I wasn’t planning on writing this. I wasn’t.
But then I read this. About every third thought was taking me back to it. And I began to believe maybe my voice, even in its shakiness, has offerings on the conversation of race.
And then today we went to Phipps Conservatory in Pittsburgh. Afterwards we had lunch in a diverse neighborhood. I hesitate writing the word diverse. I don’t know what that brings to mind for you. What I know is that almost everyone in there was closer to the hue of my son’s skin than mine.
As we sat and laughed and talked, I felt some tears surfacing. The kind that I have learned to pay attention to. I look across the table at my husband. He knows about this something in me that starts to stir without obvious origins. In that moment I don’t have words to describe what is going on internally.
But I know it is important.
I know the tears I hold back in that public place have meaning. They are for a son I long to fight for, but feel so ill-equipped. They are recognizing this day set aside to remember MLK Jr and the vision he embodied. They are for emotions that become so difficult to process.
I enter into this space. This blank screen slowly filling with words to represent my soul. My sanctuary to process and ask for wisdom and compassion to guide my thoughts.
The process surprisingly peers into my own heart. “No, I say, let’s look outward. Systems. Culture.” But the gentle whispers points to me as the starting point.
I want to parent well. Really well. Beyond race. And yet that statement itself reveals my shortcomings.
For you see I oscillate between two frameworks.
Some days I am so aware that he is Hispanic, firmly planted in a Caucasian world.
Some days, I ignore the difference and say ‘we are all the same’.
But I know there is a truth that is greater.
Somewhere between discrimination and color-blind there lies freedom.
Somewhere between fear and ignoring there lies redemption.
I long for my son to be alive in his brown skin and all the rich heritage that brings. To never say to him we are just the same. We aren’t and that’s not my goal. To desire to not eliminate difference, but to celebrate it.
And while acknowledging difference, to impart the truth that his skin color does not limit him. There will be assumptions made and conclusions drawn. But they do not define him nor his abilities nor his character.
Somehow that is how I want to parent. Guiding him to fully embrace his identity, without allowing other viewpoints to define him. There is only one who knows him so intimately. Who sings over him. Who delights in him. Who takes his brown skin and his passionate laugh and obsession with legos, and knows how to release it to a world who is longing for people to do what they are made to do.
That is how I want to parent. And many days I don’t know how. I can’t replicate fully the smells and taste of Guatemala. I wonder if I can teach him strength to faces prejudices I have never known.
So I sit at a restaurant in Pittsburgh, holding back tears.
And I cry out “Help.”
Linking today with Tell His Story
This is beautiful, Melanie. I don’t pretend to understand the complex series of emotions you and someday, your son, must go through to embrace your love for one another, and at the same time, hold onto the distinctives between you. This is a lovely exploration of all of that. Thank you for it.
let the tears fall
I believe they are the Father’s tears
and you make a space for them in your heart
a heart that will break and He will repair
and will grow your son up strong
in His image
Thank you so much for sharing your thoughts, Melanie — I especially appreciate this: “To desire to not eliminate difference, but to celebrate it.” God bless you and your family as you seek to navigate this “diverse” world.
Hi Melanie! I think the fact that you want to parent so well will lead you to do just that. Doesn’t God travel with us in his will? Your son is his will for you. Who knows? He may mean to change you right along with gracing your son with you as a parent.
My family has been foster parents (me too) and adoptive parents ( me too). We have hispanic and african-american members of our very Irish family. They all are doing beautifully because their parents wanted them to have the best life they could give them. And they will keep doing that. Just like you do. Don’t cry, be joyful that your son has YOU and your husband for all the love and support he can handle.
Blessings!
Ceil
This is beautiful. My oldest (bio) daughter is biracial (Mexican, Native American, Caucasian) and we’ve recently adopted 2 African American children. I never made a big deal about her race, don’t know if that was the right approach, but she’s a happy healthy 19 yr old, married and is fine. I still have the same questions you write about here. I know I want my kids to find their identity in Jesus and Him alone. But I still wonder…
This is beautiful, Melanie. I also read that blog post “your privilege is showing” and I just don’t know where to go with it. I just know that I want to live aware, sensitive, connected, living out justice and mercy and… but I feel stuck in a white one-dimensional world. So I’m praying and reading and hoping that awareness is the beginning of transformation, here too. (thanks for coming over to comment on my FMF post last week…I’m happy to have come across your writing here).
Melanie, this is beautifully expressed. I am glad I stopped by to read. “To desire to not eliminate difference, but to celebrate it.” <<< yes to this. And praying for us all to parent in this manner . . . guiding our children to fully embrace their identity in Christ.
Blessings.