This is a blog post from the personal blog of FSA board member, Erin Packard, as shared during the "Transracial Adoption" class in June.
What Does Your Skin Say?
Today we had some family over to enjoy the pool. The older kids were in the big pool with Auntie Kim, and I was hanging out with Carson in the kiddie pool. There was one other child in the kiddie pool, a little girl, probably two years old. She was with her father. I noticed that he was covered in tattoos. I really did not give him or his tattoos much thought. He seemed to be having a good time with his little girl and that was that. However, at one point he turned around and I saw that one of the tattoos on his back said, "White Pride." Now, any other time in my life I would have just chalked that up to ignorance and gone on my merry way. But this time was different. This time I was in the pool with Carson. This time my heart broke. This time I was filled with questions and anger and fear.
What Does Your Skin Say?
I do not ever recall being a victim of racism. I have, however, been discriminated against. I know what it felt like to be treated differently because I was overweight, and what was even harder to swallow was the way some people treated me when I was thin again. I know what it is like to ask questions to someone and have them respond to my husband because he is clearly the more intelligent species. Yet, I am certain those uncomfortable circumstances pale in comparison to what it must feel like to be treated "less than" solely because of the color of your skin.
During the adoption process, we filled out a form stating which ethnicity we were willing to accept. As much as I ALWAYS wanted a little black boy, this was not a decision we made lightly. Before Carson was ever thought of, we had discussed the ramifications of having a mixed race family. Once we knew that Carson's birth father was black, we continued our discussions more intently. What issues would arise? Would kids treat him differently? What race would he identify with? When issues/discussions of slavery, race, and racism inevitably arise, how will we possibly be able to truly empathize with him? After many nights of pillow talk, prayer, and visits to the Temple, we felt very comfortable with our decision to accept children of other races into our family. And really, the "accepting them" part wasn't the issues, as much as was our need for confirmation that we, as a family, would be able to overcome whatever obstacles we may face as we potentially became a multi-race family.
So along came Carson, our perfect miracle. And as weird as it sounds, sometimes I forget that he is adopted and that he is half black. I just look at him and see my child. But not today. Not in the pool. Not when "White Pride" is staring me in the face. Not when my little tan-man is singing and dancing happily with his little fro bouncing side to side on his huge head. Not when he does not know that the nice man behind him has already categorized him, has judged him, has hated him. No, today I remembered vividly that what Carson's skin says to me is eerily very different from what it says to others. And what that man's skin says to me, in hideous bold lettering, is that we may have some very big hurdles to face down the road.
But for now, I am going to try and take my cues from Carson, who did not seem to notice a thing, and willingly shared his song and dance and sweet smiles with that man, as freely as he did everyone else.
