“So…when are you having the talk?”
A friend and I were discussing adoption. He knew what we’d gone through to be united with Little Danger, and he had settled on a point of curiosity. I was confused by the question.
“Which talk, birds and bees?”
“No, THE talk.” I stared back at him blankly. I raised one eyebrow, quizzically. I’d always wanted to do something quizzically, anyhow.
“When are you going to tell him he’s adopted?” he asked, as if it were the most natural question in the world.
“Oh, we’ve already done that,” I answered, as if it were the most natural answer.
“But he’s not 1 yet…when are you going to tell him so he’ll understand?”
For us, that’s just not an issue. It’s something natural, something we bandy about. When he plays with that one certain toy, the one his birthmother gifted to him, we call it by her name. We call her his birthmother. We talk about how we love her, as a family, just like Memaw…well, maybe an aunt or uncle. Memaw is irreplaceable, moon pie.
Adoption is a fact, it will always be there. It’s his story, his background. It’ll be part of the scenery for us, just as it should be.
I mean, we don't go overboard...it's not like we sing "Head, shoulders knees and toes you're adopted". But we also don't hide it. It just is.
We talked a bit more, but my friend still didn’t get it. “No, Danger, when do you tell him about it?”
This had gone on for a little while, and I had struggled to get the point across. Finally I saw my opening.
“Well, when do you think T is going to tell her kids they’re black?” He stopped talking, the look of a man just hit by a conversational 2x4 on his face.
“Oh, OK,” he said. The light of understanding had come on in his eyes. Sometimes, only the absurd example will work. We moved on to the really important stuff…football scores and wines.
I was reminded of this by Single Dad Laughing, and I can say I’ve been lucky never to have come across some of these rude damn questions. I am truly thankful for that.