It Only Took Me Six Tries

When we started looking into another adoption eighteen months ago, we thought in all likelihood, we would be matched with an AA child. I read up on racially mixed families. I remember a comment from one adoptive mom in particular. She said that adopting across racial lines meant that suddenly your family became "conspicuously adoptive." I pondered that statement a long time. While we eventually decided we could handle that adjustment, I knew and admitted to our social worker that it would be the most difficult transition for me.
We already turn many heads when we are in public because of our size. I suppose by now I should have a thicker skin, but if I am being honest with myself, the stares, comments, questions and whispers, still annoy me. Oh, I have my carefully thought out responses always ready, but it bothers me that I have to use them at least once each and every time I stir out of doors. Just one time in three years have I had to broach the additional topic of adoption with these nosey strangers. And in truth, that was a relief for me. Because Marina is white, people naturally assume that our "weirdness" is limited to having an "insane" number of children. Any questions of, "Are they all yours?" are answered in the affirmative. Sometimes, someone will notice that Marina is very tall for her age (not like the rest), but I choose to simply say, "Yes, she is" and leave it at that.
We believe Cara is at least partially Hispanic (1/2, 1/4?). Her birthmother, C.C. was 100% Caucasian, but that is the minority in south Texas. We love Cara's beautiful black hair and dark (my mama calls them "Spanish") eyes. So far, we have had two comments from strangers. Both were from African American women on separate occasions who--after looking over the other children--asked, "She looks mixed. What is she mixed with?" I found that it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. I said, "She is adopted. We believe her birthfather was Hispanic." Do you think that was all right? Or perhaps, I should say, "She is adopted." and leave off the part about her birthfather. As long as I didn't have the master with me, I could say, "She is half Hispanic." and not even bring the whole adoption thing up. NONE of it is their business, but I am reluctant to respond rudely to rudeness.
And I'm learning there are funny moments for bi-racial families, too. A few weeks ago, we were sitting at Wendy's after Sunday night church. Two older ladies began to comment on our family. They didn't realize that--in talking loud enough for audibility between each others' hearing aids--they were broadcasting the conversation to the entire restaurant. They exclaimed over the amount of food on our table. Recalled all of their acquaintances who also had large families. They counted the children. They grouped boys and girls. Made guesses on their ages. They noted how well the kids behaved. Remarked how pretty and fair they were. And coming to the end of the dialogue, their eyes came to rest on me as I held Cara.
"And look at that! She finally got one that looks like her."
Ha, ha, ha. I smiled broadly at them. Those near-sighted ladies made my day.