
How adoption changed my parenting
Monday, 6 February 2012
Let’s endeavor to call things
what they are.
So that when you see my son,
the words “black boy” don’t taste like tin in your mouth,
but like joy unbounded —
for that is what he is.
To me, his blackness is deep
as the ocean, and twice as wide.
In those gradations he carries
his father
and mother
brothers and
tribe.
Pride. Honor. History.
And while his soul is stitched
from more than blackness,
it’s in there
and out there, plain to see.
He certainly sees it,
can feel it
bone-deep.
So put away your ‘colorblind’ entreaties,
swallow that apology and
embrace all that you see
and all that he is.
I’m not raising him to be sorry
for his blackness,
and neither should you
feel it.