy. (With the clear tone that she was not going to argue with the crazy lady anymore.)
Now this girl was in fifth grade, and the “rules” had kicked in for her. The faces didn’t match, so we couldn’t be related. I don’t usually get that reaction. Most kids think it’s cool, if they give it a second thought at all.
I’m not really sure where this girl put JT in her little mind, but Emma has never been called the “different” one. Most people say she looks exactly like me, and most think JT is my biological son as well. It was kind of funny for a change. Sometimes new friends of Emma’s will come to our door and they’ll ask her later, “What’s with all the Asian kids?” (It’s actually only two. It’s not like we have ten or twelve running around. Though it feels like it sometimes.) She’s into photography, and she takes a lot of pictures of Dara for her classes, as Dara’s cooperative and photogenic. The kids in her class always want to know why she has “so many pictures of Asian kids.” She swears one days she’s gonna say, “Well, I keep a bag of candy in my car, and when I see kids playing outside…”