An Article from The Toronto Star. [Thanks L for sharing]
Families by choice
It's challenging when adoptions cross the racial divide. Many kids and parents do fine, but observers have a problem.
Amanda and Hakeem Blair Roberson are fed up with the rude comments and questions. Things like: "How come your parents are white?" or "Black and white don't mix." Adopted as babies, Amanda, 14, is Latina, and her brother, Hakeem, 10, is black.
The children are proud of their heritages. Amanda's birth family is from Guatemala and Hakeem's, the Caribbean. They're happy, well-adjusted kids, just tired of explaining.
They plot strategies with their parents about how to respond, whether to go to a teacher or just walk away. When one kid kept calling Amanda a racist name, she'd silently repeat the old "sticks-and-stones" ditty. When kids ask why her brother is black and she isn't, she responds evenly: "Because we picked him."
"I like who I am. I never wanted to be white," Amanda says. "And I never wished my parents were different. I just wish people would stop asking."
Adoption can be complicated enough. Cross the racial divide and you're in tricky territory, fraught with preconceptions and prejudices, cultural baggage and identity crises. In a family photo of sunburned redheads, there's the kid with the Afro.
"Parents can say race doesn't matter, but that doesn't mean it won't matter to the child," says Mairi McKenna, 30, a transracial adoptee and consultant on the subject. Some adult adoptees talk about seeing the world as a white person, but the world not seeing them that way.
Magically — the magic of family — these adoptions often work out fine. Studies show that transracial adoptees do well socially and academically, says Sandra Scarth, president of the Adoption Council of Canada.
"I always understood that being black was my great fortune," says Dana Inkster, 34, who grew up in a white family. The filmmaker, who made The Art of Autobiography about adoption, doesn't see the world through a white lens. "But I had a front-row seat in viewing its culture," she says. "I had white immersion."
The conventional adoption policy is that social workers seek same-race adoptive placements if at all possible. "It's one less thing for the child to deal with," Scarth explains. The Toronto Children's Aid Society reports that 85 per cent of adopted kids each year are matched by race to at least one parent.
But in recent decades, hopeful parents have been bucking that conventional policy, turning more to private agencies and overseas adoption. From 1993 to 2002, Canadians adopted nearly 20,000 foreign-born children, primarily from China, but also from India, Russia and Haiti, to name but a few. The bulk of these adoptions crossed racial lines.
In fact, parents and children of different races are a familiar feature of popular culture from the former television shows Diff'rent Strokes and Webster to U.S. author Anne Tyler's new novel, Digging to America, which revolves around two families adopting babies from Korea.
Parents today work hard to assuage a child's sense of being a stranger in a strange land. They form support groups, kids' clubs, homeland tours, heritage classes. For youngsters born in China, there's even culture camp.
The children are proud of their heritages. Amanda's birth family is from Guatemala and Hakeem's, the Caribbean. They're happy, well-adjusted kids, just tired of explaining.
They plot strategies with their parents about how to respond, whether to go to a teacher or just walk away. When one kid kept calling Amanda a racist name, she'd silently repeat the old "sticks-and-stones" ditty. When kids ask why her brother is black and she isn't, she responds evenly: "Because we picked him."
"I like who I am. I never wanted to be white," Amanda says. "And I never wished my parents were different. I just wish people would stop asking."
Adoption can be complicated enough. Cross the racial divide and you're in tricky territory, fraught with preconceptions and prejudices, cultural baggage and identity crises. In a family photo of sunburned redheads, there's the kid with the Afro.
"Parents can say race doesn't matter, but that doesn't mean it won't matter to the child," says Mairi McKenna, 30, a transracial adoptee and consultant on the subject. Some adult adoptees talk about seeing the world as a white person, but the world not seeing them that way.
Magically — the magic of family — these adoptions often work out fine. Studies show that transracial adoptees do well socially and academically, says Sandra Scarth, president of the Adoption Council of Canada.
"I always understood that being black was my great fortune," says Dana Inkster, 34, who grew up in a white family. The filmmaker, who made The Art of Autobiography about adoption, doesn't see the world through a white lens. "But I had a front-row seat in viewing its culture," she says. "I had white immersion."
The conventional adoption policy is that social workers seek same-race adoptive placements if at all possible. "It's one less thing for the child to deal with," Scarth explains. The Toronto Children's Aid Society reports that 85 per cent of adopted kids each year are matched by race to at least one parent.
But in recent decades, hopeful parents have been bucking that conventional policy, turning more to private agencies and overseas adoption. From 1993 to 2002, Canadians adopted nearly 20,000 foreign-born children, primarily from China, but also from India, Russia and Haiti, to name but a few. The bulk of these adoptions crossed racial lines.
In fact, parents and children of different races are a familiar feature of popular culture from the former television shows Diff'rent Strokes and Webster to U.S. author Anne Tyler's new novel, Digging to America, which revolves around two families adopting babies from Korea.
Parents today work hard to assuage a child's sense of being a stranger in a strange land. They form support groups, kids' clubs, homeland tours, heritage classes. For youngsters born in China, there's even culture camp.
| `I had a feeling of not belonging. I hoped Korea would fill that void' Adoptee, on visiting her birth country |
But some groups flatly oppose transracial adoption. In the U.S., the National Association of Black Social Workers argues that whites can't adequately arm black youngsters to deal with racism.
In Canada, white adoption of aboriginal children is a sensitive issue. In Ontario, a native child's band is part of the adoption process to keep the child in the community. While working with native street kids in Toronto, Ken Richard, executive director of Native Child and Family Services, saw far too many who had left white adoptive families. "The kids said they never felt they belonged."
"Race is huge," says Jane Brown, a Phoenix-based adoption educator who does workshops. "Close on its heels is adoption. Children are grappling with the loss of their first family as well as their country and culture. The threads are all bound together."
In Canada, white adoption of aboriginal children is a sensitive issue. In Ontario, a native child's band is part of the adoption process to keep the child in the community. While working with native street kids in Toronto, Ken Richard, executive director of Native Child and Family Services, saw far too many who had left white adoptive families. "The kids said they never felt they belonged."
"Race is huge," says Jane Brown, a Phoenix-based adoption educator who does workshops. "Close on its heels is adoption. Children are grappling with the loss of their first family as well as their country and culture. The threads are all bound together."
Growing up, she would look in the mirror and be shocked at the Korean face that stared back. "I'd think, that's not who I am," explains the 25-year-old woman. "I looked at the world through blue eyes and as someone with pale skin. I didn't think of myself as the person in the mirror."
Adopted from Korea by a white family, she was raised in small-town Ontario, where she knew no other Asians and never tasted Korean food. The well-meaning message from her parents was, "You're Canadian now. You're our daughter.
"She was a good student, involved in lots of activities, but had problems at home. "I was fiercely independent and not well connected to my family," she says. "I felt very different from them.
"During her university years, she signed up for a two-week trip to South Korea for adoptees, sponsored by the Korean government. "I had a feeling of not belonging. I hoped Korea would fill that void," she says.
In Korea, the adoptees visited their adoption agencies. A social worker showed the young woman her file and a few days later called to say her birth mother had been found. "I broke down bawling," she says. "It was so fast. I declined. I wasn't ready."
She came home to finish school and then returned to teach English in Korea. After about a month, she agreed to meet her birth mother. "I had this illusion that I'd find her and my life would make sense."
She brought a friend to translate. Her birth mother came with her mother, sister and friend. "The four women were hugging me and crying. My birth mother held my hand and kept talking in Korean, calling me Sun Mee, my Korean name. I was stunned. I felt like I wasn't even in the room."
Further meetings weren't much better. "My birth mother didn't seem to realize I was a human being with my own identity," she says. "I felt such intense anger. At my adoptive family for not respecting my heritage. At my Korean family for wanting me to be someone else. Korea was a shattering experience. I wanted to come home."
She has moved to Toronto, found a good job. "I'm establishing myself," she says.
Home about two years now, she emails a cousin in South Korea who speaks English and relays messages to her birth mother. There are no plans for visits. Relations with her adoptive family have improved.
Adopted from Korea by a white family, she was raised in small-town Ontario, where she knew no other Asians and never tasted Korean food. The well-meaning message from her parents was, "You're Canadian now. You're our daughter.
"She was a good student, involved in lots of activities, but had problems at home. "I was fiercely independent and not well connected to my family," she says. "I felt very different from them.
"During her university years, she signed up for a two-week trip to South Korea for adoptees, sponsored by the Korean government. "I had a feeling of not belonging. I hoped Korea would fill that void," she says.
In Korea, the adoptees visited their adoption agencies. A social worker showed the young woman her file and a few days later called to say her birth mother had been found. "I broke down bawling," she says. "It was so fast. I declined. I wasn't ready."
She came home to finish school and then returned to teach English in Korea. After about a month, she agreed to meet her birth mother. "I had this illusion that I'd find her and my life would make sense."
She brought a friend to translate. Her birth mother came with her mother, sister and friend. "The four women were hugging me and crying. My birth mother held my hand and kept talking in Korean, calling me Sun Mee, my Korean name. I was stunned. I felt like I wasn't even in the room."
Further meetings weren't much better. "My birth mother didn't seem to realize I was a human being with my own identity," she says. "I felt such intense anger. At my adoptive family for not respecting my heritage. At my Korean family for wanting me to be someone else. Korea was a shattering experience. I wanted to come home."
She has moved to Toronto, found a good job. "I'm establishing myself," she says.
Home about two years now, she emails a cousin in South Korea who speaks English and relays messages to her birth mother. There are no plans for visits. Relations with her adoptive family have improved.
| `I want to show the girls we respect their culture'Paola Matheson, on decor choices |
But the best experience, she says, was connecting with other Korean adoptees on that first trip. "I've gained some close friends. We know exactly how each other feels."
This woman thinks exposure to Korean culture growing up might have helped. That's a theme the newer generation of adoptive parents takes to heart.
Adopted from China, the Matheson girls — Quin, 8, and Avery, 6 — learn Mandarin and take Chinese dance classes, complete with costumes, taught by a woman in Newmarket who was a dancer in China. "She teaches in her home so the girls see how a Chinese family lives," says their mother Paola. The girls also attend summer culture camp to learn Chinese songs, cooking and arts and crafts.
Chinese scrolls, vases and lamps decorate their living room. "People say that won't make a big difference, but I want to show the girls we respect their culture," Paola Matheson says.
Next summer, the family will travel to China and visit the girls' orphanages. Every year, each girl has a reunion with her travel group, her fellow adoptees. "The kids are very connected to each other," Matheson explains. "They're all from the same orphanage adopted at the same time."
The large number of Chinese adoptees — about 1,000 a year in Canada — plus organized resources may make cultural connections easier for them than other groups. One white family who adopted a black child has had difficulty hooking into Toronto's black community. "We went to a black church for awhile but felt out of place," the mother says. "We want to make our lives more interracial."
Cultural exposure should be authentic, not something exotic, experts say. The children need human connections with their own race. "There's a difference between being served by a Chinese waiter in a Chinese restaurant and eating with a Chinese family in their home," says adoption educator Brown.
The Blair Roberson family lives in a racially mixed downtown neighbourhood, in a house decorated with textiles and artifacts representing the children's heritage. Family members have Latin and black friends and enjoy Central American and Caribbean food and music."
The reality is, we can't immerse them in their culture in a deep way," says Theresa Roberson, their mother. "But in lieu of that, we can offer lessons around tolerance and diversity."
This woman thinks exposure to Korean culture growing up might have helped. That's a theme the newer generation of adoptive parents takes to heart.
Adopted from China, the Matheson girls — Quin, 8, and Avery, 6 — learn Mandarin and take Chinese dance classes, complete with costumes, taught by a woman in Newmarket who was a dancer in China. "She teaches in her home so the girls see how a Chinese family lives," says their mother Paola. The girls also attend summer culture camp to learn Chinese songs, cooking and arts and crafts.
Chinese scrolls, vases and lamps decorate their living room. "People say that won't make a big difference, but I want to show the girls we respect their culture," Paola Matheson says.
Next summer, the family will travel to China and visit the girls' orphanages. Every year, each girl has a reunion with her travel group, her fellow adoptees. "The kids are very connected to each other," Matheson explains. "They're all from the same orphanage adopted at the same time."
The large number of Chinese adoptees — about 1,000 a year in Canada — plus organized resources may make cultural connections easier for them than other groups. One white family who adopted a black child has had difficulty hooking into Toronto's black community. "We went to a black church for awhile but felt out of place," the mother says. "We want to make our lives more interracial."
Cultural exposure should be authentic, not something exotic, experts say. The children need human connections with their own race. "There's a difference between being served by a Chinese waiter in a Chinese restaurant and eating with a Chinese family in their home," says adoption educator Brown.
The Blair Roberson family lives in a racially mixed downtown neighbourhood, in a house decorated with textiles and artifacts representing the children's heritage. Family members have Latin and black friends and enjoy Central American and Caribbean food and music."
The reality is, we can't immerse them in their culture in a deep way," says Theresa Roberson, their mother. "But in lieu of that, we can offer lessons around tolerance and diversity."
Those are lessons adoptees will inevitably use. Most get teased, or worse. "They hear comments like: `You're not really Korean, you live with them,'" Brown says.
Around age 7, children try to make sense of life, says Dianne Mathes, a psychotherapist specializing in adoption. They ask questions about birth parents.
On the playground, they get remarks from other kids, some simply curious, some racist. Since their adoption is obvious, they may get teased about that as well.
Around age 7, children try to make sense of life, says Dianne Mathes, a psychotherapist specializing in adoption. They ask questions about birth parents.
On the playground, they get remarks from other kids, some simply curious, some racist. Since their adoption is obvious, they may get teased about that as well.
| `Sometimes, I didn't want my mother screeching out in the Volvo to give a stern lecture to a kid'Dana Inkster, on concealing name-calling |
Parents arm them with strategies. But kids respond differently.
One mother has two school-age children adopted from Haiti. They've both heard the garbage talk, the cruel, even vile, words about being black, she says. The girl isn't too burdened by it. "She's a very confident, joyful child," the mother says. "She seems to learn and grow with the whole business."
But the boy, who has learning difficulties, struggles more in life and the comments disturb him. "They make him not like himself," the mother says. "He'll sometimes insist he's white. We work on it, but it's tough."
Filmmaker Inkster remembers the racial slurs and teasing. Her parents would always believe her and back her, offering team support. But she wouldn't always tell them. "Sometimes, I didn't want my mother screeching out in the Volvo to give a stern lecture to a kid.
"In the teen years, race and identity issues can pop up big time. "If there's no cultural exposure, if race and adoption are closed subjects, you may see some explosive stuff," Mathes says.
"They may describe themselves as feeling empty, not knowing where they belong," she says. "One girl's wish was to rub the brown off her skin."
Although her son is bright, athletic and brimming with self-esteem, the mother of a 10-year-old boy adopted from the U.S. is scared at the prospect of the teen years. "I worry about him and the police because he's black," she says frankly. "He's got to be aware a young black male doesn't always get a fair shake."
He likes hip-hop music, which is fine, she says, but he also mimics the gestures. "I strongly object to any gang-related lingo or dress," she explains. "I've told him to be careful about the messages he gives out."
In the late teens and twenties, adoptees often struggle to make sense of their dual identities. "I've heard kids say, `I may look Asian on the outside, but inside I'm all Canadian,'" Mathes says. "They don't know how to put the two parts of themselves together."
It can be a lonely job. In her social work Master's thesis, consultant McKenna found that adoptees didn't talk to parents about the split. "It's not how the parents walk through the world," McKenna says. "Around race there was booming silence."
One mother has two school-age children adopted from Haiti. They've both heard the garbage talk, the cruel, even vile, words about being black, she says. The girl isn't too burdened by it. "She's a very confident, joyful child," the mother says. "She seems to learn and grow with the whole business."
But the boy, who has learning difficulties, struggles more in life and the comments disturb him. "They make him not like himself," the mother says. "He'll sometimes insist he's white. We work on it, but it's tough."
Filmmaker Inkster remembers the racial slurs and teasing. Her parents would always believe her and back her, offering team support. But she wouldn't always tell them. "Sometimes, I didn't want my mother screeching out in the Volvo to give a stern lecture to a kid.
"In the teen years, race and identity issues can pop up big time. "If there's no cultural exposure, if race and adoption are closed subjects, you may see some explosive stuff," Mathes says.
"They may describe themselves as feeling empty, not knowing where they belong," she says. "One girl's wish was to rub the brown off her skin."
Although her son is bright, athletic and brimming with self-esteem, the mother of a 10-year-old boy adopted from the U.S. is scared at the prospect of the teen years. "I worry about him and the police because he's black," she says frankly. "He's got to be aware a young black male doesn't always get a fair shake."
He likes hip-hop music, which is fine, she says, but he also mimics the gestures. "I strongly object to any gang-related lingo or dress," she explains. "I've told him to be careful about the messages he gives out."
In the late teens and twenties, adoptees often struggle to make sense of their dual identities. "I've heard kids say, `I may look Asian on the outside, but inside I'm all Canadian,'" Mathes says. "They don't know how to put the two parts of themselves together."
It can be a lonely job. In her social work Master's thesis, consultant McKenna found that adoptees didn't talk to parents about the split. "It's not how the parents walk through the world," McKenna says. "Around race there was booming silence."
But whom they choose to date may speak volumes. "It's an outward expression of what's going on inside," McKenna says.
An adoptee who is mixed race — "Jamaican Irish Catholic" — she dated only white guys when she was younger. As she got older and explored her Caribbean roots, she dated black men. She is now engaged to a Jamaican. "Everyone is different," she says. "For me, it was pivotal to have a silent understanding with my partner about race and how it affects us."
An adoptee who is mixed race — "Jamaican Irish Catholic" — she dated only white guys when she was younger. As she got older and explored her Caribbean roots, she dated black men. She is now engaged to a Jamaican. "Everyone is different," she says. "For me, it was pivotal to have a silent understanding with my partner about race and how it affects us."
Inkster feels comfortable in both worlds. Her partner is white and they hope to adopt a black child. "My race is one of the most valuable things I have to give."
Jul. 22, 2006. 01:39 AM
2 comments:
I saw this article too and found it very interesting. Good luck with your needles...take you puffers girl. Hehe...that thick air is killer on asthmatic although haven't seen them come into pediatrics.
Its was soo muggy yesterday. The clothes were just sticking to us. But it wasn't raining...so we were overjoyed!!
Louise
I love to read your blog Sheri... Also thanks for the tips on creating my new Blog spot as well..
I hope you feel better soon and let us know how it went for the needles...
Lisa
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