I grew up in a small town in middle America where everyone
looked the same - white, middle class, Christian. After moving away for school,
I made several friends of color, but the core of my world remained pretty much
the same as it had in my childhood.
When my husband and I began the process of adoption, we readily checked
the boxes indicating we had no preference with regard to the child's race,
health or gender. However, when we
received the call about a 3 month old African-American baby boy, I started to
question our suitability. Could we provide him the environment he needed to
grow into a strong, confident young man? Growing up in a white family, would he
find acceptance in the black community? Would the black community find us to be
suitable parents for this beautiful little boy?
Would he find acceptance in our extended family?
Most of our worries quickly vanished the moment we held
our beautiful baby boy. One of the best
signs for me that everything would work out ok was when my 90 year old
grandmother held out her arms and held him throughout our entire visit. When she first heard we were adopting a black
child, grandma would quickly change the subject and refuse to discuss it
further. Grandma came from a different time, and thankfully we’ve come some
distance from that place. If my grandma could change her lifetime prejudice by
holding one little baby, there remains great hope for the world.
When I listen to the news and hear of the tragedies of
young black men, however, I realize many of my fears could still become
reality. How can we live in a world where people are labeled, judged, and even
killed simply because of the color of their skin? How can we create a world
where people look deeper and take the time to experience a person’s mind and
heart?
Back in preschool, our son announced one day that he was
beautiful brown, and we, his parents, were "yellow" (said with a hint
of disdain). “Yellow” was not exactly the color that I would have chosen to
describe myself. But I agree, he is our beautiful brown son. One day, however,
his confidence wavered and he told us he was sad because he looked different than
his dad and me. In order to show him
that everyone is different, we asked him “what color eyes does everyone at the dinner
table have?” Mom and dad have brown
eyes, just like him; but his grandma has blue eyes. He giggled "Grandma is
different!" While it didn't make grandma feel good, he understood that we
all have different visible qualities - be it the color of our skin, hair, or eyes.
Karen Seitter
Committee Member
