Our recent foster care situation has forever opened my eyes to how many children are out there, waiting for a home. Through my research, I’ve also learned that the greatest need is for babies with ethnicity or disability. Even greater is the need for sibling placements– someone willing to take 2-3 kids from the same family in order to keep them together.
I truly cannot understand why there are more “minority” babies out there than “white”. Maybe people want a “cohesive” looking family, and it’s easier to pretend they are your biological kid if they look like you. But isn’t the beauty of adoption that it’s NOT biological? That it’s NOT cohesive, but it works anyways? That love breaks through the barrier that is blood and race?
I’ve we’ve done more and more research, one thing has become clear– if we adopt someday, I WANT a baby of a different race than us. I will ignore all the white babies and go straight for the one with dark skin. Add some medical disabilities in there. I want THOSE babies. All of them.
The hubby has tried to gently inform me that my recent obsession with the less-wanted might, just maybe, just maybe, have to do with my grieving process over C, our last foster placement.
Whatever, I say. The heart wants what the heart wants.
We’d been talking about this for weeks when the topic came up at church, during coffee hour. With the hubby beside me, I was explaining to a fellow English teacher and our choir director that if the situation was right, we would love to adopt someday. I kept going, talking about how many babies are unwanted because of their race, and it was making me mad, just talking about it.
“I want an african american baby. Period.” I said firmly.
The English teacher smiled hesitantly, and said, “You mean, through ADOPTION?”
“Yes,” I said. “Of course.”
He smirked. “Because….” and he looked at the Hubby.
“Because there is a limit to what I can do for you” Jesse said.
“Well, I only make a specific breed of baby.”
And then I got it. They were making fun of me. All 3 guys were howling with laughter.
“Yes, of COURSE, through adoption.” I said, irritated. “What else could I mean?”
The English teacher smiled again. “Well, I just wouldn’t want you to go ‘looking’ for a different father….”
And then Jesse came in with the coup de grace.
“I mean, you do understand that I’m not a multi-ink pen? Click a different side and you get a different color?”
The analogy that took it too far. Forever mortified. Thanks, Hubby.
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