Transracial Adoption: Anne's Story
By Anne C. RiceWhen my parents came to Children's Aid Society in 1968, they were hoping for a girl and they did not care about the race of the child. When they arrived at the adoption agency, they were regretfully told that there were only "mixed-race and retarded children" available, both serious stigmas which they thought my parents might not wish to consider. I was one year old at the time, a healthy and happy baby who had been released at birth but was still awaiting a family. My parents were both shocked and thrilled to find me waiting for them. Since that time, life has been an adventure - my family and myself working in our own way to overcome the challenges of the "stigma", which still exists in some parts today.
My parents always told me that I was bi-racial and adopted and made me feel special for it. Although I was the middle child of two siblings born to my parents, I was my parents' easiest (most well behaved and openly endearing child). In part, I like to think it was just because of the person I am, but I admit that in part, this was because I felt I needed to be sure that my parents really loved me as much as it appeared. I felt somehow that my brother and sister were entitled to that love but that if I did not maintain it, it could slip away. This had nothing to do with any messages my parents sent me, but rather my own insecurities about being different because I was adopted and did not look like the rest of the family. This is something that I thought about a lot. I would secretly compare my wild curly black mess of hair to my sister's silky "Barbie" hair and think that I was going to have to work harder to be attractive. When people would comment on how much my sister looked like my mother, I knew I was losing the battle. When I did not think I could win, I would fantasize that I was related to "Snow White" or "Wonder Woman" because at least they had thick black hair. I marveled at how families looked alike and knew I was missing something. It meant the world to me when my Dad would compete with me in the summer to see who could get the best tan, because then I felt we were both brown. And my sister was simply turning red.
Don't misunderstand, I loved my sister and brother, but I thought I had to be a really good child to earn love. This was a struggle because truthfully I was a naturally hot-tempered stubborn kid. The gifts that my parents gave me were multifaceted but most importantly, they worked extra hard to let me know I was normal, loved and as much like them as my siblings. My parents made a commitment in their own lives to have multi-racial friendships, live in a multi-racial community and one which was particularly filled which transracial families and bi-racial kids. I went to elementary school with all shades of brown-skinned wildly curly-haired kids. My family's shared interests, love of art and athletics made us the same in ways that were distinctly identifiable and not like every family. My temperament could easily have been blamed on having "come from" my father. Some of the battles we had were truly bonding experiences. The only difference between me and my siblings in this regard is that they never thought about these things, but I thought about them all of the time. It was important to me to be aware of and have acknowledgement from others that I was truly a part of my family.
My family, especially my father, made a concerted effort to help me identify myself as both bi-racial and African-American, by making it natural amongst my friends and activities, but also in my family's friends and activities. My father and I read about all of the civil rights leaders together, we were the only "white" family who swam at the city pool, and my brother's first formal date was with a pretty black girl with a big afro.
As I grew older and moved away from the sheltered environment of our neighborhood and elementary school, I faced the challenges of how attached I was to my family with a new form of identity crisis. I went to college at a school that I chose because of its diverse student population. I was shocked when I got there to find that people wanted me to choose sides, "are you with us or with them, are you black or white?" I had grown up knowing that I was half of both and was shocked to find so many people asserting that there is no such thing. I also learned a lot about myself and my cultural identity when I tried to fit in on either side of the divide. I found that it was easy to relate to white students but they kept a certain distance because I was not white. It was harder to relate to black students who more naturally accepted me because they viewed me as "too white." Being in college and away from home for the first time, I wanted to find a place to fit in. I quickly learned that I could never blend in on the white side, but if I adapted some aspects of my language, interests and perspectives, I could with the African-American students. As I engaged in this transformation process, my world grew larger. It was exciting but also frightening, sometimes even painful. One of the frightening aspects was feeling that as I developed as a black person, I might lose my connectedness to my family. Would they think I was different or didn't want to be one of them any more? Would they think I was rejecting them? I had worked so hard all my life making sure they did not think that. I became aware that there were things that my family had not given me, prepared me for. I needed other African-Americans to teach me about who I was and that perhaps I was incomplete the way my family had raised me.
What made this transformation process successful for me was that my family was always my haven from pain. They were open and interested in talking about issues of race and racial tension and they encouraged me to be whomever I would fully develop into. As I changed, they changed with me and welcomed it. My changes made them a more developed family. When my racial identity crisis led me to search for my birth mother, they supported me, shared in the experience, while chiding me that "I was still their girl." A valuable lesson they taught me was to be prepared for others to hurt me because they might not understand or like who I was, and that when this happened, not to hate those others or think they were stupid. They taught me to understand that those other people have a different perspective. This lesson has helped me to make friends with people and groups of people who at one time, would not have liked me or me them.
Today I am proud to announce that I am Irish-African-American and people accept that because of the confidence I have in myself and in the fact that I can easily participate in various cultures and racial groups, without awkwardness. I am still very close to my family and no longer compete with my siblings. I am glad to be adopted and feel that knowing my lifetime family and family of origin makes me complete. I am a champion of transracial adoption, for those families who have the strength and resources to weather its challenges. I hope one day to adopt my own child and add to the rich heritage that is mine.