I live in Ohio. And here? Race has everything to do with it. Okay, well, not everything. Those who aren’t concerned about his “being black” are concerned with the “fact” that he is Muslim. Or that he kills babies. Or that he’s the anti-Christ. But, yes, most of it goes back to his skin color. And this drives me absolutely insane. (Obviously, there are intelligent, non-bigots that support McCain but even those among my real life friends have talked about this sad reality.)

I made it out to a rally yesterday. My first and, obviously, only of the season. I missed previous ones due to short notice, other plans and random illness(es). All the same, standing outside yesterday, even though it was in the upper 60′s, has left me almost without a voice today. (My chorale director will be thrilled, no?) I stood there, in what was touted as Columbus’ biggest rally ever, and looked at the people around me. White families. Black families. Hispanic families. Mixed families (which included one in our group).

It was just very moving to me. To see people in this state, of all states, come together. To hear them united in a cause instead of spewing hate at one another. To feel encouraged that Obama might actually win instead of discouraged by the words of hate that I’ve had to endure for months and months. To feel that perhaps change is possible. And not even all of the change that even some supporters are skeptical of Obama delivering. While it would be great if everything fell into place, I’m well aware that it will be a tough, long road for some of the reforms.

But the change I’m looking forward to?

When my daughter and her daughter and my friend’s daughter who was with us might actually be able to believe that they, too, could be President. When gender won’t be an issue. When race won’t be an issue. Well, maybe not the complete absence of an issue. But perhaps to the point where those who actually vocalize their distaste in voting outside of their own racial identity will be in the vast, vast minority and shunned as the ignorant fools that they are.

Someday we’ll be able to stand together, even in this strange state of Ohio. Until then, my task is to raise my sons to feel and think the same way despite what others around them may do or say. And, sadly, that will be a task enough in itself thanks to the hatred that lives in this area.

But I’ll hold out hope. Tomorrow and always.

First and foremost, I was being recognized as a parent. True, I’m an everyday parent to BigBrother with another one on the way. But my family includes more than just these two boys; it includes the presence of my daughter and her family. Within that stretch, there are more than three different races being represented, bringing the issue into the core existence of what our family is, stands for and hopes to be in the future.

More over, however, was the fact that I’ve still been silently stinging over an issue that happened late last year (that I didn’t find out about until early this year). After the article and picture ran last November, featuring my face next to the Munchkin’s in newspapers and on computer screens across the nation, a very opinionated blogger took the story and basically decided to rip me a new one. For being a racist.

I cannot adequately describe the shock that I felt upon reading the hate-filled words that he and some commenters had for me, my daughter, her family, our situation and the adoption in general… without knowing any of us past two quotes, a smidgen of information and our pictures. Never, in my then-twenty-five-years on the planet, had I been called a racist. I was caught off-guard. It really took me off my center. I was upset for days. My Husband reassured me that it was the most ludicrous thing he had ever heard. A fellow birth mother tried to get me to realize that he was just looking for hits on his own blog. Munchkin’s birth father actually laughed, reminding me that our relationship hadn’t been based on my hatred of the African-American people.

But I was still left stinging. For months to come.

So, in case anyone was left wondering, I did not place my daughter because she is of a different race. The only time race came into play regarding my adoption plan was when I learned that J’s boys were also transracial; I thought that might give them an edge that other families didn’t possess. I figured if I couldn’t parent her (which is what I believed at the time), someone with experience on certain subjects would be a great advantage to themselves and the Munchkin as she will surely face issues in the future.

The stinging has mostly alleviated. I know who I am at the core: I am a mother to the most beautiful girl on the planet and two boys. And while I’m lots of other things as well, that mothering part of me wants my children, all of them, to be raised with the understanding that we’re all amazing. Not just because all humans share certain qualities, making us believe that we should love each other as ourselves, but because we all bring something totally unique to the table. Those differences fascinate me and implore me to continue learning about all kinds of different people and cultures. I hope to pass that love of people, in their blessed uniqueness, onto my children… daily parented or not.

And so, as Cloudscome asked: how did it feel to be tagged? Darn good. While some not-so-nice (and now not-living?!) blogger may have misjudged my character, others who have been privvy to my most-inner thoughts and outward deeds have seen me for who I hope to be: a mother who loves her children equally and who only wants the best for them in this life. I only hope my children will see the same exact thing and be forever blessed and changed by that vision.

(As a note, I will not link to the blogger’s post because, even though he’s now deceased, I do not want the blog to be receiving hits from any of my blogs. Contact me via e-mail for a link if you so desire.)

1. I am:

Polish, Irish, Scottish, British and a smidgen of Cherokee. I can’t remember, without calling my Mom up at work right now, if there is actually Hungarian on my paternal side or if Grandma just has a lot of Hungarian recipies. Either way, she’s a magnificent cook. I identify a lot with my Polish ancestry because of my paternal Grandma. In fact, I want to go to Poland someday to explore and seek out relatives that are still in the “Old Country.”

2. My kids are:

Unique? Obviously, Munchkin has my heritage and then from her biological father, she has some African-American, British, Jamaican and some other things that are slipping my un-coffee-laden mind. Of course, this is all genetically speaking; she has an entire other history from her adoptive parents. As for BigBrother and LittleBrother, they have my heritage and whatever TheHusbandMan’s happens to be. No, I don’t know the answer to the question, “Are you guys related to the infamous Hatfield clan?” No one has done their geneaology. I really need to get to work on that… eventually.

3. I first started thinking more about race, culture, and identity when:

I was in high school. Prior to that, I wasn’t really aware of race issues. While our school wasn’t overly diverse, I didn’t see a difference in playing with x-race or y-race. In high school, however, I “dated” (prior to being allowed out of the house to date, so basically we held hands at school, passed notes and talked on the phone) a guy who was a year older than me… and African-American. While Mom and Dad didn’t expressly forbid the relationship, Grandma (yes, the Polish one) was a bit more verbal. I was shocked by this fact. I had been taught to love everyone and I was very confused. I was also hurt for my (short-lived!) boyfriend.

4. People think my name is:

Oh, gosh. No one could/can pronounce my maiden name. No one. It’s aggravating. In fact, when people called and mispronounced my name, I would say, “Nope, no one by that name lives here.” As for my married name? The Hatfield and McCoy jokes just keep coming. (I just made a humorous post on the family blog regarding the issue.) To answer again, no, I don’t know if we’re related to any of the infamous clan. I can hope not to be, right?

5. The family tradition I most want to pass on is:

I’d like to see our boys pass their first name on to their sons as the middle name, as it’s gone through generations on my Husband’s side of the family. I’d like to see them pass a love of Paczki on to their families during Lent to identify with their Polish heritage. Part of me doesn’t want them to do the next one because I’m an over-protective mother but, in all honesty, if they also joined the fire service (like has been passed through the blood for generations), I would be a proud Mama. As for Munchkin, if she would pass on the Leigh to one of her children (as she also bears my middle name), I would feel honored. Heck, if she became a fire fighter, I’d be a super proud Mama (but that doesn’t flow through my genetic makeup… so it’s up to TheHusbandMan to influence her!).

6. The family tradition I least want to pass on is:

Let’s break the cycle of unplanned pregnancies (maternal side), shall we? While I can hope that by the time all three children are facing such issues and decisions that adoption will have been thoroughly reformed, I’m also realistic. It is my greatest fear that any of my children will have to face any of the issues I have faced (and continue to face). (That said, I would move mountains to support them in the wake of an unplanned pregnancy. Any of them.)

7. My child’s first word in English was:

I don’t know Munchkin’s first word. BigBrother’s, of course, was dada, followed shortly behind by ball.

8. My child’s first non-English word was:

I don’t know Munchkin’s. BigBrother was “hola.”

9. The non-English word/phrase most used in my home is:

Yia yia, which is Greek for Grandma. (Yes, I’m aware that we are not Greek!) It is what BigBrother calls my mother. We’re not particularly sure why; he just started doing it one day. When my mother told a coworker who happens to have Greek heritage, she informed my mom that it was Greek for Grandma. Apparently my Son is a freaking genius.

10. One thing I love about being a parent is:

Snuggles. I don’t get enough of them since a) Munchkin lives quite a distance away, b) she doesn’t stop moving when we do see her, c) BigBrother is a constant ball of movement as well. However, as BigBrother has been waking up early (!) as of late, we’ve been cuddling in my(our) bed in the mornings while he finishes waking up (thus fully waking me up as well!). The only other time I really get significant snuggles is when he’s not feeling well so I don’t really wish for those ones.

11. One thing I hate about being a parent is:

Judgment. I know. I should have a thicker skin. (I mean, I just wrote about it yesterday!) But it is one thing I hate dealing with as a parent. The fact of the matter is that I am a mother to the Munchkin and my boys. There are certain people or groups of people that don’t want me to wear that title for my daughter because I don’t kiss her boo-boos or do the daily (and hard!) work of a parent. However, I am her mother. When I talk about her placement, people automatically want to pass judgment on me, assuming I fit any of the multiple stereotypes that surround birth parents. They’re shocked when I don’t and want me to fail in some other way by stating that I must cross boundaries or cause her parents a lot of mental anguish. They tell me that my boys will be confused, that the Munchkin will be confused. And quite frankly, I’m done with all of that mumbo-jumbo. Our family is different. It is unique. It is not “wrong.”

12. To me, being an anti-racist parent means:

Teaching all of my children (in various ways) that we are more than our skin, more than our heritage, more than our past wants us to be. To do that, I continue to surround myself with others who think in a similar fashion, read books, blogs and articles that challenge me to think bigger and broader and pray for guidance on this issue that will hit my family in unique ways. Thankfully I was blessed with a Husband who thinks about these issues in the same ways (or, really, I wouldn’t have married him!) so we can also put up a united front for our children. Unfortuantely, being an anti-racist parent also means educating certain family members who use derogatory words and spew negative speech… without murdering them… so that my children will not be negatively affected by their hatred. I won’t stand for it. Ever.

As for tagging, I’m totally late to this meme because last week was crazy, crazy and thus, I don’t know who has and who has not completed the meme. If you want to participate, I’d love to read your answers. Leave me a comment to let me know if you participated!

Boy, was she wrong.

I’d love to support a company run by a birth mother. I’d love to bind together with someone who has been through similar things and understands the issues surrounding the loss of a child. However, I don’t view adoption as a gift. So, right off the bat, there was a deep chasm between the two of us. And then… and then… I clicked on the dolls page. Now, understand that these are dolls to represent the countries that the babies are available from. What’s available to represent America?

A white doll. With blonde hair. And blue eyes.

To be somewhat fair to the owner, she stated in an e-mail (in which she insists that she’s not racist because she’s going to offer a doll from Africa! … sigh) that the doll is modeled after the child she placed for adoption. Okay, ya know, I get that. I do. I’d want to immortalize Munchkin if I could, though no baby doll could ever do her beauty any form of justice. But, if you’re offering one doll, from each country, for parents to give their children a resemblance of the country they come from… and you’re only offering a blonde haired, blue eyed little girl…

Is anyone else’s mind exploding?

And then you want to justify that decision by saying, “I’m offering one from Africa soon.” And you don’t see the injustice laying under the rubble of your money-making scheme? ARGH. It’s just someone else trying to profit off of adoption. That’s all it is.

So, it looks like Munchkin can’t have a doll that looks like her since she’s not white and she’s NOT FROM AFRICA. Neither can Madison. Or Maeve. Or, ya know, any of the BRUNETTE children from America. Or the red heads. Or the hispanic children. Or the Asian children. Or (do I need to go on)…

You can justify things all you want. Besides the fact that I feel like N and find the adoption of baby dolls to be somewhat HORRIFYING, neglecting to offer children of different races and creeds and solely representing America with a blonde haired blue eyed girl is offensive.

And my heart continues to break for our children. NOT just for Munchkin. But for BigBrother and New Baby and … all of them … who will continue to have to fight this battle, even if we do raise them with hearts full of love and pride in diversity.

Someone, in my age bracket though slightly younger than me, responds to me, in actual written word, regarding the unique spelling -slash- misspelling of the name in question. She writes, and I directly quote:

ew? are they black? (i’m not trying to be rude, just black people tend to spell normal names crazy.)

Then later, in brief conversation, informs me that she can’t be racist because, oh, more quotes:

My step father who raised me is black, i grew up in the ghetto of baltimore with all black friends and 2nd families… i’m far from racist.

Is anyone else just basically boggling? I ceased conversation after informing said racist that my daughter is “black.” I just couldn’t fathom anything else to say. My heart was suddenly weighed down with fear and sadness.

Is it possible to raise my son to love and respect not just his sister but our increasingly diverse family when people from MY GENERATION not only say these kind of things but refuse to see how they are slathered in ancestral racism? Is it possible for my kids, barring those who can’t look past the legalities of adoption, to be seen as siblings? Another friend recently posted about a childhood memory when she liked to pretend that she and her best friend were twins… but a nasty kid told her, in no uncertain terms, that no one would ever consider them to be siblings because their skin was different.

Can my kids overcome this? Are doing things like seeking out diverse books and settings enough? What more can I do? There was no point in arguing with that woman; her mind was set. It was over. But my son’s mind is still forming. How do I get him to celebrate the uniquness that makes up our family? How do I get him to accept others, those who don’t fit into our family but are beautiful in their own way? How do I teach love, without boundary of race or gender or hair color or music preference or … whatever the most recent hate-reason is.

Of course, after the encounter and before I wrote this post, BigBrother brought me Munchkin’s pictures, said “Nonna” and kissed it. I might be doing something right.

ETA: D ended up getting involved with the non-racist woman who was quoted above. Do you know what this uber-intelligent woman called D? A, and I quote again, “racist whore.” Yeah. DENISE. *dies laughing*

I forgot until just now. Dawn was writing about dolls and had links to eBay, which made me search for a black CPK on eBay. There are a few older ones… some as old as 1981 (you know, that glorious year, 26 years ago, when someone very cool was born)! So, I pulled up the Cabbage Patch Kid website… and proceeded to vomit. I had forgotten about N’s post until I looked at the website with the word adoption eveeeeeeeerywhere. Oh, really, it was too much. But I kept looking.

In fact, I went through THIRTY pages under the Play Along Kids heading. I found four AA boys. And two girls that could possibly be considered AA … but I can’t really tell for certain, their skin is so very light. Three of the four boys are on the last (as in THIRTIETH) page of the group. LAST! Only two of them are remotely dark, nothing like the dolls from 1981. (I didn’t bother to look through the 33 pages of Play Along Babies.)
I did find out that if I spend basically $300.00, I can design my own CPK with whatever skin tone, eye color, hair color and outfit I darn well please. They do include the darker skin tone of “espresso” on the design-your-own-kid version, where the ones in PAL are mostly mocha colored. There are also some pre-designed “Original Kids” (meaning, handmade) that are AA, but they’re also $285.00. THREE-HUNDRED DOLLARS? Seriously?

Under the “TRU” kids, which are sold at Toys R Us (which we don’t have here), there are some African American girls… dressed in fairy costumes at that which would go over big with the Munchkin. They also have the espresso skin tone, which is cool. But note the lack of selection in outfit/etc from the two categories. Interesting. Apparently AA dolls only need one style of hair whereas caucasian girl dolls need 30 pages of hair color and style possibility? WHAT?

I guess I’m just frustrated and flabbergasted. I enjoyed CPK’s when I was young. N reminded me of the adoption connection which doesn’t sit very well looking at it from my birth mother point of view… but, I was going to look past that in order to get something cool for the Munchkin. Now I’m just completely racially offended for our families. I’m sure there are other AA dolls that I could buy for the Munchkin but… I just wanted that connection with her… for her to have something that I had…

I think I might go for a super old one on eBay. Whaddya think? 1981? …did I just inadvertently call myself “super old?” Crikey.

I forgot until just now. Dawn was writing about dolls and had links to eBay, which made me search for a black CPK on eBay. There are a few older ones… some as old as 1981 (you know, that glorious year, 26 years ago, when someone very cool was born)! So, I pulled up the Cabbage Patch Kid website… and proceeded to vomit. I had forgotten about N’s post until I looked at the website with the word adoption eveeeeeeeerywhere. Oh, really, it was too much. But I kept looking.

In fact, I went through THIRTY pages under the Play Along Kids heading. I found four AA boys. And two girls that could possibly be considered AA … but I can’t really tell for certain, their skin is so very light. Three of the four boys are on the last (as in THIRTIETH) page of the group. LAST! Only two of them are remotely dark, nothing like the dolls from 1981. (I didn’t bother to look through the 33 pages of Play Along Babies.)
I did find out that if I spend basically $300.00, I can design my own CPK with whatever skin tone, eye color, hair color and outfit I darn well please. They do include the darker skin tone of “espresso” on the design-your-own-kid version, where the ones in PAL are mostly mocha colored. There are also some pre-designed “Original Kids” (meaning, handmade) that are AA, but they’re also $285.00. THREE-HUNDRED DOLLARS? Seriously?

Under the “TRU” kids, which are sold at Toys R Us (which we don’t have here), there are some African American girls… dressed in fairy costumes at that which would go over big with the Munchkin. They also have the espresso skin tone, which is cool. But note the lack of selection in outfit/etc from the two categories. Interesting. Apparently AA dolls only need one style of hair whereas caucasian girl dolls need 30 pages of hair color and style possibility? WHAT?

I guess I’m just frustrated and flabbergasted. I enjoyed CPK’s when I was young. N reminded me of the adoption connection which doesn’t sit very well looking at it from my birth mother point of view… but, I was going to look past that in order to get something cool for the Munchkin. Now I’m just completely racially offended for our families. I’m sure there are other AA dolls that I could buy for the Munchkin but… I just wanted that connection with her… for her to have something that I had…

I think I might go for a super old one on eBay. Whaddya think? 1981? …did I just inadvertently call myself “super old?” Crikey.

Today, as posted previously, we were fixing up the front flower garden. (Though, it only has two rose bushes as of yet. With my previous Black Thumb history, we're starting slowly. I don't feel like killing one hundred dollars worth of flowers at a time. I'm thrifty.) I was inside feeding BigBrother who had just decided that nap time was, in fact, over. J was digging out the old mulch.

To tie in the fact that we don't like our neighbors, here we go.

The MeanLadyNeighbor was also outside with her kids as well as a few neighbor kids who were playing. One child was teasing another and said, "You got dirt on your white shirt!" To which the MeanLadyNeighbor replies, loudly and in the direction of our home, "I don't like the color white! Literally!"

Now, what the heck? Racism, of any damn kind, gets me ten different kinds of riled up. But, to be honest, this is my first outright experience with it. Even when Lincoln and I were together, no one audibly said anything about our interracial relationship. My Parents, bless them, didn't even have anything overtly negative to say because they had raised me to see past skin color. (Of course, they didn't like Lincoln because he was totally not the right person for me but it took me awhile, er, a bit too long… eh… to find that one out.) Anyway…

What if Munchkin was here with me, being parented by the two of us? Would MeanLadyNeighbor have still said something? Would we be more accepted because of her biracial status? Would we be less accepted because of her biracial status? Would they be mean to her? If so, I'd have to go to jail because I'd fight to the death for my daughter.

I just have a problem with racism. I don't understand it. It breaks my heart that it still exists, in great number. It hurts me that Munchkin will definitely, at some point in time, experience some form of racism. I just don't understand why people can't see past color.

I just don't understand.