Ramblings on the transracial experience

I had a foster son who is African American. He left us 1 week before we went to Rwanda. I miss him dearly. But I thought I was an old pro at this transracial family thing. The looks never bothered me, or the often "are you babysitting?" I thought the views of the public would not effect me.

When we arrived into Dulles it felt so good to be on American soil again. After a few hours in the airport I told Greg, "I must be really tired because the looks never bothered me before, and right now its just really annoying me." I have since realized that I am annoyed because I am no longer a foster mother. I am just a mother.

Perhaps before I felt the looks and questions were more justified. After all, even though my heart told me differently, he wasn't really my son. I also knew that before he was old enough to be affected he would no longer be with me. But Carington REALLY is my daughter. Maybe I read to much into the looks now. But it hurts to know that the world around us sees our relationship as less than legit. Especially because if it hurts me, I know that one day it will hurt her. I want everyone to see us for what we are. Not the babysitter. Not the foster child. Not adoptive mother or adopted daughter. Just mother and daugher, because that is what we are.

I will take comfort, and hopefully teach her to take comfort, in knowing that all that really matters is how God sees us. After all, He saw us as mother and daughter long before we even did.