Apr 5, 2012 Questions
So we moved.
Dr. John Raible (http://johnraible.wordpress.com) has made a big impression on us. That is my understatement of 2011. I was obsessed with the idea of “whitesville”. Whitesville was not where we wanted to be. This became painfully clear after a conversation with another adoptive parent about Black hair styles. I was telling him I could manage a few simple styles now but I was dreading when J might want to straighten her hair. I had heard there could be pressure to do that from her Black peers.
“Oh Well” he said “maybe all her friends will be White.”
I almost spit out my coffee. It pained me to think that might be our future. It was hard to explain to my friend (whose kids look White) why that idea was so terrible. It would mean I wasn’t trying. I wasn’t facilitating opportunities to integrate our family within Black Canadian life. Black adults and children in our lives every day. Not just once a year at the African cultural festival.
Last year was all about finding a public school with a good reputation where the racial diversity was high. We asked everyone we could think of, mostly teachers. And we found our school.
Before that we lived in a house I loved. It was really old and drafty. It was built in 1894 but after ten years of making improvements (new windows, new roof, new furnace) it was still on a busy street and I was still cold all the time.
And then we found our likeable early sixties, tree fort in the back yard, house on a quiet street. Think Ange Lee’s Ice Storm kind of house without the sad plot and nineteen seventies angst.
Then a few days ago I registered J for kindergarten. Junior kindergarten. I nervously walked up to the school. Nervous because I’ve never done this registration business before and naturally J’s documents are all strange. Foreign. Her immunization record doesn’t follow any sort of recognizable schedule. Everything looks different. I have heard bad stories about school secretaries. Stories about administrators who ask to see original documents that are irrelevant to school registration. The reason they is give is just “curiosity”. Arguments about attending English as a second language class even though the kid has only ever spoken English, there is no second language.
I was so nervous going to the school that I made a point of putting on lipstick in the car. Lipstick. It was something my mother would have done. It was supposed to make me look respectable. So much of why we decided to move here was because of the school.
Turns out the secretary could not have been nicer. Turns out her only reaction to J’s passport was “Oh. Interesting.” Registering a child not born in Canada was nothing new to this woman. Turns out registration was ten minutes of pleasant chit chat and photocopying and I had nothing to worry about.
As I was walking out the school front doors a group of kids was coming back inside from the play ground. Just as I had hoped the diversity of cultures and ethnic groups was obvious. Then I saw her. The sweetest little girl .. and oh my .. the hair. This hair was done. I mean perfect braids and coordinating beads.
It. was. done.
Then I panicked. Since J started daycare I’ve slowly begun to coast a little with the hair. It’s also hard to practice because she is less cooperative than she used to be but to be honest…I’ve slacked off. Most of the time now her hair is in puffs. There are two other children of colour at J’s day care but I haven’t had a chance to meet their parents and the staff are all White. The staff are ladies who have never in their lives had to do a proper Black hair style for a little girl. We get compliments about J’s hair often, “It’s just so cute!”, except these women don’t really know the difference. But I do. I know what sort of skill a real style takes. Skills I have not yet developed. Skills I should be working on that I let go by the wayside. It may be shallow but I worry a lot about first impressions. I want to meet other parents in this new place. Black parents. I dread the idea of a Black woman taking one look at my kid and telling themselves “Oh you poor thing, you must be adopted, your mother does not know how to do your hair.”
We’ve got all summer to practice. I’ll try not to get obsessed. It’s just hair after all. Except of course it isn’t just hair. We’ve moved to this place deliberately. We’re moving away from Whitesville in as many ways as possible. This needs to be our community.
Our place to belong.
Feb 19, 2012 Questions
I am up early, before the sun, before my family, drinking coffee. It is my birthday today. I am forty years old.
The only thing that ever really mattered to me about turning forty was that I would finally be a parent.There are other goals … goals about writing, about creativity, about going back to University and getting a MSW, changing jobs one day, traveling to France, to Cuba, driving by myself to Toronto on the 401 (I have little panic attacks just thinking about that one).
Forty was a marker. For some reason I thought I could not possibly turn forty and still not be a parent. Maybe I did this to keep myself sane through infertility and adoption wait. Maybe it would not have mattered in the slightest. If I had known what I know now about my girl I could have waited even longer. Of course everyone says that. Of course it is one of those things that is true and not true. The waiting was wearing me down slowly and painfully. She was worth that wait and so much more. We adopted J in my 37th year.
I’ve had my best ever birthday gift for the last three years.
Oh, and we moved. It took us over a year of searching, purging and stressing and last minute crazy real estate drama. I think I love the new house. I think I really am happy to be here.
There is lots going on with J about language. What is the problem? Is it a processing disorder? Is it her hearing? Time will tell but it’s ongoing and confusing and scary. We’ll cope. We’ll keep trying to figure this out.
Yesterday I registered her for junior kindergarten. How is this possible?
It’s so cliche, so banal and obvious but life … moves very quickly.. so … pay attention. Soak it up.
Happy Birthday to me.
Jan 11, 2012 Questions
Jan 3, 2012 Questions
J received a gift this Christmas that gave me some moments of pause. It’s a neat toy until you start to notice one thing.
While represented on that globe are many children, animals and plants guess what is missing? Uh huh .. Black people. Or to be more precise Black or children with darker complexions. Of twelve kids represented in icons all of them are White kids except for the child from India, the child from China and a tanned looking Egyptian kid.
So according to this globe at least nine out of twelve kids on the Earth are White or fair skinned.
Seventy five percent.
And on the continent of Africa? There is the already mentioned Egyptian child, a giraffe and a gorilla. Oh and a cocoa plant.
No one lives below the equator.
Really?
There isn’t even a Black child living on the continent of Africa?
Really.
I guess I should write an essay and try to analyze who made the globe … try to make points like “the most interesting part of a map is what is left out” .. that sort of thing… but you’re all smart people. You know what I’m thinking.
What I really wanted to do was just sigh and shake my head.
Cue the shoulder slump.
I could be thinking this is a great tool for discussion, a starting point to talk about perspective, white privilege and power. Except J is only three and what would have been a cool toy is now just a powerful visual example of … I don’t even know what to call it.
We might be returning this gift.
Dec 7, 2011 Questions
After reading this article
http://www.multiculturalfamilia.com/2011/10/18/things-ive-learned-from-black-culture/
I could think of times where I have acknowledged a stranger, who is Black, in a way I would not have done before the adoption. As usual, because that’s what I do, I began to wring my hands.
Was this OK?
I am nodding or smiling or saying hello to a complete stranger based solely on their apparent ethnicity? Was it possible I was being ridiculously presumptuous? I remember smiling and nodding at a man who was also attending a Maple Syrup festival in rural Ontario. It was very rural Ontario. Besides my daughter he was the only person of colour in an arena of almost one thousand people. I was happy, maybe relieved, to see him so I smiled.
But why?
When faced with these sorts of questions I always defer to my friend W. We have an agreement that I can ask my “stupid white girl questions”. I love this man for many reasons but mostly because he will not lie. He does not suffer fools lightly and if you are behaving like a fool he will let you know.
As for the nod to the one black dude. I expect he was being polite (as were you!) and simultaneously did not think you were weird. Not every black person will buy into the fact that you “share their experience” but it generally won’t take away from the notion that you have a shared bond with all of us (blacks that is) now. As a male I have always used it primarily as a male to male interaction but I do find my self acknowledging my sistah’s in that way as well.
Now for the truly pedantic and overanalyzed…
Do you nod up or nod down? Up or down refers to the initial direction of your head. Is it an up-then-down nod or a down-then-up nod? I use the down-then-up nod for my black on black interactions (I consider the up-then-down nod to be a little too street/urban and familiar). This feels more formal/serious as a recognition/acknowledgement as opposed to a “hey, what’s up”.
Whoa.
Nods can be familiar and formal?
Street body language suddenly became much more complicated.
And interesting.
Do I nod up or nod down?
Down then up or Up then Down?
I really needed to think about the nod. When I tried these variations on a theme of the nod I gave myself a neck kink. I discovered I don’t do the UP nod at all. Is that a cultural thing? Or is it just my lack of coordination? I think that most of the time without thinking about it I give people a hey I’m not being weird .. just being friendly… slight downward bob of the head, with eye contact, and a closed mouth smile. Then I quickly look away because, in my world, prolonged eye contact is usually a red flag for weirdness. It’s all over in seconds. It’s all in the subtly of a passing moment on the street or in the mall or at the Annual Belmore Maple Syrup festival.
Do you do think about this too?
Dec 6, 2011 Photos
Nov 27, 2011 Questions
November 21 2006
Hey there
So sometimes I find the differences between Canada and the US really interesting. (This isn’t just because I have only seen adoption secret pals on American blogs)
On the surface the two countries are similar but when you scratch that surface there are a lot of subtle and not so subtle differences.
Our government and legal systems – totally different.
Metric versus imperial measurements – different and very confusing to me.
The ability to carry concealed hand guns. TOTALLY DIFFERENT.
One of the theories about why there are so many great Canadian comedians who do well in the States is when you grow up in Canada you tend to watch a lot of American television. American culture is comforting and familiar but you know, without putting your finger on it most of the time, that things aren’t quite the same here. In case if you weren’t aware the following are Canadians: Dan Ackroyd, Mike Myers, Eugene Levy, Catherine O’Hara and Martin Short. These people are geniuses at putting their collective fingers on what is funny, interesting or just plain insane that the rest of us sort of knew but needed it pointed out.
You may be asking yourself what is the point of this post and what does it have to do with adoption. Well.
I need to share with the Americans who read this blog that it never ever really dawned on me that you people have Thanksgiving in NOVEMBER.
I mean, I knew that there was Canadian Thanksgiving – in October (when it makes sense) and then there was American Thanksgiving – in November . Its only been this year because of reading adoption blogs from the States that it really sunk into my brain. I can’t quite get my head around that fact that you have a Turkey dinner with your families on Nov 23rd and then you do the whole thing all over again only FOUR WEEKS later.
Like, why even put away the good china? Just stack it on top of the dishwasher until all the same people come over. AGAIN.
Maybe this is something I need explained to me. I need someone to point out why this isn’t total craziness.
I guess if you totally love love love your extended family – like, every single one of them, and just love love love to host big dinners where you have to make a bird that is actually very difficult to cook properly.
Wait.
Maybe that’s it. Maybe Thanksgiving in the States is like the dress rehearsal for Christmas. Maybe everyone tries out new recipes, new clothes, new jokes and crazy anecdotes at Thanksgiving. Then all the boring material gets tossed and edited before Christmas so that everyone has a much better time on Dec 25th?
Ok I’ve just worked it out.
Damn. You folks do deserve to lead the free world.
Nov 27, 2011 Photos
Nov 14, 2011 Questions
July 24 2008
Yo Mama
I’ve been thinking a lot about names, not proper names, but those unofficial names that get tossed around families. I am always interested in what people end up calling their Aunts and Grandmothers because it’s so family and culturally specific. Do you call your Grandmother: Nana? Grandma? Oma? Nanny? Grandmere? Gran?
I grew up calling all my Aunts “Auntie”. My mother claims that this was the fault of my Aunt/Auntie Jill who started the whole trend cause she had her kids first … but really who knows? I have carried this into my adulthood to the point where now with nieces and nephews I ask (demand) to be called Auntie Joanne. Aunt Joanne sounds too formal and proper to me. “Aunt Joannes” ask “why are the children being so noisy?” While groovy “Auntie Joannes” get down on the floor and arm wrestle for the last popsicle … that sort of thing.
When she was alive Brian’s mother HATED this “Auntie” business. She tried to subvert it by making a point of calling me AUNT Joanne every time the kids were around. I was way too polite (cowardly) to point out that I had never commented on HER choice for herself which was “Nana” …. and fine by me … I’m down with Nana … whatever.
Which brings us to the original point (in my head) for this little post. The word … wait for it … MAMA. It seems to me that MAMA has come into fashion in the last ten years. I had never before heard someone refer to themselves as MAMA except on TV usually in sitcoms involving American families of some vaguely southern background. Or if you were a folk singer. Or if you’d been drinking too much.
I understand that MAMA is phonetically easier to say for little kids. I really believe though that if I ever did say MAMA and hadn’t “progressed” from Mama to Mommy or Mom …my own Mother would have not so subtly insisted that she was not in fact my Mama or your (yo) Mama or anyone else’s Mama. Also we always said Mom but pronounced it “Mum” or “Mummy”. Which is just classic Canadian spell it like the Americans but say it like the English language quirkiness. Sometimes I’ll find myself saying Mom like “Mawm” but only when I’m reading out loud. If I don’t think about it and the word comes tumbling out of my mouth in everyday conversation it’s Mum, as in The Queen Mum.
Now days I hear my friends with kids refer to themselves as “Mama” sometimes and it always makes me cock my head to the side … like a dog. What was that? I’m confused by this … what is that word? … it sounds out of place… not bad … just strange to me.
I have to admit I kind of like it … MAMA … it’s fun to say. It reminds me of big cadillacs, a tumbler of rye or crushed velvet bell bottom pants. It’s big and generous and it makes you just want to hug yourself. Or maybe that’s just me.
I don’t think I’ll be a Mama though. To be frank I don’t think I could carry it off. I don’t think I have Mama chops. I’d like to be called MOMMY .. pronounced MUMMY.. but it probably isn’t even up to me … it’s up to THE KID … at this point they could insist on calling me “poopy head” and I wouldn’t really give a damn. Well OK I would mind being called poopy head but really I just want them to be here to call me anything at all. Even poopy head.
Oct 30, 2011 Questions
So I’ve been blogging since June (again, after a few years hiatus) and I like it. I had a blog during our adoption wait and found it a really helpful way to connect. I’d like to continue, blog more in fact. If I’m absent for a bit, or mining the archives, it’s because we’re dealing with a new, somewhat out of the blue, whoa should have seen that coming, ton of bricks dropping on our heads kind of family issue that I’ll probably write about later. Now I’m too busy doing research. And working full time. And trying to put supper on the table. You know the drill.
Did I mention we are trying to sell our house?
