Jiaozi

So anyway -- PANDAS!

May and I got back from our two-week trip to China a few weeks ago, and I've been busy sorting through photos while jumping back into work and the rest of the routine.

It was a wonderful trip. Not relaxing, like a trip to Hawaii, or fun, like a trip to Disneyland; it was an adventure, and meaningful to both of us.

Originally we had planned for the whole family to go, but for one reason or another it didn't work out, so we agreed I would take May, who hadn't made a return visit to her homeland. That turned out to be a great decision. It was a lovely chance for my middle child to have me all to herself, and for her to be able to call the shots about where we'd go and what we'd eat without having to negotiate with her elder sister and younger sister. And, of course, I loved having her all to myself, without the distractions of school and work. My quiet girl and I had serious talks and giggled over private jokes like a couple of schoolgirls.

We went to Beijing, which May loved (she said she could see herself living there), Xi'an, Chengdu, Nanchang, and Shanghai. The social welfare institute took us out to lunch, put up a welcome banner for May, and let us look at (but not remove) her file. Separately, we met with her foster family and walked around her old neighborhood. It was good for her to confirm some memories and correct others that were not as clear. Some people consider teenagers too old for homeland tours, but I think we went at exactly the right time for her.

Although seein g the Great Wall and Forbidden City was important culturally, and the trip to May's home city was emotionally significant, the highlight of the trip -- and the part May was most excited about -- was still probably the visit to the panda breeding center in Chengdu. It was amazing to see dozens of pandas, of all ages, in one place, roaming around their pleasant green compounds. But best of all was being able to hold a baby panda. This was crazy expensive, but they've added some little extras to make it seem more worthwhile; you get a certificate commemorating your donation, an educational film on DVD, and a hooded sweatshirt with a panda logo on it.

And you get to sit for a minute wearing a surgical gown and plastic gloves holding a chubby, soft six-month-old panda on your lap. They give the panda a stick of bamboo dipped in honey to lick, and he sits placidly for some time, not paying much attention to the people or cameras, until the honey runs out.

I smelled my panda's head. He smelled of animal fur and grass. May was in heaven, hugging her panda and looking at him with adoring eyes; it was a dream come true for her.

I hope she never forgets that feeling.

Then this happened

Here is a picture of our little family taken this past Christmas (and no, I haven't sent out our holiday letter yet, but if I had this picture would be on it):

What's wrong with this picture? I'll tell you what's wrong. All the females are just about the same height, despite being of widely varying ages.

Compare this with a picture taken of our family 4 years and 4 months previously:

A different scenario, right?

So much has changed so quickly. Abbey, Bess, and May are all within an inch of my height now. Ella has, what, doubled in size? For the first time in her life, she is at the 50th percentile in height, after spending most of the previous 11 years hovering between the 10th and the 25th percentile. She jumped from wearing size 7/8 to 12/14 in the course of a year.

Did you know kids would do that? I mean, I knew, intellectually, that children grow, and grow fast. But I never thought Ella, my tiny little baby, not even a teenager yet, would already be eye to eye with me. May, Ella, and I wear pretty much the same shoe size. (Abbey and Bess wear bigger shoes than we do). Bess has her driver's license and is looking at colleges. Didn't we just bring these kids home yesterday?

I shake my head in disbelief every day. My babies are so big and strong and competent. It didn't seem to take any time at all. I don't feel different, so how are they so changed?

This is what parenting is about -- raising independent people who are ready to contribute to the world. I won't say that I'm sad. I'm really proud of them. I just thought it would take a little longer, you know?

Racist much?

Parenting is complicated, but transracial and international adoptive parenting is doubly so. I've been an adoptive parent for 15 years, and the concerns tend to come and go. Sometimes issues of identity come to the fore, sometimes the lingering effects of institutionalization, sometimes race and culture, and sometimes you're just trying to get everyone out the door in the morning.

This past month has been a big one for racism. Maybe it's because of Halloween, which tends to make people think they have a license to be offensive. Maybe it's the coming elections; I came across two separate posts on Facebook recently in which people made fun of the president using a stereotypical "Stepin Fetchit" black dialect. And maybe it's just a thing that happens from time to time; we've recently had another round of schoolchildren doing the "slant eyes"* gesture at one my kids, a recurring problem.

What puzzles me, perhaps even more than the offensive remarks, is the defensiveness people immediately throw up when you call them on racism. The responses are so predictable you could play Racism Bingo. Even the most gentle, light, or heartfelt of admonitions -- "You know, that's considered to be an offensive gesture," "Not cool!" or "I am offended by that" -- bring out all the old chestnuts and flippant remarks: "Why does everything have to be so PC these days?" "Chill out!" "I didn't mean any offense, so it's okay."

I've been around and around with people about calling kids like mine "China dolls." Many people are honestly unaware of the history and connotations of this term. I understand this. There are still innocents in the world. What I don't understand is why they want to argue with me when I tell them why it's offensive. That's not ignorance. That's arrogance.

It's so simple. Don't say or do things other people find offensive. Don't tell them it's not offensive; that's not your call. Apologize if you say something offensive by accident. It doesn't matter how you "meant it." Refer to groups by the names they prefer. Don't argue with them about their choice. You don't even have to understand it. You just have to know.

Especially if you are white. You do not get to be the arbiter of what is and isn't racist any more than men get to be the arbiters of what is and isn't sexist. The group in power does not get to tell the group that is in the minority/oppressed/marginalized what's offensive. Oppressed groups get to retain that right, at least.

I knew this before I adopted transracially, but I didn't feel it in my bones. Now I do. And it has been humbling. I feel weird talking about race. I feel weird pointing out racism to my kids. I feel weird talking about my whiteness. But I think it's the right thing to do, and I'm going to keep doing it.

And I feel good when I see that they really do understand about racism and will be able to take up the battle on their own, in their own way.

A couple of weeks ago we were watching an episode of "Dance Moms" in which the African American mom was trying to make the dance teacher understand why it was not okay to put her daughter, the only child of color in the group, in leopard-print leotards and Afro wigs (there was more, but it was too awful to repeat here). The dance teacher held her ground and insisted that she was creating more opportunities for the little girl.** May snorted, "Racist much?"

All three girls are getting pretty good at seeing racism aimed at themselves and others. They are well aware of the stereotypes that other people are going to try to push onto them. They know it's not okay for anyone to make "slant eyes" at them, and they speak up when it happens.

This is what we promised to do for our children, isn't it? Our adoption agency required us to read books, attend classes, and respond to questionnaires about race and culture. We had to have a plan for how we would responsibly raise a child of color in a white society.

I feel like some people didn't get the memo.

 

*I'm sorry, I can't think of a better word for this. Angry Asian Man calls it "chink eyes," but I'm not sure I can say that.

**Why on earth doesn't that mom pull her kid out of the school? She shouldn't stand for it.

Miscellaneous adoption-y stuff

Adoption assumptions

When Steve Jobs died, the press and public went into overdrive spinning mythical origin stories for him, and some of those stories concerned his status as an adoptive child. One graphic making the rounds had a picture of Jobs with the legend "Born out of wedlock. Put up for adoption at birth. Dropped out of college. Then changed the world. What's your excuse?" I saw other people referring to him as having been "rejected" or having a "rough start in life."

I take exception to this. While being adopted can certainly have far-reaching effects on an individual's life and identity, the fact that Jobs was adopted (or born out of wedlock, for that matter) does not itself mean that he had a rough start, and a look at his biography shows that there wasn't much exceptional about his early life. I won't repeat the details; you can Google it yourself. But suffice it to say that his birthparents made a well-thought-out adoption plan; they agreed to the Jobs family adopting him, albeit with reservations, when the first adoptive family backed out; he was raised in what sounds like a pretty normal home; and later he made contact with his birth relatives and established a relationship with his birth sister, also a talented and creative individual. Pretty typical stuff. We're not talking about Oliver Twist or Little Orphan Annie here. (As for dropping out of college, that was his choice, and it was probably because of that choice, not in spite of it, that he became such a success.)

The "What's your excuse?" line is an example of pathologizing adoption -- that is, assuming that it is "abnormal," that it's necessarily an obstacle to overcome, and that adopted people are always damaged. The flip side of it is that if you, too, were born out of wedlock and "put up for adoption at birth," you'd have an excuse for not changing the world. That's a pretty crummy message. There's a difference between holding someone up as an inspiration and using him as a case study.

In my experience, institutionalization, a poor home environment, and frequent moves to different homes are the aspects of adoption to be concerned about, and even then the effects depend on the individual. Two of my children were affected by those aspects of adoption, and one really wasn't. Not coincidentally, she is also the one who spent the least time in an orphanage. She would give you the evil eye if you said to her, "Wow, you really had a rough start in life! You would have a good excuse if you turned out to be a mess!" I have seen her evil eye, and you do not want to be on the receiving end of it.

Happily ever after

We are sci-fi/fantasy geeks, so of course we watched the premiere of "Once Upon a Time" the other night. It was fast-moving and entertaining, and I think the whole family is hooked. But they sure hit the adoption theme hard, didn't they? I mean, it's bad enough when the Wicked Queen is depicted as an evil stepmother (I say that as a stepmother), but when she is also an evil adoptive mother, that's a bit much to handle. Or it was for me. I kept asking the kids, "Are you okay with this? Don't you think it's sort of negative about adoption?" They shrugged. There was one line in the show that had to do with "that basic question [adopted children] all inevitably face: 'Why would anyone give me away?'" I asked the kids if that's a question every adopted kid faces. More shrugs. When I was still sputtering a bit at the end of the show, May said, "Mom. You take this stuff too seriously." So, yeah. They're not exactly bubbling over with feelings about adoption at this point in their lives. Sometimes I'm the one with the problem.

Welcome to the blackboard jungle

Last month a friend who is an adoptive parent posted on her Facebook wall that she was worried about her child on his first day of first grade. Another parent commented, "I feel the same way...I want to give all his classmates and teachers the back story so they will accept him." And I understood exactly what she meant.

I always want to give the back story. I want to say, "This child is not like other children in your elementary school class. This child did not have Mozart played for her in the womb. She didn't come home to a nursery decorated out of the Pottery Barn Kids catalog. Nobody sang her to sleep and laid her gently in a cozy bassinet. She wasn't fed or held on demand or given love or intellectual stimulation until much later. So maybe she doesn't stay on task very well, but be gentle with her. She has come so far."

Or I want to say, "I know you see this child as just one of the mass of Asian kids in junior high who get straight As, but you don't know the effort it costs her. She has only been speaking English for five years, and she is still catching up. She works very hard for those As. Acknowledge that effort."

I want to give the back story. But I can't. They're too old for that now, and those details are nobody's business, least of all their classmates'. I can only advocate for them behind the scenes.

When they were younger, I could write notes on the school admission forms, talk about institutionalization and developmental delays, and the officials would nod as if they understood. But I don't think they really did. All kids have challenges, they probably thought. And maybe they do, but this is my child, and I want them to know there's more to her than what they see through the filter of performance goals and required curriculum.

And beyond the challenges, I want them to know that this child, my child, is amazing. This child may never do well on standardized testing -- may, in fact, never even pass the standardized testing. (Will they hold her diploma over that? Not while I'm around.) Certainly I want my child to be able to, at minimum, read a newspaper and write a letter and balance a checkbook (or whatever electronic forms those basic skills will take in the future). But standardized tests don't measure creativity, or humor, or kindness. They do a very poor job of gauging the worth of a square peg.

So when a teacher asks my child, as one did today, "What's the setting for Because of Winn-Dixie? When does it take place?" and my child answers straight-faced, "In alien space-time" and pauses a beat before saying, "Just kidding," my heart swells with pride. Boom! It's the wrong answer -- or is it? Because for a kid who watches Doctor Who, it's a perfectly reasonable answer. And that's just the way she rolls.

Everyone has a back story. But some are more complicated than others.

Domestic kōans

 

If you meet the Buddha on the road, go around him, or you'll be late for soccer practice.

 

Four times a day, I get up from my work and let the dogs outside.

Ten times a day, I get up from my work and let the dogs inside.

Who let the dogs out?

 

A mother was pouring herself a cup of tea. A child came and asked her if she was busy.

The mother said nothing, but continued to pour tea until her cup spilled over.

The child said, "Stop! You are pouring too much tea in that cup!"

The mother said, "Like this cup, my life is overflowing. And I don't mean that in a good way."

 

Two children received portions of ice cream. One child went away satisfied. The other approached the mother and said, "She got more ice cream than I did!"

The mother replied, "You get what you get and you don't get upset."

 

A child slammed his textbook on the table. "I don't get these problems!" he shouted. "They're impossible!"

"They are difficult," responded the mother. "Difficult is not the same thing as impossible. Try again."

"But I can't do it! I'll never finish my homework!" protested the child.

"No TV until you finish your homework," said the mother.

The child finished his homework.

 

If a mother says something in a room full of children, does she still make a sound?

 

A child was not happy that another child had a later bedtime.

"It's not fair!" the child protested to the mother.

The mother responded, "Who ever told you life is fair?"

 

Thousands of grains of sand make a beach.

Thousands of drops of water make an ocean.

Thousands of interruptions make....

What was I talking about again?

Teachable moment

Last week I picked up Ella at school and we chatted on the way home as we always do. She told me that her class had learned about polar bears and how climate change is threatening their existence. Then she started crying because she felt so bad for the polar bears. She cried most of the way to our house.

At home, I held her and told her we would do what we could for the polar bears. I did a little research and we talked some more. I found an organization, Polar Bears International, that conducts research and education to help polar bears. I told Ella we could "sponsor" a polar bear if she wanted, and she did. I also reminded her that just giving money isn't enough -- we need to reduce our own carbon footprint. And that's why I'm always after everyone to turn off lights when they leave a room and recycle and not throw out food. Not just because I'm cheap (though that's true too).

Within a week, Ella got a package in the mail with a little souvenir polar bear and a certificate and a few stickers. She was thrilled with her goodies. She named her polar bear Stacie. (Her choice.) She made a bed for Stacie and carries her everywhere. She feels better about the polar bears. She also wants to make up a window sticker for people's cars to remind them not to drive as much so they can reduce their carbon footprint. Not totally logical, but her heart is in the right place. And I'm happy and proud to have a daughter who really cares about animals and the planet.

That's all. Just a little story. But maybe the beginning of something bigger.

An open letter to my children's teachers, school administrators, coaches, and activity directors

Dear folks:

I appreciate all you do for my kids. I really do. And I know it's not your fault that we have three children attending three different schools, or that between them the kids participate in two competitive soccer teams, three types of dance classes, martial arts, choir, and miscellaneous activities. (And I'm leaving out the college student, who is mostly managing her own affairs, except for the tuition bill.) It's not your fault that both of us work, or that we have five pets, two of whom are passive-aggressively housebroken. I know that.

But I want you to know how overwhelmed I am at this time of year. Every September I feel like I'm being buried under an avalanche of papers and requests. Every day my children hand me a stack of documents to fill out and sign: contact information, vaccination records, field trip permission slips, health education permission slips, performance agreements, behavior "contracts." I'm not the student; why do I have to sign contracts? It's worse than buying a house.

I apologize for snapping. I'm a little stressed. I'm afraid that somewhere in that four-inch stack of paperwork on my desk is something important, like the electric bill.

Then there are the requests for money. Tuition, lunch accounts, athletic fees, coaches' expenses, costume fees, uniform costs, tournament expenses -- okay, we signed up for those things. And I'm accustomed to the annual trip to the office-supply store to buy binders (three-ring), notebook paper (college-ruled), and markers (washable). But I'm having a hard time getting used to the idea of paying out of pocket for public-school field trips, books, and classroom supplies -- including tissues.

I'm sure I'm dating myself here.  We used to bring 50 cents to school for My Weekly Reader and that was about it. Times have changed.

And that's not all. After the bills are paid, we start receiving the solicitations for annual gifts, both "voluntary" donations and "mandatory" donations (an oxymoron for certain). The children are sent home with piles of paperwork demanding their participation in magazine subscription drives, cookie-dough sales, wreath sales, and raffle ticket sales. I do not have any desire to turn my children into door-to-door salesmen, nor do I want to burden our friends and family who, frankly, have their own children's fund-raising efforts to deal with. I do not understand why your tuition and fees or our property taxes are not sufficient to pay your expenses. Perhaps you need a new accountant. And why do all of you do auctions now? If I'm going to pay $75 per person for dinner, I want it to be a quiet candlelit dinner with my husband. No offense, but I'd rather just send money.

See, my parents had seven children. I don't think they could have afforded all of us under the current system. We can barely afford the four we have. What do people who are unemployed do?

But there's more. Piled on my desk are numerous requests for our time. First are the open houses, orientation sessions, parent meetings, planning conferences, ice-cream socials, and potlucks. Then come the urgent requests for us to volunteer our time. I realize you could probably use some help here and there. But I want you to consider that, statistically speaking, more than half of the children you work with come from two-career homes, and many of the stay-at-home parents are caring for infants or small children. We're already a bit pressed for time.

As it is, my husband and I spend most of our nonworking hours helping with homework. Between our fourth-grader, eighth-grader, and tenth-grader, we actively help with about 8 hours of homework every day, including weekends. It's like a second job. Seriously, I just had to stop writing this post -- at 10 p.m. -- so I could answer the question "When do you use a discrete graph and when do you use a continuous graph?" which I had to Google anyhow because this is the new new new math and I have never heard these terms.

When I was a kid, it was enough for our parents to send us to school adequately fed, able to sit still, and ready to learn. That was their contribution. And most mothers didn't even work. Why isn't that enough anymore?

So I try to help out where I can, but just because I work at home doesn't mean I can drop everything to come to every open house, orientation, game, performance, concert, awards ceremony, field trip, assembly, or costume and uniform fitting. I do have work deadlines. I will try to put my time where I feel it will do the most good in helping you provide kids with opportunities to learn and grow. And, frankly, if we all have a Friday evening free, we're going to spend it doing something as a family, not going to yet another potluck.

I'm sorry. I'm a little cranky. Not enough sleep, too much to do. You should see the massive pile of sewing waiting for me. We'll all outgrow the clothes before I get them hemmed. And I've been working on this blog post for a month.

I know all of you, as organizations, are just doing what you feel you need to do to look out for your interests. But please be aware that the volume of requests for attention, money, or time you send us is multiplied by, let's say, 10 on our end, because you're all sending us this stuff at once. Could you maybe try staggering the requests? January is pretty slow. How about January?

Well, that's it for now. Appreciate your efforts, but if I don't respond immediately to your requests, and if I don't attend every single event, this is why. It's because every September -- It's still September, right? No? -- Rats. I'm more behind than I thought.

Love,

Sister Carrie

p.s. Oh, and PTA? You and the alpha moms will get your own letter. Yeah. Just as soon as I find the time.

Why we talk about race

After school yesterday, May told me, "We had a big laugh in English class today."

"Oh?" I asked.

"Yeah. We took our grammar test, and Mr. H graded them in class while we were supposed to be reading, but mostly we were talking. In the middle of class, he said, 'May is my new hero. She's the first person to get this section on plurals all correct.' That was the part we studied last night."

"I remember," I said. "Good job!" (Fist bump.)

"Then Nina said, 'Well, of course she did! She's Asian!' and everyone laughed and laughed."

This is why I talk to my kids about racial stereotypes, including "positive" ones -- so these sorts of comments don't take them by surprise and they can be in on the joke.

But the joke is on Nina and Mr. H. They don't know that May has been speaking English for only five years.

Best new explanation for ditching your mom at the mall

Ella and I went to the Asian mall yesterday in search of (reasonably priced) mooncakes. As we were walking, she suddenly dropped behind and trailed me by a couple of yards.

"I'm going to walk behind you," she said. "I don't want people to think I'm with the white person."

It made me laugh.