Italians make best parents for adopted Indian children

I was actually laughing as I was reading this article.... because once again, I see how the PC thing to do is to address adoption identity issues, without playing the color/ethnic/race-card.

When it comes to international adoption, for some reason, it's not ever correct or acceptable to call a spade a spade.  Why?  I'll never know.  The friends I have with mixed children, or black and white parents tell me it's really difficult not fully fitting-in... but we have learned these are things that we can only discuss in private, because no one these days wants to be seen as being a racist bigot.

I grew-up in an adoptive family where Like was supposed to stay with Like... and if you messed with that, you were only asking for trouble.

My east-coast blue collar Adad married a west-coast "Golden Girl".  One went to public school and the Army after graduation; the other went to country clubs and got a private college education.  Both had a shot-gun wedding, where the bride wore a light blue suit.  In my case, this is where my family-life began.  Three years after an emergency hysterectomy, my arrival was being planned.

Growing-up, my old-world Italian Adad had a policy... a policy handed-down to him by his Italian family...  I was to do as I was told and I was never to bring home anyone with skin darker than his dark (very hairy) olive-colored skin.

In fact, the whiter and more Irish-looking, the better, according to my "traditional"  Good Catholic-Irish Amother. 

In my mind, I thought the best and funniest advice came from my friends -- "Whatever you do, don't bring home a red-head!". 

At this point, I should mention I was a matched-baby... one with very fair skin, light strawberry blond hair, and big brown eyes.  My appearance allowed my Aparents the freedom to chose what it was they wanted others to know about themselves.  I could be the adopted orphan, "saved" from a very poor region (with very bad orphanages) or I could be the little sister born into my chosen-clan... (the one chosen through an adoption-plan.)  I imagine back then, (late 1960's), matched-adoptions cost quite a bit of money from "specialized" private agencies.  Back then, white children were not available through foster-care.  Back then, married women were not supposed to be infertile.

While I always knew I was adopted, life got very confusing for me.  Some days my Amother loved to brag how I was adopted.  Other days it would be "our secret".  I learned to hate the phrase, "You look just like your mother!".

My comment, "I wouldn't know", was rarely appreciated. 

I was "the first" in my extended Afamily to be adopted.  After me, adoption became easier.  I remember when the little niece of a brother-in-law was brought into my Afather's large family.  Her mother had died, so her uncle and his wife (my Adad's younger sister) adopted the little girl, making the little girl their own.  [Kinship adoption, in my mind, is NOT the same as ICA.]

I'll never forget how my grandmother would talk hushity-hush about "the difficult situation".  I was still quite young, but I remember my name being used a lot and how this next adoption would be "a little easier".  I remember my Afather's mother being able to accept one simple fact:  the child in question was a blood-relation to her son-in-law.  That blood-connection, in her mind, made a real difference.  The adoption was approved and accepted... no more questions asked.

Years later, another family-member decided to adopt.  This time it was a cousin... my Afather's cousin.  This adoption was even easier, even though the little boy was from Korea. 

I'll never forget this adoption-process -- my Amother was on the phone all the time with her cousin-in-law.  As the only "family member" who adopted outside of the country, there were many questions only she (my Amother) could answer.  I have no doubt my Amother felt like a much needed and wanted heroic celebrity.  Meanwhile, back at family headquarters, grandma was holding court, and discussing her concerns with various daughters.  After much debate and discussion, it was decided grandma could and would accept her brother's daughter's adoption because of two key points.  1)  The child's skin was dark, like everyone else's.... AND 2) the cousin/"new mother-to-be" had small squinty eyes, making the slanted eyes of the child's somewhat "the same".  [The third unspoken relief was this child was going to belong to another family... a  family that was blood-related, yet still had grandparents who shared a different last-name.]

Maybe many adoptive parents around the world don't care how and what their adopted child looks like... or from where that child came.  But as the adoptee who heard more than her share of "jokes" and discussions.... let my words be remembered:  what is said behind backs and closed doors is NOT that same as what's being spoken in larger groups or in public.  Parental acceptance does NOT mean complete full-family approval.

This adoptee may have pretended to be deaf, dumb and blind... but after many years, listening to those around me, I knew I was NOT stupid.  In my case, this was a very disturbing, upsetting, unsettling, hurtful, truth.