The Only Universal Is There Are No Universals…

I read an interesting post the other day at Grown In My Heart. A birth mother, Liz, wrote about her experience of reunion with her children and the issues that arose because of their adoptive parents’ refusal to allow her to be part of their life.

I will openly admit that my first reaction was not that positive. It seemed that Liz was blaming the parents (and only them) for the situation. I (wrongly, it turns out) assumed this was another in a long line of stories about adoptive parents as “people who adopt are evil and corrupt and ignorant and wrong about everything.” Like a few of the commenters, I felt I needed more information before I completely demonized Ray and Shirley.

For those who took the time to read all the comments, Liz did give a bit more explanation that, at least to me, seem to justify her representations. Though the adoptive parents may have reasons for their actions, I can completely understand the basis of the claims Liz makes. I don’t think they are demons, but they definitely are not the most open and welcoming people I’ve ever met (recognizing I’ve never met them).

Liz is not just “another one of those bitter and angry birth mothers” (and yes I am intentionally using that phrase to make a point. And no, I am not actually calling anyone that).

Not everyone needed or waited for more information though. As is so often the case with discussion of adoption, the hate poured forth from all sides. Adoptees blamed the adoptive parents (and sometimes the birth parents). The adoptive parents blamed the birth parents (and, occasionally, the adoptees). The birth parents blamed the adoptive parents (and the adoptees). In some cases, the people in the various groups blamed members of their own groups.

I must say I totally get that there are a whole lot of people out there in the world who had extremely negative experiences with adoption. They were treated poorly, manipulated, ignored, debased — you name it. They are, rightfully, very much against adoption of any sort. They also lash out with their anger at people they do not know who represent the categories of people they feel hurt by — whether birth parents, adoptive parents, adoptees, legal or governmental representatives, or anyone else.

Similarly, adoptive parents lash out in a need to counter attacks, defend positions, stake their claim to legitimacy, you name it. Unfortunately, all sides find it all too easy to strike out at each other — sometimes without actually being attacked in the first place.

I also get that adoption is a thoroughly messed up process that reinforces existing societal structures, privileges the privileged, and has not a small amount of corruption. There is a whole lot of work that needs to be done and a lot of questions that need, and deserve to be, asked.

The reality is adoption hurts a lot of people. And it helps a lot of people. And it is completely neutral to lots of people. That’s because we are all people not automatons. And there are a whole lot of people in this world. That means there are a whole helluva lot of different lives and experiences. And that means nothing is always the same for everyone.

So, we can yell and insult and hate all we want. But as long as we are doing that, nothing will change. We will keep fighting each other. We will keep propagating hate and anger and resentment. We will keep not talking to each other and not listening to other ideas. This will make it much easier for us all to know we are completely right about exactly what we feel right now.

Or we can decide to actually learn.

And the fun begins…

Yesterday was a fun day at Pkin’s school. Though Thanksgiving is still a couple weeks away, yesterday was the special Thanksgiving lunch where parents and other family and friends (though usually just parents) come to share a cafeteria meal of Thanksgiving goodies (I know you are picturing those canned green beans you remember from your childhood. They were exactly the same.)

This is not the first time I’ve been to Pkin’s school. I actually visit a few times a year and volunteer for a number of PTA activities (was even on the PTA board last year). So, I was taken a bit by surprise by some of the conversations my presence ended up creating yesterday. Apparently, sometime between 1st and 2nd grade is when children get a sense of race and difference as well as a very cursory understanding of adoption. Good to know.

I was asked no fewer than 4 times if I was Pkin’s babysitter. When I told the questioners that I was her mom, I got a variety of responses. One boy, the first who asked while we were waiting in line for our food, simply gave us a curious look and then turned around to get his turkey.

The second time came after we sat down at the lunch table. The girl sitting next to us, someone who knows us fairly well from Girl Scouts, had many additional questions though. She shared that she always thought families couldn’t be different. I explained that families could be lots of things — some are the same, some are different, and some are everything in between. She then told me about her aunt who is Korean and how that means her family is different too (this girl is African American). I told her that was exactly right.

She then asked me how something like that happened. So, we talked about how her aunt entered her family and how Pkin entered ours. She was pleased to announce that she now knew families could be all kinds of things, which I applauded.

That conversation rambled down many other paths before we were finished: why we adopted (Did you want to save money? Did you not want to go to the hospital?), what she knows about her mother’s time in the hospital, what it means to be pregnant, at what point you aren’t pregnant anymore…luckily we never got into how you get pregnant in the first place.

When we got out to the playground after lunch for recess, we had many more conversations (I was one of the only parents who stayed, which automatically means I became part of the playground equipment for the kids).

The third asker simply accepted my answer and told me his family was from Peru. I told him I had never been to Peru, but would really like to visit as I don’t know much about the country. He told me it was really nice, then asked me to help him flip over the bar.

The next asked a follow up question, “Is she adopted?” I said “Yes” and that was that. Then, of course, other kids picked up on the question and asked again (I suppose because they each wanted a chance to ask on their own). I answered them all and they continued on their way across the monkey bars.

Just when I thought all was well, I heard a conversation going on behind me. One girl, who I had just been told was a bully by another child, was explaining to few other children that Pkin being adopted meant that her mother didn’t like her and didn’t want to take care of her so we got her. My heart jumped to my throat and I honestly thought to myself, “Oh shit!” As I did the momentary brain gymnastics about how to best address this comment without drawing undo attention to it (most of the children were not involved in the conversation and hadn’t heard it), I was actually helped out by the same girl. She asked me why Pkin had been adopted.

This gave me an opportunity to explain, unfortunately in the most general terms because of a child’s attention span during recess, some of what goes into an adoption.

The academic in me certainly knows that the entire endeavor is far more complicated than I was able to convey, but the mom in me thought it worked out OK under the circumstances. I went straight from that conversation to Pkin’s teacher to let her know about my lunchtime conversations (in case it came up in class later). And, of course, I immediately started planning how I would develop a program to talk about adoption and other formulations of family to other students at her school.

I’m still planning. It is not easy, especially since Pkin is not the sort of child who wants to be the center of attention. And I wouldn’t want her to be. Adoption is much bigger than my daughter and I would never dream of making her the poster child for a school of children with all sorts of family forms. I get that some parents can do that and their children love it. It just definitely is not for us.

Sometimes it is damn hard to be an academic who writes about and studies adoption and part of a family formed through adoption at the same time. Geez!

Infinite Jest

Pkin and I were discussing numbers last evening. She asked me if “one billion zillion” comes after 80 hundred. I was walking through large segments in order (ones, tens, hundreds, thousands, etc.) and quickly realized I couldn’t remember what came after trillions. I told her it might be quadrillions, but we would need to check to make sure. She said, “Don’t worry, Mama. I know what comes next. A sideways 8.”

Adoption is not a dirty little secret…

Adoptive Momma posed a question over at BlogHer that has often been posed to her. When do you tell your child they are adopted? I’ve also seen this question asked on a number of adoption-related listservs. It always strikes me as odd.

For us, this has never really been an issue. We have told Pkin from before she could talk that she was adopted. Our view is there is no reason to be quiet about it since we view adoption as a normal and appropriate way of forming a family. It may not be the way the majority of families are created, but it also isn’t something to hide or be ashamed of.

Of course, we don’t really have a lot of choice in the matter seeing as how, at some point, she’d figure out that she looks Chinese and we don’t…but I honestly don’t think that has affected the way we talk about adoption.

We don’t know much (anything, really) about the exact circumstances that brought her to be part of our family, what decisions her birth parents made and why, but we try to be as open as possible about everything we do know so that she’ll be comfortable with coming to us to ask the questions we don’t know and can talk through together.

Won’t someone stand up for the Christians?

EthicalHedonist does an excellent job of examining and responding to the Christian Anti-Defamation Commission’s recent release of the Top 10 Incidents of people being mean to the poor, down-trodden, mistreated Christians in 2009.

Frankly, he is far more well-spoken on these than I (thus I refer you to his post rather than mine).

All I’m able to muster up is…seriously??? No, I mean…seriously??? Seriously???

The joy a red pen can bring…

As I begin to ponder the grading this semester will bring, I think fondly on the many repeated spelling errors…

The Oatmeal agrees with me…though he/she/it (what is the proper way to refer to The Oatmeal?) forgets one of my favorites

apart vs          a part

And then there’s grammatical errors…don’t get me started on that versus which…

or the offensively prolific use of that in general…

or…

Pkin expresses herself…

We have been working with Pkin on various ways to express her emotions that don’t include temper tantrums or violence. It appears we may have found an effective outlet (art therapists are likely saying “Duh!” right now).

After a Pkin/DM run in yesterday over something I don’t even remember now, Pkin embarked upon a big batch of harumphing and, even, a bit of punching Beary (her stuffed bear) in the face. When I remarked that I thought she might be able to find some other way to express her frustration besides hitting her bear (we generally hold to the belief that nothing should be hit ever, regardless of whether or not it can feel pain), she stomped upstairs, went straight to her white board, and drew this:

For those who want clarity in their art interpretation, the author’s statement indicates, “I am kicking daddy’s butt!” (Pkin is the very scribbley squiggly person in the center denoted my “me.” Daddy is the one flying through the air after having  been kicked in said butt. I am watching from the sidelines.)

The observant among you will note that Daddy and Mama are both smiling. Mama (marked “Momy” — she’s working on spelling and is having some internal conflicts about calling me Mama while everyone else refers to their mother as Mommy)  Mama is saying “Yea! Again! Again!” while Daddy says “Wee! I like it! This is my greatest day ever!”

After she drew it, she showed daddy and had him take a picture so he could show me. She then came downstairs laughing and happy and all better.

Go white board magic!

Take this job and shove it!

Well, at least it’s good to know I’m not alone in finding my job to be uninteresting and, generally, dissatisfying…

Call me Ms. Stifled Innovation!

Atheism has its benefits…

Pkin has started occasionally finishing DM’s sentences while they play Wii together. Well, really, just one particular sentence:

DM: “Gawd…”

Pkin: “Dammit!”

It’s a good thing we’re Atheists. I could see this playing out poorly in church…

It’s not my holiday…

I’ll start off by saying I hate agreeing, even a little bit, with SE Cupp. She just makes me get all oogy (and not in a good way).

While I don’t agree with her basic premise in her latest column in the NY Daily News, Belief and nonbelief are not equal, I can agree that Atheist “solstice” installations placed alongside Christian nativity scenes and Jewish menorahs on public land just don’t seem to get the real point. And don’t get me started on the Festivus decorations. I recognize all of these assorted holidays are social constructed, but I’m not quite ready for George Costanza to get equal billing with other traditions…

I’m all about inclusion, but inclusion should be legitimate not manufactured. And Atheists requesting equal billing for the solstice is entirely manufactured. As an Atheist who knows a lot of other Atheists and has worked for one of the oldest and largest secular organizations in the US, I can honestly say the solstice is not some time-honored holiday tradition we believers in the non (more on this in a moment) have celebrated in secret for centuries. Atheists may be more likely to know the actual date of the solstice than some (because it is determined based on scientific principles and we tend to pay attention to those), but we don’t have parties or go thank mother nature or bond with the moon or whatever might go along with such a celebration.

Wiccans are far more likely to celebrate the solstice. As are other pagan and neopagan groups. As are my touchy-feely new age mother and aunts who like crystals and labyrinths and tarot cards. For Atheists to claim this is our equivalent of Christmas is silly. Frankly, Christmas is, most often, our equivalent of Christmas because it need not have any actual connection to religious beliefs to be celebrated. Coopting and adapting a religious holiday to one that no longer has to have the religious component is far more effective than telling people who came to see a plastic baby that they’re idiots.

So enough with the solstice — let the people who actually celebrate it fight for their right to a display if they want it. We have bigger fish to fry (and, no, I don’t mean “In God We Trust” on your currency…)

Oh, and by the way Ms. Cupp — I do not lack belief as you claim. I believe, quite definitely, that there is no god. And I believe it as strongly and fervently as do many of those who believe there is. Our beliefs are, indeed, equal.