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This Is Us
Learning to Parent My Black Daughter
People can learn. I still am.
“Race is a mirage, but one that we do well to see…” — Ibram X. Kendi
“Would you adopt a child of a different race from your own?”
When the social worker asked me that question a little over 15 years ago, I replied almost glibly. “Of course. Who wouldn’t?” She pointed out that 95% of prospective parents want a child who looks like them. I felt very superior in rejecting that notion. What would race have to do with my ability to love?
I see now how much my answer was all about me.
Adoption isn’t like ordering from a menu at a hospital — check off your choices and someone brings your order later on a tray. You can’t really say, “I want a green-eyed redhead of roughly seven pounds.” But the truth of the matter was that whenever I pictured my child, I pictured a girl of mixed heritage. Girl because my closest friends are female, and mixed because I am. As the son of a Cuban immigrant and a Yankee farm girl, I learned code-switching at an early age and knew how to navigate differing perceptions of my identity. I thought this would make me a natural at shepherding a mixed kid through life.
The universe granted my wish, a healthy daughter. But while I was of mixed…
