This time I can’t help but think about Dr. King as I look forward to returning home to give hugs and kisses to three white kids and a black kid that call me mommy.
L is the second African American child that I have been a mom to in the last three months. There are many more Caucasian kids than any other race in foster care, but our first two experiences have been with children whose skin looks different than ours. For our family, having a child of a different race who eats, sleeps, and breathes with us has opened our eyes to some of the racial divides that still exist, many of which we would have never been able to see from our blonde-haired, blue-eyed, white Southern home.
And in no way do I pretend to understand the depths and pains of racial tension that have existed in the past or of those that still exist in some areas today, but I know this – because of Dr. King’s boldness and bravery, his willingness to raise awareness about racial inequality and discrimination, and his efforts “to make justice a reality for all of God’s children,” families like mine exist today, where white kids and black kids come in and out of our home and my kids don’t see a difference.
When J was with us, we often joked about the stories he would later share about his crazy white family. He was fascinated by things we did and had honest-to-God questions for us such as, “if my poop is brown, is your poop white?” He was much more aware that he was different because he is the one that had been uprooted from everything that was normal to him. He mentioned in one conversation that Emory couldn’t be his brother because he didn’t look like him.
Adri: “What do you mean?”
J: “That we aren’t the same color.”
Adri: “Well you ought to see us during the summer. My skin gets way browner than Emory’s and he’s not the same color as me then, either.”
J: “That we aren’t the same color.”
Adri: “Well you ought to see us during the summer. My skin gets way browner than Emory’s and he’s not the same color as me then, either.”
I laughed because it’s true. My older two get very tan in the summers and are a much different “shade” than their younger brother. But I do love that even though our family has experienced our share of stares and inappropriate comments, my kids aren’t really aware of that. Last week we were talking about J and I asked Adri what she thought was the biggest difference between the two of them. She thought about it and then said that he was a lot funnier than her. I asked the same about her brothers and then about L. She said that the biggest difference between she and L is that L is so small.
I could talk about the negatives. I hate that there are negatives. We have had to have some conversations with our children and respond to playground comments that have been made. We have experienced a few awkward moments as a result of caring for kids that look different than us. Not a lot, but enough to open our eyes to subtle racism, blatant racism, and tons of uncomfortableness that is out there.
But in terms of racial segregation, I know that the world I grew up in was very different than the world my parents grew up in. And the world our kids are growing up in is a whole lot different than the one that Josh and I grew up in. I am hopeful that my kids' kids will live in one that is better than today, but I am thankful that I get to experience a little bit of Dr. King’s dream in my home every day.
“I have a dream that one day, little black boys and girls will be holding hands with little white boys and girls.”
I haven’t had to experience being considered “less than” because of the color of my skin, but Dr. King’s mission still gives me hope because he is one of many great people to go before me that chose to stand for what mattered instead of remaining silent. And his voice ultimately brought about change. For the hope of those whose lives have been anything but easy, I am thankful that he wasn’t afraid to dream of things that, at the time, seemed impossible.