It’s funny the things that stick with us, isn’t it? The words said in childish ignorance, completely mindlessly, that remain an echo all these years later.
To preface; I completely understand where (let’s call her Esme), where Esme was coming from when she said this. For what child of eleven wouldn’t have jumped to the same conclusion?
I was in year 5, at a rural, small middle school in Somerset. The class had broken off into small groups and was casually chatting about this and that, and nothing much at all. Then, the ever-recurrent topic of families came up. I can’t quite remember why, but the words “I’m adopted” leapt out of my mouth before I’d even finished thinking of them. And suddenly, much to my horror, all eyes turned to me. Nobody knew what to say, nobody knew whether I was joking or whether they’d even heard me correctly. And then Esme broke the silence: “You’re not adopted, don’t be silly, I’ve seen you with your dad!” And you see, Esme wasn’t entirely wrong. For that very morning, she had seen me chatting to a dad (of another child) when I got dropped off at school.
Therein lay the multifaceted confusion. See, for those of you who don’t know me, I’m mixed-race, half Thai and half Burmese. And my inter-country adoptive parents are both caucasian. So when Esme had seen me chatting to my friend’s mixed-race dad, she’d logically concluded that he therefore must be mine, and that our similar skin tone ergo erased the possibility I was adopted.
I remember feeling confused that she spoke with such confidence, such assuredness about something she was entirely wrong about. And anyway, how could she possibly know whether I was or was not adopted? I sat in shocked silence for a long while whilst she recalled seeing me with the aforementioned dad that morning. All the other kids nodded along, unsure of why I’d lie about something so admissible.
That’s when I thankfully recovered my voice and called out, uncharacteristically confidently, to our beloved teacher. Mrs Ross (real name – deservedly so. Imagine Miss Honey’s older sister, and 10x more lovely). I said, “Mrs Ross, aren’t I adopted?” To which she looked up from her marking with a mixture of amusement and perplexity on her face, and simply replied: “Of course you are, Mya”. With one of her sun-sweet smiles. Once more, all eyes were back on me. And I was hit with a barrage of questions: how, why, when?
You see, this is just one example of the kinds of situations that children who are of an intercountry adoptive background experience. I bear no grudge, no resentment, nothing of that nature. But I do hope for a more educated youth of today, and more open conversations about the many different ways families can come to be. In fact, this hope has been met with real promise recently – when I read a storybook to a group of 4-year-olds about a child who had two ‘mummies’. But that’s a blog post for another time. (For context: I’m in a short-term placement at a Nursery for 0-5 year olds). Again, a story for another post.
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