Should Race Matter in Adoptions? - ABC News

Should Race Matter in Adoptions? - ABC News


I have spent all morning Googleing this subject!!!!!! Watch the video. I have watched and re watched it several times today.

From my earlier posts you may have learned we adopted Gibson almost 2 years ago. His birthday is June 15th!!! He is a gorgeous mocha mix of African American and Puerto Rican heritage. Sean and I are "white." He is of Irish heritage and I am of Italian and German. There is a wee bit of African American in my lineage as well. I'm sure most of us have a wee bit as well if we investigate.

We did not set out to adopt a child of a different race. We simply wanted another child. I had a hell of a time conceiving. After several years we hit payday and Sean had to move his drum kit to the attic. We lost that pregnancy on a New Year's Day. I was five months pregnant and we had just picked out a name for our baby girl.
After several years of grueling fertility treatments we were blessed with success!!!!! Lola will be 5 this April.

Our doctors advised against another pregnancy but said it was ultimately up to us to try again. While pregnant with Lola, I was ordered to strict house bed rest for the last five months of my pregnancy. Needless to say, I was not up for that again and was truly afraid of more complications or worse, another lose. Adoption seems to be the perfect answer.

We took 12 weeks of classes to educate ourselves about fostering through the state. We knew there was such a need for these kids in our own backyards and felt this was how we wanted to do it. Our caseworker said "It's free to foster but expensive emotionally." We had no idea how emotionally draining this experience would be. The stories these children carried with them from foster home to foster home were horrendous and heartbreaking. Just like the few belongings they had in black garbage bags they carried them from place to place. These children were essentially damaged by their families.

Our experience with The Dept. of Social Services was not a positive one. We knew what we could handle. We did not want a special needs child or a child older than Lola. It seemed every panicked call received from DSS was in need of placing a special needs child with us immediately!!!! I felt horrible saying NO. Time and time again they would phone me at work and say there was a child who needed placed ASAP, but then the caseworker would never call back. Emotions were running high and patience was running low.

Then the call came. I left work an hour early. A child would be at our home for placement. He wasn't "legally free" for adoption. We were to foster with the hope of adopting him. The caseworker said there would be no way the mother would or could get him back. He was African American and about a year old. He had just learned to walk. He was incredibly clingy and cried constantly. He had a stomach bug and diarrhea. With only an hours notice, I borrowed a crib from Lola's daycare and went clothes shopping for him the next day. It was a rough couple of days. I learned from our caseworker he was kept tied in a crib for almost his first full year and his mother had tried to drown him several times in the bathtub.

Before the weekend was over, he was gone. A family member spoke up for him and he was off again. The caseworker came to pick him up and asked if I could make him some sort of lunch. "These kids never get to eat" she said. I remember making him peanut butter and jelly and packing a granola bar into a baggie for him. I had bought him a pair of little Converse high top sneakers. I watch those little sneakers being carried down my front porch. I couldn't look at him.

After taking a break for a year or so, we decided to permanently adopt. One door slams shut, and a window opens to usher in the spring air. Our story of adopting Gibson is miraculous. He was born on Father's Day of 2008. We along with about 7 other families had submitted photos and a biography to the birth mother. The hitch for us, we were notified the night before that she had signed papers giving up her parental rights. Other hopeful families had spent years perfecting their life stories on hand pressed paper and having glossy family portraits done to show. Our story was the last to be given to the birth mom. Sean drove the papers to the hospital 45 minutes away. He couldn't find our caseworker and was leaving in a panic when he spotted her with a baby in her arms in the parking lot. She was just handing over the baby to the foster grandmother. Sean got to see our Gibson that morning. Our caseworker Laurie stammered and looked embarrassed. It was fate that Sean saw him!


When we first talked about adoption we wondered if it would be complicated integrating a black child into our family. We were concerned about heritage and birthright. We wondered how Lola would feel having a black brother, how would they treat her at school? How would he be treated if he were attending a predominately white school? But what we really wanted was a child, a sibling for Lola, a completeness to our family. To sit in a booth at a restaurant. Two to each side!
Black, white, purple, red. He's a glorious boy with the widest, infectious smile. He adores his big sister and has to do everything she does. He has a great sense of humor and squeals when his "Dada" comes home from work. Gibson races our family dog to the front door to see Sean first!

It won't always be the fairy tale it now is. Will he feel he fits in? Will he resent his birth mother and not want that connection? Will he not want any of his cultures or want to deny his heritage? Who will his peers be? For us, for now, we want to celebrate who he is, to maintain his cultures, to support him, to be there for him, to listen, to celebrate who he is, our son.

Cafeteria Catholic

I have to admit I am a Wishy Washy Catholic or better yet, A Cafeteria Catholic. I slid my heart and my logical thinking brian along the steel rails and peer over the sneeze guard. What looks good today? How do I feel about myself and God these days?
Interestingly, I think more about Jesus, the saints and Mary more than this "God." The whole Trinity thing is complex. Ok Jesus has Monday and Tuesday. Holy Spirit you can have Wednesday and Thursday and God; Friday, Saturday, and well, because you are God, you have dibs on Sunday.

I grew up in a very strict Catholic family. Rosary after dinner ( I don't really remember how long this lasted.) I just remember feeling odd and embarassed by it and wondering if any of my friends sat around the table with their families doing this? Mass every Sunday and of course the obligatory Holy Days. During Lent we had the cardboard bowl on our table. Operation Rice Bowl. Loose change from fasting during the 40 days of Lent was to be dumped into the bowl and then given to the church. Fasting, Almsgiving, Confession. All those big scary things a kid tries to wrap their wee intelelect around.

I remember giving up chocolate or trying to be nicer to my brothers or more helpful around the house. On Good Friday we would spend quiet time reflecting on the Passion of Jesus. For as long as I can remember that Friday was always dark and gloomy, inside the house and outside. I'm lounging on my bed, picturing the curtain in the sanctuary being torn in half, his Mother at his feet, those around Him realizing what they had done. Heavy stuff.

In college I stopped going to Mass. I thought for myself and was quite content being a "former" Catholic. It's not that I stopped believing, it's more like I wanted my independance, a tempting of fate, having no lightning bolts crashing upon me. I was lazy, sleeping in, wrapped in the arms of the man I was falling in love with.

That was then this is now. I took a path of self discovery and was re directed back to that path in some unexplainable supernatural ways. For now I can say there were voices involved and a gold rosary and a missing Miraculous Metal that found its way onto my bathroom rug after dissapearing several years earlier.

For the past 15 years I go to Sunday Mass. I participate in the Sacraments. Hell, I even venture to confession every so often (more so, than often.) My husband does not understand confession. He wonders what on earth I could possibly have done to warrant telling a priest. I won't say he's anti Catholic, he just is uncomfortable with organized religions in general. He's a great guy because he understands how important my beliefs are to me. He likes the person I am. Both of our kids are baptized Catholic. Though Sean says he doesn't want them believing in heaven and hell. These are battles yet to be fought.

I'm not a bible thumper, nor do I jugde others for their beliefs. I think there's room for discussion and I've always been open to other ideas and challenges. I'm not perfect and no one confuses this testament!!!!! I get pissed off pulling out of the church parking lot after Mass if someone cuts me off in traffic! While sitting in church I wonder what I'll make for dinner that night.

I know what's comfortable for me...... Maybe I should dive a little deeper into this and find a level not so comfortable, stretch myself a bit more. I want my kids to learn compassion, empathy, and charity. I want my kids to understand why Dad doesn't go to church. I think it's OK that his views are different from mine. We've had an amazing 20 plus years together, 11 of those in marital bliss (after he agreed to step into a Catholic Church to make it official!!!)

I'll leave you with a quote that pretty much sums it up for me "God; The more you chase him, the more you catch him."

Is It OK To Hate My Vacuum?

I absolutely loath the new canister vacuum I bought last week!!!! I've had a Dirt Devil Upright for the past ten years and really had no complaints about it. Last weekend we were having some friends over for appetizers and drinks so I lugged out the ole girl to banish the dog hair and lonely remnants of Goldfish Crackers under the sofa.

I noticed the vacuum was spitting out small stones and grit instead of eagerly eating my fine tapestry of dog hair woven into my foyer rug. I unplugged it and turned it over to see if something had lodged into the beater bars. That's when I noticed all the bar bristles were gone, absolutely worn aways by years of use. CRAP!!!!!!

I had yet to whip up my crab cakes and make my crust for my blue cheese and onion tart. Company would be at the front door in under four hours!!!!! I wound the cord along the back of the vacuum and also noticed various spots where Newman had been chewing on it!!! He suffers from occasional chewing fits in the middle of the night (that only my highly attuned ears seem to hear!) and will sample rug fringe, cords from our wooden blinds and winter scarves not put in the hallway closet.

The vacuum had become a bit of a fire hazard I sadly thought. Now she'd given up the ghost and buying a new one was the last thing I felt like doing before guests arrived. In desperation I pulled out a smaller stick model and did the best I could. Thank God for lots of candles and mood lighting!

Last week Gibby and I drove to Target in search of another vacuum. I had done lots of research from consumer's posts and decided on a canister version this time. Prices ranged from high $500 for Dyson models to about $100 for a Dirt Devil canister model. I chose the Eureka Sideswept? Windswept? Sidesweep? We were in and out of Target in under an hour and $150 later. OK, I also picked up a cute Valentine shirt for Lola and socks for Gibby.

I must admit after putting Gibby down for his nap I was a bit giddy opening the box. My Christmas morning excitement turned sour as I pulled out the plastic red pieces. Wow, was it flimsy and cheap looking. I pieced it together and looked down doubtfully at it in its hooker red tawdriness. It had a bag instead of the dirt canister which I thought I might like this time, not emptying the dirt and breathing in all the residue. The compartment for the bag was small at best and I hadn't thought about the extra cost and pain in the ass of having bags on hand. Buyer's remorse was setting in.

After popping it together I plugged it in. Much quieter than my upright. It did suck up the dog hair, I plowed little carpet furrows back and forth, pleased with the suction. Several minutes into the job the hose kinked up, and kinked up again and again!!!! Stupid hose doesn't swivel from the canister base! I had to rely on picking up the base to unkink it and I cursed the design! The canister handle or grip or the pick up thingy was UNDER the front of the canister!!!!!! The plug wouldn't stay in the outlet and the cord could have been several feet longer.

Oh, I loathe this vacuum. I dug the box back out of the recycling and I'm repackaging it and taking it back!!! After I post my consumer thoughts about this model, I'll probably buy another Dirt Devil Upright; if they still make them, and it won't be the color red!!!!

Let Go

Lola has quite the temper. She's incredibly verbal, leaps beyond her peers when it comes to expressing her displeasure. We've taught her it's OK to be angry about something and to say such, but we don't want to be willing participants in her physical and verbal meltdowns. We tell her to go to her room until she's ready to calmly join the family.

Last night she was telling Sean about some Looney Tunes Tweety Bird cartoon. I guessed he hugged her a bit too tight (poor neglected child) and she had a huge raging fit. "Daddy stop it!!! You're squeezing too too hard!!!!!!" Then like a whirling dervish she spun out of control and her whole body became red, fierce, and ridged. Her hands clenched into fists and tears were pouring down her face. She stomped out of the computer room, frightening Gibson and causing him to cry too.

"I'm so angry!" Sean and I looked at each other a bit bewildered. Gibson ran over to Lola and was petting her arm. Poor Daddy. I asked Lo what was wrong. She said Daddy always hugs too tight. I said Daddy works all day and doesn't have the luxury to spend as much time as he'd like to with her during the week. I told her he was showing his affection and was so glad to see her after a long day at work.

"Some days I'm just cranky OK! I'm having a hard day!" That was fine. It was the throwing of toys and pillows onto the floor from the sofa that I wouldn't tolerate. "Lola, picture your anger like a red balloon and hold out your hand." I gave her the imaginary balloon to hold. "Don't let go or it will float up to the ceiling and pop!" "What happens when it pops?" "That's when you let go of your anger." Lola said "then you hold it." I told her it was her anger and she was in charge of letting it go.

She told me I was silly and she let go of her imaginary anger balloon. "I need to go tell Daddy a secret, you stay here." She and Daddy made up over a bowl of microwave popcorn and more Bugs Bunny.

The Have and Have Nots

I was scanning the local newspaper last night. Sean and I were unwinding from our days with a glass of wine. His days spent fighting The Suits and managing a staff feeling the despair of January and pep talking them into wrangling every penny out there to maintain every one's jobs. It really does come down to that. Budgets have to be met and exceeded. Everyone is being pushed harder and harder to squeeze what blood is left under that stone. My days are spent managing the home. Kids, cleaning, errands, groceries, cooking, finances, the usual Goddess stuff.

We're enjoying our second glass of Malbec as I turn the newspaper page. "Apple unveils iPad tablet-for $499!!!!!! The 3G models will sell upward to $829!!!!!! Who the hell would shell out that kind of money?????? Lots of people I guess. Supply and demand maybe? There are those that love these types of toys. Is it a must for a tech geek? A must for a busy professional? I love gadgets, but honestly don't even know my own cell phone number. I've not even bothered to learn how to set up my voice mail.

Adjacent to that story "Food aid falling short in Haiti." There was an AP photo of a woman in Port-au-Prince making round swirl patterns in the mud on a brick sidewalk. The photo was beautiful. A shadow of a woman falling over these repetitive concentric designs. In the corner of the photo was a skeletal dog sniffing the ground. I read the caption "Made of dirt, salt and vegetable shortening, these cookies were already one of very few options for the poorest in Haiti even before the earthquake." COOKIES? I looked at the photo again. This woman was baking cookies on the hot road. Cookies made of dirt!!!!!!!

My friend and I were discussing tragedy, earthquakes, floods, famine. We were sharing the idea that it's almost heartless to go about your daily business knowing so many suffer around you. Sean and I were wondering where to go for holiday this summer with the kids. We thought of a Disney cruise or maybe Club Med in the Dominican Republic. For the four of us with airfare...about 6-7 thousand dollars.

How do I balance all that I have when there is such a gap between the have and have nots? I sent money to the Haiti relief. It wasn't much, but I had to do something. We're thinking seriously about fostering a Haitian child and we've made some contacts. Some days it's too much for me to bear, watching CNN and seeing those children wandering the streets with a dead look in their eyes. If it is too much for me, how must it be for those trapped, homeless, orphaned, destroyed, torn apart?

So much of this misery happens here, in the States everyday, happens in our neighborhoods, on our own streets. We've decided not to do a big expensive vacation this year. We are going to visit Sean's brother in Maryland and spend time at the beach, getting too much sun, laughing lots, eating great food and sharing ourselves with family.

The most I can do is give to others when I can. Donate food to local pantries, hold the door for someone coming out of the gym, let someone go ahead of me in the grocery store line, not get pissed off when I let a car out in front of me and they don't wave a thank you. I need to remember to pray more, to count my blessings, to love my husband and kids more and more, to have patience, to just slow down and take each day as it comes, as it's meant to be....a gift.

A Horse Walks Into A Bar...

I received a letter today from a former friend. I recognized the handwriting immediately. I've been thinking about her and how our relationship ended. She must have read my mind. She and I used to do that frequently, ending each other's sentences, saying something completely loony, out of the ball park as the other was thinking it. A kind of Johnny Carson, Carnac the Magnificent...but we were always on the same page, always.

We met at work. I immediately liked her. She had this head down, mop of hair in the eyes demeanor. She liked me too, which made me adore her even more. I had heard stories about her before she was hired. A manager had known her for 20 years and they were friends. I heard about her horrific childhood and how she became a ward of the state. I heard about the foster homes she had been in, and the abuse physical and mental she endured. She ran away often and had an alcohol problem. I almost felt cheated of a true friendship in those early stages. I knew so much about her, before she had a chance to tell her own story, in her own words.

From the moment I met her, drama was her second skin. Her mother was a pill popping, wisp of a woman who always needed money or her electric would be shut off. She had various doctors who "pitied" her and would in kind write prescriptions on a whim. Her mom phoned the store saying she had run over a garbage can on her way to the liquor store. At least she thought it was a garbage can. Her side view mirror was missing. I can't remember if the police were involved, but we all were.

She was so eager to be loved and to love. A double edged sword. She chose women to date. Over the past decade I knew her, she had three loves of her life, "this is the one" experiences. The first girlfriend I was introduced to was a tall brunette maybe 8 years older than Lee. They had been together for several years and already had a tumultuous "can't live without you or I'll die" union. Another story relayed to me, was the girlfriend was so angry at someone that she literally shit on that person's front porch. If I remember, there were accusations the girlfriend was cheating, and always had.

The second girlfriend was friends with some of Lee's other friends. They moved fast and furious and had an apartment together with in a few weeks. I had them over for dinner to get to know Barb. She clung onto Lee in a possessive, dog pissing on territory kind of way that made me uncomfortable. She was sullen and guarded during the dinner. Lee told me Barb didn't like me and was jealous of our friendship. There were so many warning signs, red flags we all saw. We would console her, give her advice, shake our heads and whisper.

Why do we choose the friends we choose? Usually we make friends with people we work with, an almost forced social situation. You learn to like, admire, or not tolerate certain people. It's a romance, a falling in love period. It's sharing intimate details and secrets. It's letting those know what makes you tick. It's being your most vulnerable, naked to that person.

My hesitation is letting someone know all of me. Maybe I don't want them to know my secrets, my quirks, my hangups? I don't want to reveal all of myself. Maybe this is why I don't have lots of friends. It is such hard work and I am quite selfish and greedy.

I ended my friendship with Lee because she let me down when I needed her most. I won't go into the gory details other than to say I was discriminated against at my former job and took my employer to court. She promised me she would go to bat for me. She had vital information and offered her full support. I dared not ask her, she offered, and I greatly wanted and needed her deposition.

As my lawyer and I were readying our paperwork, Lee panicked and backed out. She phoned me and with lots of pregnant pauses in our conversation could not bring herself to say she was scared. I was the one that said "You're not going to help me are you?" She asked if I was mad at her. I said no, just disappointed. That was over three years ago. I often think of her and her dogs, and the haphazard way she lived her life. I won my case, but lost my job and people I thought were my friends.

My husband asked "Well, do you want her back in your life again?" I'm not sure how to answer that question. I don't miss the sadness in her life. I don't miss the drama and the people who used her up and wanted more and more. I do have a handful of fun, carefree, wheezy laughter moments but maybe not enough to flesh out what I thought was our friendship.

I have yet to reply to her letter.

Michelle Has Left the Building

I'm back. I can't explain why I've been away. I feel pulled in so many directions as of late. Remember the Sit 'N Spin toy? The round saucer base with the middle wheel and you climbed on and spun yourself around and around. Used to be fun. That's how I feel, but without that giddy kid "WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" at the end.

Maybe it's the post, now the holidays are over blues. The tree has been down and the new toys are upstairs in the kid's rooms. January feels well, like flavorless, stale, dirty snow January. I'm not sure why I'm booo hoooing. Let's make a list of crappy and not so crappy things lolling around in my upper hemisphere...

1. Every day passed is another day closer to Spring!

2. Every day passed is another day I've not scrubbed out the tub. Sure, I squeegee the walls down then follow with a spritz of vinegar and a good scrub. Yes I coat the tub liberally with Lysol's Scrubbing Bubbles, like readying a bake pan eagerly anticipating chocolate batter. It's that I can't commit to getting on my knees and really scrubbing with a brush! I will admit, some days it's just easier to close the door.

3. OK I'm bored with this numerical list, so I am going to just free form.

We all know about Haiti. The devastation is immense and overwhelming to me. I can't bear to watch CNN coverage anymore or see those children's faces. I contacted our adoption agency who became like family to us when we adopted Gibson. Sean and I talked about taking in a Haitian child, just to foster for however long we could. From what I've learned it's practically impossible to just get a child out of the country. There is no infrastructure, and an impossible single strip runway. There's the paperwork and legality behind fostering one of these children too. Many of the families won't be accounted for for weeks, months. In their culture, if possible, the children are then taken into relatives care. It seems like such a simple idea, send us an orphaned child and we will care for them as long as needed.

I then thought of the American families who were in the process of adoption before the earthquake. All the paperwork gone, lost. There are families so in love with these children already and may never see their families completed. Sadly, these children may not have survived. Pray Pray Pray.

Life continues, HAS to continue here. With all the loss and sorrow I still think about MYSELF!!! I've put on a few pounds over the past several months. It's pathetic I know, but a crushing blow to my self esteem and wardrobe. I'm a sniveling mess wrapped in brie and bacon. The pathetic meter is on overload!!

I just ordered Mastering the Art of French Cooking. I've always been a Julia fan, watching the show with my mom. Yes, I saw Julie and Julia. Meryl Streep genius in the role. Amy Adams, not a big fan. What the movie did do, and has done for many is put a flame to the pan for love of french cuisine. It really is a gorgeous book and many of the recipes I eagerly savor. I am a happy house wife when I'm all Zen like in my kitchen.

I've gone back to the Y. I've joined the masses of New Year Enthusiasts with their virginal squeaky sneakers and Rah Rah attitude. Thank God for iPods. I do like exercising and with it the sweating. Besides aching abdominals I get a sense of accomplishment. I then reward myself with a lovely basket of fish and chips drowned in malt vinegar.

Lately I'm feeling overwhelmed with parenting. I snap a bit too frequently at my kids and when they duck, my husband's head ends up on the platter. I need a hobby, better yet, I need to work again! I dreamt last night I opened up my own catering business and made mountains and mountains of Chicken Marsala with Marscapone cheese, Dijon mustard and mushrooms. I was just adding the fresh thyme when I heard Gibson cry in his sleep.

I really have nothing to complain about. My kids are fantastic, loving little beings who want the simplest of things from me; my attention. I'm able bodied, strong in mind and heart. I think I'll make my husband a fantastic meal of lamb chops in browned sage butter, mixed greens and butternut squash soup tonight. At the end of the day I'm truly happy we're together, the four of us. Pretty simple, as it should be.