Category Archives: Adoption

A week when everyone looks like you

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La Semana 2010 Crystel 8 years old

La Semana 2010 Crystel 8 years old

I know even before I get to the high school for the fiesta that I am going to cry at some point during the evening. Antonio and Crystel have been attending La Semana Cultural Camp for a week every summer since they were in first grade. Now fifth graders, they are going to join 450 other children born in over 20 different countries and perform the Latin American dance that they had learned during the week. There would be 25 dances, put on by everyone from first graders to Ayudantes (adoptees who recently graduated high school).  Except when we travel in Guatemala, Latin American Cultural Camp is the only place that I could lose Antonio and Crystel in a crowd. . .  because here everyone looks like them.

Antonio and amigo 2013

Antonio and amigo 2013

If this is my experience as an adult, imagine what it would be for a child to be surrounded by his or her own ethnic origin if only for one week a year. To top that off, all the children are adopted. For the first time, a child doesn’t have to explain him or herself to a new friend. There are no questions. Everyone is adopted.

Families travel from 14 different states and Canada to attend La Semana. The adoptees learn Latin American crafts and dances, try Latin American foods, hear Latin American music, and are exposed to written and spoken Spanish. The children also take a class that focuses on age-appropriate topics related to adoption. Most importantly, they just get to be kids with other kids like them.

Crystel and friends up to no good. 2013

Crystel and friends up to no good. 2013

Every year, La Semana, focuses on a country. This year it is Paraguay. Throughout the week, campers explore the culture of Paraguay. Through video and games they get an overview of Paraguay’s food, music, geography, sports teams and animals. At a Paraguayan market and fiesta, campers taste food and drink, create with beads and clay, and play traditional holiday games.

Jody has been at La Semana all week volunteering her time in the craft department. La Semana is successful due to the volunteer efforts of the families of children attending camp. All camp programs are planned and executed by the families involved. There are fewer than seven paid teachers for more than 450 campers. To encourage participation, La Semana requires a parent of kindergarten through tenth grade campers to volunteer in some capacity.

Chicas

Chicas

Jody is already inside Lakeville High School having saved our seat hours ago for the fiesta in the gymnasium. Tears start welling up in my eyes as I see parents streaming through the school entrance holding hands with their young children. The fiesta is a time for the campers to show off their ‘stuff.’ Inside the dressing room, they will be transformed as they put on traditional dress, and the girls adorn themselves with red lipstick, blue eye shadow, and blush.

Crafts are the best!

Crafts are the best!

Jody texts to see if I want to sit and wait for the dances to start. But I don’t. I want to stay in the gathering area and watch everybody. This unnerves Antonio and Crystel to no end because I often do this no matter where we are. “Mom, quit staring,” they will say. Unfortunately, it will be their cross to bear.

This afternoon, I have an opportunity to observe over a hundred Latin American teens and young adults. I witness what Antonio and Crystel will look like in a few years and start to cry. They’re beautiful.

I’ve Never Had Something Not Burn

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I’ve never had something not burn.

I was thinking of this when I was going through all these papers that we have collected throughout the school year that the kids have brought home from school. All year long they bring home math and spelling sheets, art drawings, more math and spelling. At the time you can’t throw anything away because it is a piece of art or they got 5 out 5 right or 8 out of 10 or maybe even 1 out of 10. Regardless, you have to keep the school papers because in the moment it is actual work to them and if you toss it in the trash you risk having your message be that their work isn’t important. Even if you place the papers carefully in the recycling bin, hiding them under the Sunday paper, you are still THROWING their hard work out.

The question is what do you keep?

I have no frame of reference. Our barn burnt down when I was in 3rd grade, our house burnt down when I was in 7th grade, and I burnt my back when I was in10th grade. You see what I mean when I say I’ve never not had something burn?

Jody has been the one that will pack decorations away after a holiday, storing them from year to year. To me, it is all temporary. It could go poof.

blog clothes 008But, I’ve gone along with Antonio and Crystel having memory boxes. We have stored away the infant clothes they were wearing when we first got them at seven and eight months old. Favorite baby clothes and shoes are also tucked away.

Sometimes it was the kids telling us that an item or piece of clothing should go in their memory box. For one, it was a way of knowing Mama Beth wouldn’t give it away.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAOnce, I made the mistake of giving the neighbor girl one of Crystel’s outfits that no longer fit her. According to Crystel it was her favorite though I couldn’t recall the last time I saw the dress on her. Seeing it on some other little girl must have jarred her memory. Much like if they would find their homework papers in the recycling bin.

Another time I stocked a classroom store with toys, pens, and other items from their playroom. During school, a classmate said to Crystel, “Isn’t that yours?” It was a group of small colored pens. Crystel hid them behind other toys so none of her classmates would see them. When I got home, she greeted me with, “Mom, how could you? How could you? I was saving those pens for college.” I had to call the teacher and ask for them back.

Sifting through their 4th grade school work, I wondered why I didn’t remember ever bringing home this much paper from school. Then I recall the trash barrel we had on the farm. When the wastebaskets needed emptying it all went in the barrel and you burned it. Poof. I grew up in a family of 12 children. Can you imagine the load of school papers that came home? The trash barrel was always lit.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAEven though I didn’t grow up having a memory box, keepsakes, journals, etc…. I do see their value and each year I’ve journaled and kept mementos for the children. I’ve enjoyed it as much as them when we go back and look at how they have grown.

Recently, I read how a much asked for graduation present of high school and college graduates has been to receive a quilt made of t-shirts, sweatshirts, and other clothing worn by them throughout the years. I brought this idea up to Jody, Antonio, and Crystel during breakfast one morning. Looks like we already have a good start.

Looking at the blue bins, full of papers, it occurs to me that it is time to pass the baton and have them decide what is kept. I have set their bins aside for the first rainy day. I’ll stock up on glue, tape, scissors and two new notebooks.

“Your Moms Can Get Married Now.”

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Dsc00218I imagine someone at school saying that to Antonio and Crystel and them responding, “Huh?”

As far as they are concerned, we are already married, and Crystel, much to her chagrin, wasn’t a part of the wedding that we had before she and Antonio came home from Guatemala. She can hardly believe that we had a life before them.

Our wedding was 11 years ago this August. Some folks would ask us, “Is it legal?”

It was to us. Still we had our personal wills drawn up. We weren’t leaving our children, our money, or our belongings to chance.

Jody and I aren’t political or activists. We live our life the best that we can and hope that people will figure out that we are pretty normal. I think we have the neighbors convinced. We hold the yearly Neighborhood Night Out gathering in our backyard. We have come to think of them as normal, too. That’s what sharing a pan of brownies will do.

DSC00234On May 13, 2013, I got a text from Jody saying, “It passed.” I was confused and sent a text back, saying, “What passed?”

A kidney stone, a car, a semi, what??? It took an hour before it came to me.

Since she was the one who asked me to marry her eleven years ago, I figured I better man up.

I sent her a text, “Will you marry me? August 10, 2014?”

Aunt Jo, Our Unity Minister.

Aunt Jo, Our Unity Minister.

I didn’t hear from her for a while and wondered if she was re-evaluating our relationship.

But then came the “Yes!”

Later with Antonio and Crystel around the dining room table, I said, “You know a law passed and your moms can get married now.”

Antonio said, “Yeah, I know what that is. It’s the … what’s that called … same …” He was stumbling on the word “sex” and I came to his rescue. “That’s right,” I said. “It means two moms and two dads can get married.”

“I asked Mama Jody to marry me and what do you think she said?”

Crystel laughed leaned conspiratorially over to Jody and said, “She said, “No.” If drama is to be had, Crystel is there.

married

married

“No, I did not,” Jody said, “I said “Yes.” Crystel you can be our flower girl. You always wanted to be a flower girl in a wedding.”

“Oh, no,” I said. “She and Antonio will have to give us away.”

In one year, twelve years from the date of our first wedding, we will be married again. This gives us plenty of time to work out the details. Save the date.

The Importance of Friends

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Oliver and Antonio

Oliver and Antonio

Before Antonio’s soccer game, I told him that we wouldn’t be able to stay after the game. He groaned. Two days ago we stayed late giving him a chance to play with his friends on the field. They took turns shooting the soccer ball into the net with one of them guarding. I enjoyed watching his fun and he relished playing with his two friends.Every parent wants their child to have friends and I was delighted watching Antonio with his.

Today, after Antonio’s soccer game his friend Oliver asked if Antonio could stay and play. “My parents will bring him home,” he said. Antonio’s eyes shone when I said, “Yes”, and he quickly became so immersed in his soccer playing that he couldn’t hear Jody saying goodbye to him.

Nattie, Crystel, Ally

Nattie, Crystel, Ally

Antonio is interested in soccer this year because that is what his friends are doing during recess at school. I was shocked when both he and Crystel said they wanted to join the spring recreational league. For years, they had shown no interest.

His coach this year, remembered Antonio when he was four years old playing soccer at YMCA.

I sighed.

“Antonio was more interested in sitting on your lap then playing soccer,” I said to the coach.

The next time he played soccer he was six years old and he would come off the field during a play and say, “Crissy you go in for me.”

Crystel and Gabby

Crystel and Gabby

“Antonio she not only isn’t on your team,” I said. “She’s not even signed up for soccer.” Still, no one seemed to care when she bounded on the field taking his place.Children’s friendships are important to parents. Once in a while a parent will comment that they hope their children keep the same group of friends throughout all of their school years. “It’s a great group of kids,” they will say.

Jacob and Antonio

Jacob and Antonio

I must confess that I wasn’t prepared for the mother who wondered if Antonio would date her daughter-espeically since her daughter and Antonio were only in preschool. I’m sure she meant it as a compliment, but I hadn’t taken that leap in my mind yet.

Now that the kids are ten years old, I allow myself to wonder about that occasionally.

I am interested to see who they gravitate to in their friendships and in their ‘special’ relationships. They were both born in Guatemala and are being raised by two white women in an English speaking household. Are they drawn towards Hispanics or whites in their friendships? Who will they choose for a partner?

Tinsae and Antonio

Tinsae and Antonio

Both Antonio and Crystel are attending a Spanish dual language school. This helped them be comfortable around Hispanics. I used to have to remind them that they were brown and Hispanic which is why they needed to learn Spanish.

This past winter when the cold seemed like it would never end and they were whiny, I asked them if they would like to move to a warmer climate. They both immediately said, “No.” Their friendships have become that deep.

I have been happy to observe that they have friends who are of mixed races, white, Hispanic, and African American. They are friends with children from divorced families, families with only one parent, and children from families who have two parents.

In other words, they are perfectly normal.

Perils of Being a Writer

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OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERACrystel shuffles out of her bedroom, rubbing her eyes. The rest of us have been up for hours. In fact, Antonio has about used up all of his allotted time with electronics. I briefly look up at her. She’s grown taller in the night, I think. She stretches out her form before flopping down next to me on the couch.

“Good morning, dear.”

She mumbles, “Good morning.” She leans casually towards me. We’re now bumping shoulders.

I return to reviewing my manuscript and drop my eyes to the computer.

“I knew it,” she says. “I knew it! I knew you were going to say it one day!” She jumps up and runs out of the room.

“What!” I say, alarmed.

I look down at the writing on my laptop and immediately know what happened. There in black and white it says Antonio and Crystel aren’t my children….

“Crystel! Crystel! Come back here!” I leap off the couch. Yelling upstairs, I say, “Antonio is Crystel up there!”

“No, she’s not.”

Rushing down the basement steps, I holler, “Crystel, you need to come back and talk to me. Crystel, where are you!” It’s dark and quiet in the basement.

I rush back upstairs to where Antonio is. “Antonio are you telling me the truth? Is Crystel upstairs?”

“She’s not up here. She never came up here.”

I’m in a bit of a panic. What could Crystel think, and if she won’t talk to me, then what? And is it true that she has always thought that I was going to say that she’s not mine?

“Crystel, you need to come here.”

I hear behind me, “You couldn’t find me.” She seems pleased with this.

“No, I couldn’t find you. Now, sit down.” I’m relieved she actually does.

“If you are going to read something that I am writing, you need to read all of it or ask a question. You reading part of a sentence is like coming into a conversation part way or seeing only part of an elephant. You aren’t getting the whole story.”

“Now, look at this.” I point to the paragraph: Antonio and Crystel aren’t my children to own or to have or to keep. Finding their birthmoms, reuniting the mom with their child, promising to bring Antonio and Crystel back every two years to Guatemala continues restoring me to health.

“What this means is that you aren’t an object for me to own. You are your own person. Not mine. Now if we scroll up here, it says, When I say to them, you can count on me, I absolutely mean it.” I look in her eyes. “You are my daughter. I would do anything for you.”

This seems to satisfy her. Crystel is often interested in what I write. When she came upon me reviewing the last blog I wrote about her being interested in the bathroom scale, she read it. She laughed and laughed. Now she will have another blog to read: The Perils of Being a Writer.

At bedtime we will have that other talk, in case she really is expecting to hear me say she isn’t really my daughter. Hmmmm.