Adopted?

Little known fact about me:  I teach PSR.  What is PSR?  Well, PSR is Parish School Religion, which was once called:  CCD (Confraternity of Christian Doctrine), and is also known as Catechism.  In other words, if you are Catholic and don't attend a parochial school you go to PSR.  At least, if you or your parents want you to complete the sacraments, but that is another post and for another blog all together.

Anyway...

I took Goofy to PSR with me tonight and one of my students (I teach 4th grade) goes to the school that Goofy attends.  Goofy talks about this girl a lot, all day and all night.  Her sister is in his kindergarten class and we have attended a party at her house so my student is actually one of the few people in my church that A.) I actually know and B.) knows my family.  I am relativity new to this church and only just started to participate outside of just going to Mass.

After class this student was helping me...

student:  the other kids think your son was adopted

me: ha

student: they don't think he looks like you

me: oh (amused)

student: I think Goofy looks like your husband but how can they think he was adopted?

me: eh, let's not tell them and let them think what they want...

Even if I heard the kids talking about my kid being adopted (which assure, he is not) I am not sure that I would correct them...  adopted or not he is mine.

I don't feel the need to explain.  The only time I do (fell the need to explain) is when he starts talking about his other mommy and then I have issues!  She is i-m-a-g-i-n-a-r-y.

I feel like if I have to explain why he is darker then me then it diminishes our sameness.  That our family is somehow different by stating that our family is "mixed" when we are no different then any other family - adopted or not.  That somehow we are not a family because of the preconceived notions others have put on us.

It also does not help that every time one of my students asks me how many kids I have I would give a different number...  boy the looks!   I also do this with my age and any other personal question they throw at me.  I just can not share with the kids anything personal that I would gladly publish on the internet. 

Maybe, I am afraid that they would see me as someone other then their teacher.  Maybe, they would see how human I am and who wants to see adults like that anyway, never mind a teacher.

Or maybe, I just feel it is not their business and if we could get through just one lesson with out me shouting, "Ladies and Gentleman... please stop talking" I might be more incline to share and not ring their angelic necks.

A Story About Why I Started Blogging Again and a Racist

Once upon a time, in a blog far, far away lived a LiveJournal used for venting frustrations and talking endlessly of the troubles and woes of yours truly...  and then I stopped.  Blogging that is.  LJ feels like a diary and that is exactly how I treated it and very few folks knew of its existence (much like this blog).

So... while writing this I went back and took a look at it.  I was really shocked at what I found: 117 Journal Entries, 91 Tags, 11 Memories, 60+ ScrapBook Files, 1 Virtual Gift, 15 Userpics.  Who knew I wrote so much!??!

This time around I wanted to blog for real and not just for the ten people on LiveJournal. And, I started blogging because of something my sister said when I told her the story that I am about to share.

On the Fourth of July, my oldest Sister has family over to watch the fireworks from her front lawn.  This has been a blessing because my son HATES loud noises and by hates I mean he cries uncontrollably, shakes, whole nine yards.  This year we went (sans Husband and Bebe) and as my son and his cousin played I sat in the kitchen, chatting with my oldest sister and her friend/voice coach.

The voice coach is an odd bird, to say the least, and she reminds me of a bird as well...  I am pretty certain she is a cuckoo, she is rail thin, obnoxiously republican and she buys into the whole Obama is a Muslim rhetoric and isn't a citizen (which she will complain at length about if you let her). She was also not invited over, She just happened to be in the neighborhood, hoping to find a parking spot in Lakewood, near the park, on the Fourth of July so she can have a picnic by the lake, on the FOURTH OF JULY?!?!  In order to get parking in Lakewood, near the park, on the Fourth of July... you have to live near the park or know someone... this is how she came to my sister's house that day.

So...  We are sitting in my oldest sister's kitchen, talking and the topics of buying a home vs renting, Lakewood vs everywhere else west of Lakewood and raising children came up...  The voice teacher asked where I live and what I thought and I told her, I am a fan of renting, not everybody should buy, I grew up in Lakewood, yada yada yada, besides... Lakewood has just the amount of diversity I like and the community is very accepting.

Now, reading that you may be wondering... what is she talking about?  Diversity?  I wonder what kind of diversity she is talking about and to that, I would answer:  My kids are mixed, the husband is black, I'm white and in Lakewood, I have not encountered any negativity. Not that I would notice because my husband thinks I am oblivious to racism anyway...

She continues on and on about how much she hates Lakewood now and how there is so much crime...

Well, she is not entirely wrong... Lakewood has had it's share of problems since the economy started tanking but it is still a great community.  I'm in the Early Childhood PTA and the PTO.  I teach PSR at my Church.  I feel safe walking at night.  The kids have a park every 50 feet. It was Voted Best Place to Raise Your Kids in Ohio.  Hello?!?!  This is a great place to live.  But, eh she has a right to her opinions.

All the while we are talking she has not seen my son.  She has heard him playing with his cousin but not actually seen him.  As she continues to bash Lakewood it dawns on me,  she has no idea that she A. sounds racist and B. she is talking to someone married to a black man.

Now, for me to see this from the jump it has to pretty obvious, but I let it go... to each their own and I am not trying to change the opinions of someone who watches Fox News as her only source of news.  I did try to drop a clue here and there to let her know that maybe, just maybe, she was not at a Klan tea party all the while my sister was getting redder and redder.

The woman was just clueless and  just when I think she caught on that when I refer to the kids being mixed I meant mine, she starts pondering the term mulatto out loud and wonders if it was still used and where the term came from...  at this my sister jumps up from the table and leaves the room.  My sister, decides to break out the dictionary as I sit in disbelief that she still does not get that I am referring to my family as being mixed and my sister reads the definition of mulatto.

Comical is an understatement.

She is awfully lucky that I find this whole conversation funny and that I don't mind the term mulatto (although I prefer moolattes).

So... as I sat staring stupidly at the voice teacher, thinking that this whole catastrophe was finally over...my niece comes running through the kitchen with my son close behind her. I hear from the twit... "I love his hair!  Come back here I want to touch your hair, it is so curly!  Where does he get that hair from?"

What did my sister say that prompted this blog post?  "You should blog about that!"