Hall of Mirrors

Chris is a shy little guy, 5 years old and black. His parents, Allie and Hal, are white. When I met Chris, I couldn’t help wanting to reach out and say, “I’m adopted, too! Can I help you?”

I’m not sure exactly what in the world “Can I help you?” meant, but I wanted to say it. I think I wanted to invite him to talk about being adopted.

I was aware that my gaze must surely be telling him that I was thinking of his “adopted-ness”. How he must get this all the time- so many thoughts coming through so many eyes. Chris doesn’t mirror his parents. People are wondering, “Where did he come from?”, as did I from my own perspective.

I wonder if the mirroring that Chris is getting from the world-at-large seems to tell him he’s an alien from another planet. Is it like living in the Fun House at the carnival where every mirror tells you something different- and distorted- as though you don’t share the same shape as the rest of the human community? I know I’ve felt this way and I’m not even in an interracial adoptive family.

It must be equally crazy for adoptive parents. Their love for their child is colorblind, yet society, broadly, is not.

Words don't tend to be enough to "cure" any adoptee of insecurities. After meeting Chris, I'm left wondering, "If it were somehow appropriate to tell Chris one supportive thing- as though I could whisper it in his ear, one adoptee to another- what would it be?"