I will never forget when Little Bunny was about four years old and it was a hot, Summer day. We had spent most of the day playing out in the yard and with my pale, Irish skin, it doesn’t take very long before I began to acquire the pallor of a lobster. My daughter, young as she was, understood that being in the sun for a long enough period of time and my skin would start to change color. I will never forget when she came up to me and said, “Look, Mom! My skin is becoming more peach from being in the sun!”
You see, Little Bunny is African American in a family of all-white people. My husband and I are both of Irish decent, so as you can imagine, we are both on the paler side of the genetic spectrum. My daughter has always had a deep desire to find her place, to feel like she belongs. This is so often the cry of our adopted children, no matter what color of their skin.
When she was little, she would often make comments about how the color of her skin was so different from ours. That’s a huge reason I wrote “Little Brown Bonnie” to try to help her feel like she truly belonged in our family, no mistakes.
That day, I had to explain to her that that’s not how it worked, while celebrated the beauty of the skin that God had given her and His creative genius in making such a glorious spectrum of colors. But, then I turned her hand over in mine and showed her the palms of our hands, comparing how similar in color they were. I watched as her little face beamed, finding some small connection to her mama when she felt so out of place.
This small experience helped me to tap into a secret, though, in helping connect with my child that I don’t hear anyone else talking about. This one thing has made all the difference and helped bring some healing to a very broken and bruised child.
Whenever possible, we point out all of the similarities that our children have with us and those in our family. Our girls are fifteen now. They are not naïve to the fact that they don’t have our genetics, but we still point out how they have their father’s brown eyes and their grandmother’s dimples.
I tell Little Bunny how she inherited my artistic skills and her grandfather’s talent for music. I tell Little Lamb how she got my prankster sense of humor and her grandmother’s temper. I tell Little Bunny that she has her great-great grandmother’s eyes, and her grandma’s hands.
We talk about our ancestors and where they came from. I tell them that they would’ve loved their great-grandmother because she had a zany sense of humor, and their great-grandfather who was so tender-hearted. I tell them stories about their Grandma Lynn who cried when she first held them, and their Grandma Ruth who screeched with delight. We also celebrate their biological heritage, but we don’t leave them out of ours. It’s their history, too, and we make sure they know that.
And they grin and want me to tell them more.
I have a friend who actually gets upset when people tell her that her adopted children look like her. Maybe you can relate to that and she thinks that’s what’s best for her family, but I’ve found, in our family, it so much more effective to celebrate our similarities than our differences. Celebrate what makes them unique- absolutely! We should do that with our children whether adopted or biological. But also point out to them the ways they belong so perfectly in your family, ways they can relate, because if your kids are anything like mine, they’re craving to hear those things.
We’re all in this together!
Support For Adoptive Parents 