Kristin Bair O'Keeffe: Writer. Mom. Teacher. Traveler.

How (Not) to Talk to Adoptive Families: Part V

"How (Not) to Talk to Adoptive Families" is, unfortunately, an ongoing series. If you haven't read parts I-IV, click here, here, here & here.

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A few weeks ago, my husband, daughter, and I were eating lunch at my favorite diner in Newburyport, and things were going along nicely--great eggs and sausage, happy chatter with our almost-three-year-old, back in our old stomping ground, no major tantrums, etc. Then halfway through the meal, two women and an elevenish-year-old girl sat down at the table next to us, and almost immediately, the older, blondish woman initiated what I call the "inquisitive stare" stage of trying to make sense of our family dynamic.

First, she took a long look at Tully, our daughter from Vietnam, and then an even loooonnngggger look at me and my husband, two folks quite obviously not from Vietnam. After assessing things for about seven minutes (enough time for me to finish one-half of my most-delicious grilled English muffin), the woman started doing the thing that almost always annoys the piss out of me...trying to meet my eyes because now that she'd gathered enough information and assessed the situation, she had something to say or ask.

But I didn't want to hear it. I wanted to eat the other half of my most-delicious grilled English muffin, enjoy the time with my family, and do my best to keep Tully's chocolate milk from spilling all over the table.

Unfortunately, the woman would have none of that. Eventually she wedged her way into our meal with casual comments about Tully: "She's darling." (Thank you.) "She really likes pancakes." (Yep.) "Is she going to eat all that bacon?" (Yes, indeed she is.)

And so on.

Thankfully, the woman had enough smarts to keep her real question to herself until my husband and daughter headed for the door ahead of me, but as soon as they were, she swooped in like an osprey going after a trout...talons first.

"When did you get her?" she said.

"Excuse me?" I said, delaying the inevitable.

"When did you get her?" she repeated, this time wagging her thumb at the door through which my husband and daughter had thankfully disappeared.

When did I GET my daughter? GET her? Seriously?

As I took a deep breath, I silently asked myself how wrong it would be to pour what remained of my daughter's chocolate milk over this woman's head. Very wrong? A little bit wrong? Not so wrong at all?

"Our daughter," I said, modeling adoption-friendly language in the same way I model proper sentence construction for my daughter, "came home when she was eight months old."

Then I turned my back and left, deciding that very wrong was the right answer to the chocolate milk question.

I kept my answer to this woman's question short, but here's the long version for anyone who's wondering:

You do not GET a child.

 

You get bangs.

You get taller.

You get an appointment.

You get a dog.

You get laid.

You get lucky.

You get UGG boots.

You get a new job.

You get a "B" on a test.

You get thirsty.

You get hungry.

You get pepperoni on your pizza.

You get here.

You get there.

You get a pogo stick for your birthday.

You get paid.

You get on a plane.

You get on a train.

You get in a car.

You get a margarita.

You get a glass of wine.

You get calls from telemarketers.

You get an engagement ring.

You get a foot of snow.

You get email.

You get the flu.

You get the common cold.

You get mad.

 

But you do not GET a child.

 

___

Photo by Liz Noffsinger / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Expat in China: 10 of My Favorite Blog Posts from 2009

You know what I'm thinking after re-reading my blog posts from the last 4.5 years? Good gracious Mavis...I've been in China for a good long time. I've seen a lot. I've done a lot. I've explored a lot. And now? Some days I feel like I know something about China; other days I'm pretty sure I don't have a clue.

Either way, here are 10 of my favorite posts from 2009. (If you haven't read my favorite posts from 2006, 2007, or 2008, check them out.)

• "Iron Goddess: A Tea Ceremony"

• "How to Launch a Debut Novel (In the U.S.) from Shanghai, China"

• "The New Website for THIRSTY Has Launched" (Over a year later, and I still love this website. Check it out here.)

• "Got a Dirty Pan? SHOUT it out!" (Still shaking my head at this one.)

• "Baby + Book Deal = Joy, Triumph, Exhaustion, Awe, Amazement, Exhaustion" (If you read any of the posts, read this one. It's the whole story.)

• "The Big, BIG Dog: Old China vs New China" (Still shaking my head at this one, too.)

• "How (Not) to Talk to Adoptive Families, Part I" (This isn't one of my "favorite" posts, but it's one my most important posts. If you're interested, I've continued on with this series. You can find the others under the "Adoption" category on the blog.)

• "Publication Day! It's Here! October 1, 2009!" (Another uber-amazing day. The publication of my novel THIRSTY.)

• "Boys Against Girls: Toy Store Triumphs In Gender Petrification" (climbing onto my soapbox...)

• "They Freed the Plum Pudding!" (Thank goodness.)

How (Not) to Talk to Adoptive Families: Part IV

Setting: the small gym in our apartment building in Shanghai

Setup: I’m on the elliptical machine with the Black-Eyed Peas blasting in my ears when this 10ish-year-old kid named Frederick (name changed) whom I’ve known for over three years hops onto the elliptical next to me. Most of the time, I like Frederick. He’s smart, boisterous, friendly, and funny. But he’s also got a bit of a dark side, and when his folks aren’t looking, he often taunts younger kids, gets physical (swings bookbags at unsuspecting heads, etc.), and looks for ways to irritate adults.

Here's how it went:

Frederick: "So...did you adopt Tully?" (This was his opening line.)

Me: (pauses music) "I couldn't hear you, Frederick. What did you say?" (even though I'd heard him perfectly)

Frederick: "Did you adopt Tully?"

Me: (takes off headphones) "Yes, we did. Tully's dad and I adopted her from Vietnam."

Frederick: "Oooohhhhhh, THAT'S why she doesn't look like you."

Me: "That's why she doesn't look like me." (Hoping to leave it at that, I turn to look for Frederick's mom who often follows him into the gym at this time of day for Frederick's 30-minute workout, but alas, she's nowhere to be seen.)

Frederick: (obviously not planning to leave it at that) "Because if Tully were your REAL daughter, she would look like you."

Me: (I take a very deep breath so I don't tell this 10ish-year-old kid to *#@&% off as I consider how Tully would feel if she were standing within earshot and heard this kid say that she's not my REAL daughter. I think about the many ways she does look like me and her dad--gestures, facial expressions, voice inflections--the many beautiful ways she probably looks very much like her birth parents, and the miraculous ways she looks like her own gorgeous self. I also think about the word "real" and its implications.) "Frederick, what I think you mean is that if I'd given birth to Tully, she would look more like me physically. But birth or not, Tully is my real daughter."

Frederick: (churns away on his elliptical) "But if you didn't give birth to her, she's not your REAL daughter. You know what I mean?"

Me: (I attempt to minimize the steam puffing out of my ears and remember that this is a 10ish-year-old kid and that this is an opportunity to educate him about adoption, but OMG, it's so hard. This half-Indian, half-Chinese very privileged kid lives in China, attends an international school, and has savvy, world-smart parents who've lived all over the world; two of this kid's close friends are Chinese sisters who were adopted by an American couple...does he talk to them like this?) "I know exactly what you mean, Frederick, but you are wrong. Tully is my daughter. No, I did not give birth to her, but she is my real daughter."

Denouement: With that, I turn up my music. Frederick's mouth keeps moving but the Black-Eyed Peas drown out his words. I'm not in the mood to explain or defend my family. After a few minutes, his mom comes in, tells him to stop bothering me with his chatter, and puts him on the exercise bike in front of "Xi Yang Yang," a wildly popular Chinese cartoon show about a happy sheep.

_____

Note: This, unfortunately, is Part IV in my ongoing series "How (Not) to Talk to Adoptive Families." If you're interested, you can read Parts I, II, and III here, here, and here.

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Photo Credit: graur codrin / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Big, Sad, Happy, Crazy News...We're Leaving China

Okay, folks, here's the scoop.

After spending 4 1/2 years in Shanghai, China, we are repatriating. We'll be moving back to the United States at the beginning of October.

Wow...did I just say that out loud? Cause you know, saying it out loud makes it real.

Let's listen again.

After spending 4 1/2 years in Shanghai, China, we are repatriating. We'll be moving back to the United States at the beginning of October.

Holy cannoli.

I said it out loud. It must be true.

How do I feel?

Damn good question with no easy answers. To help clarify the three main emotions I've been experiencing since making this life-changing, boom-da-da-boom-da-da-boom-da-da-boom decision, I drew a few pictures. Let's see if this helps us sort it out:

I'm happy. Very happy. I can't wait to have family and U.S. pals within hugging distance. Get ready...I'll be hugging BIG!

I'm so so sad. I'm gonna miss many things like Mr. Chen (our driver), the Chicken Man, my writing pals, my writing students, lots of very special friends, Out Loud! (the reading series I run), kick-ass jiaozi (dumplings), an incredibly diverse multi-cultural life, easy access to tropical paradises (i.e., Borneo), having an ayi to clean up every single mess my two-year-old makes, my daughter's bilingual school, the monks at the Longhua Temple, the view of the Pearl Tower from my 23rd floor apt, and...and...and...

Oh me gosh. Y'all know that moving is crazy even if you're only moving a few blocks down the street, but moving to the other side of the world is even crazier. It's a completely insane journey that (as you can see) is already making me just a wee bit loony. And guess what? I'm only going to get loonier. 

Sooooo...anyway...I imagine I'll be doing a lot of writing in the next 6 or so weeks about China and change and all the crazy stuff that happens during this process. Pop in often to witness the happy-sad-loony tales (a.k.a. the yippee-boohoo-OMG tales) of my next around-the-world move.

How (Not) to Talk to Adoptive Families: Part III

Yep. Part III. (Haven't read Parts I and II? Click here and here respectively.)

Yesterday I was at a kid's birthday party with 2.5-year-old daughter in Shanghai and I met a woman from Eastern Europe. A seemingly smart woman who has lived in Shanghai for five years, is married to a guy from a different country than her own, is mom to a one-year-old daughter, and will give birth to her second in September.

Pretty savvy, right?

So we were chatting. The normal expat chatter: "How long have you lived here? Whose job brought you here?" Yadda, yadda, yadda. A few kids raced past. The woman said, "Which one is yours?"

I pointed to Tully as she screeched to a halt in front of me. "That one."

The woman jolted upright. "That one?" she said, pointing at Tully as if there was no way in hell that one could be my daughter.

"Yep, this one," I said, once again indicating Tully who was by then wrapped around my legs.

Because I'm very familiar with the "big-crap-is-about-to-come-out-of-this-person's-mouth-about-adoption" tone of voice, I knew I should have scooped Tully up in my arms and headed home...or at least hightailed it to a different room.

But before I could move or speak, the woman tossed back her head and laughed. Then she said, "Who is her father?"

"Excuse me?" I said. But then somehow instead of punching this obviously-not-so-smart woman in the face (which is what I really want to do), I ended up explaining that my husband was from Ireland and that we had adopted Tully from Vietnam.

All while Tully was standing there, looking up at me, hugging my legs, and listening.

Then the woman said, "Oh, my god, how did you feel when they plopped a one-year-old in your arms?"

I wanted to say, "In love. Peaceful. The happiest I've ever been in my life. Glowy. Thankful. Totally overwhelmed. Frightened. Just like every other mom in the world--birth or adoptive," but instead I sat there fighting back the tears because all I could think was "Tully is listening to this nincompoop."

Of course, the woman couldn't leave well enough alone. She studied us for a few minutes, then said, "You know, she kind of resembles you. Thin. Long face. She could almost be your daughter."

"Uh, dumb-ass," I should have said, "she is."

But instead...I sat frozen in my seat, confounded by this woman's brazen insensitivity. My face flaming with anger and mortification.

To be fair, the woman's husband looked a little embarrassed as she spoke, and I believe he actually sensed my discomfort. Maybe his wife is a nincompoop all the time. Maybe she's just one of those people who, no matter what the circumstance, sticks her big foot in her mouth.

Today?

I'm pissed at myself...because I didn't handle the conversation better...because I haven't yet gotten down a smooth response to people like this...because I feel like I didn't protect Tully properly.

But don't worry. I'll be fine. My hubs and I have an ongoing conversation about how best to respond to intrusive questions/comments about our family. It's a process...like everything else in life.

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Photo by Salvatore Vuono / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Tully & Katie: A Long Friendship (and a lot of ice cream)

Way back in September 2008 when Andrew and I were in Vietnam bringing Tulliver home, we met our wonderful friends Becky and Brian (B&B) Stelmack who were also in Vietnam adopting their daughter Katie. Tully and Katie were in the same orphanage and had known each other for most of their young lives.

Vietnam, September 2008 (Kristin & Tully, Becky & Katie)

Each time we've returned to the U.S. to visit since our adoptions were finalized, we've met up with the Stelmacks, and Katie and Tully have been able to continue the friendship that began when they were wee babies. It's a sweet, loving connection, and when they're not together, Tully says things like, "I went to the beach with my friend Katie," and Katie says things like, "Tully's mumma is Kristin." They look at photos and videos of each other, and we parents talk a lot about the girls to them. It's an important connection.

Last Sunday, almost two years later after our journey to Vietnam, we met the Stelmack family in Newburyport for a day at the beach, lunch, ice cream, and some good Tully/Katie time.

As predicted, these two precocious two-year-olds were a hoot together. It was terrific.

Katie (left) & Tully (right)

"I'll help you."

"This is my bucket. That's your bucket."

A bit of mountain climbing. (These girls are up for anything!)

Lots of hugging going on.

"Hey, Katie, come smell these flowers...the dirt smells good, too."

"I like ice cream. How 'bout you, Tully? You like ice cream?"

"Oh yeah, I LOVE ice cream."

"...especially when I'm running around a tree."

"Try some of mine?"

"Oh, that's delicious!"

Moms & daughters. Look how our girls have grown.

Whew...we're thirsty.

And yeah, maybe a little tired.

How (Not) to Talk to Adoptive Families: Part II

On July 27, 2009, I wrote Part I of "How (Not) to Talk to Adoptive Families."

Unfortunately, here's Part II:

A month or so ago I was visiting preschools in Shanghai, looking for a good fit for my two-year-old daughter Tully. I wanted what all moms and dads want for their child's first school: a warm, creative, loving atmosphere with fun, attentive, smart teachers and a safe environment in which to thrive.

At one particular school that I'll not name here, I met with the staffing director, a Shanghainese woman named Katrina*.

After a tour of the school, Katrina and I sat down in the office to fill out paperwork and talk. Because the toddler classroom was located on the second floor of the building and featured a balcony, I wasn't interested in the school. Big safety issues. But I filled out an information form anyway: protocol.

Next to the question "What is your child's nationality?"I wrote Vietnamese.

"Vietnamese?" Katrina said, reading over my shoulder.

"Yes," I said.

"You are...?"

"From the United States."

 "And your husband is from?" Katrina glanced at the form. "Ireland."

"Yes," I said.

Katrina waited for me to explain. I didn't. I tried to move the conversation to the necessary topic: whether or not I was interested in sending Tully to school there.

But Katrina? Nope, Katrina was not ready to let go of the question of Tully's nationality.

"I don't understand," she said. "How is your daughter Vietnamese if you are American and your husband is Irish?"

[Quick pause to explain that while Katrina is from Shanghai, her English is excellent. There wasn't a language problem going on.]

"We adopted Tully from Vietnam," I said after a long silence during which I tried to decide whether to answer or leave abruptly. In retrospect, I should have left abruptly.

Katrina and her husband, it turns out, had talked a lot about adopting a child themselves. Of course, in China, most couples are still only allowed to have one child (although this is changing a little). So in the end, adoption was not a possibility.

"Besides," Katrina went on to explain, "I don't believe you can love an adopted child as much as you love 'your own child.'"

See?

Should have left abruptly.

Without going into the details of every one of my responses, here's a quick list of the things Katrina said to me over the next (very long) 5 minutes:

• If you get very angry and beat your child, "your own" child will understand that you did it because you love him. Your adopted child will always think it's his fault.

• Does your daughter [pause] "look" Vietnamese?

• You can't love an adopted child as much as you love "your own child." (She said this a number of times.)

• I don't understand...why don't you have a child of "your own"?

There were a lot of issues buzzing around this conversation, including a wide cultural gap that I couldn't have narrowed no matter what I'd said. Adoption isn't common in China, and many people are bewildered by the concept. But Katrina? She's a pretty smart, educated woman with a lot of interaction with the expat community. Even if these thoughts were in her head, she should have known to keep her trap shut.

"I have a child of my own," I told her before I left the school.

"Oh," she said, getting visibly excited, "you have a child besides your daughter? A child of your own?"

[OMG]

"No, I have one child," I said, "I have my daughter."

"I don't understand," she said. "You just said you have a child of your own."

"Exactly," I said.

_______

*Katrina's name has been changed.

Happy Birthday to You, Happy Birthday to Tully...

So my daughter Tulliver is two years old today. I'd ask where the heck time has gone, but that would sound cliche. (But really, where has time gone?)

Tully's a hoot. A lovely, sparkly, funny, chatty, climbing-like-crazy, creative hoot.

Currently, I'm trying to teach her not to touch other people's nostrils (figured starting with others' nostrils is best; we'll get to her own soon enough). She's now obsessed with the "nostril" game. It goes like this:

"Is this nostril?" she asks, pointing to my forehead.

"I don't know, is it?" I ask in response.

"No!" she shrieks, laughing. "That's forehead!"

"Is this nostril?" she asks, pointing to my ear.

"I don't know, is it?" I ask in response. (Clearly I know my role by now.)

"No!" she shrieks, laughing. "That's ear."

"Is this nostril?" she asks, pointing to my left nostril.

"I don't know, is it?" I ask in response.

"Yes!" she shrieks, laughing. Then she gets a very serious look on her face and says (as she sticks her finger up my nose), "No touch Mumma's nostril."

Oy.

Baby + Book = Joy, Triumph, Exhaustion, Awe, Amazement, Exhaustion

When Andrew and I first moved to China in 2006, I had two dreams:

1. I wanted a baby.
2. I wanted to publish my novel Thirsty.

Each morning during that first year in Shanghai, I swam somewhere between 50 and 80 laps in our apartment compound's pool. With each stroke, I chanted (silently, of course, since my head was usually underwater):

baby
book deal
baby
book deal
baby
book deal

I'm a big believer in the power of positive thinking followed by positive action.

So each day I swam, visualized, and chanted.

Then I dried off, sat down at my desk, and worked my ass off.

Now, three and a half years later, my 18-month-old daughter is taking a nap and I'm organizing blog tours and readings in Pittsburgh for the launch of Thirsty (October 2009).

It's glorious.

And exhausting.

It's exciting.

And overwhelming.

It's exactly the happiness I imagined.

It's bigger and better than the happiness I imagined.

Of course, I do need to find/create a little balance. That became clear yesterday when a friend asked, "Are you doing anything but spending time with Tully and working?"

Hem. Haw. Hem. Haw.

"Uh, not much," I finally responded, then started thinking:

Well, I went to the Salvador Dali exhibit here in Shanghai on Saturday, but I was home by one o'clock working away in my office.

And I watched a pretty bad movie with Andrew recently, but numerous times I hit "pause," visited my computer for email updates from my publicist, and was completely focused on anything but enjoying either the film or hubby.

And I did force myself out for a foot massage last night with a friend, but then worked for two more hours when I got home, stumbled to bed at 11:15, got to sleep at midnight, then rose again at 5:30 a.m.

So yes, really, right now, there's little else but baby and book.

Recently a friend (the wondrous poet Sage Cohen) who also has been nurturing a baby and a book instituted a "Saturday Sabbath" in her home. Every Saturday, from now on (in Sage's words) "all work comes to a halt and the family simply relaxes, enjoys each other, and follows the threads of curiosity and delight wherever they might lead us."

Great idea, isn't it?

I'm considering follow Sage Cohen's lead.

I asked for my dreams. I worked for them. I got them. Both of them. Baby and book. I'm grateful and know how lucky I am. But now I've got to follow through with a little balance.

Here's a recent look at the baby:

Technorati Tags: Kristin Bair O'Keeffe, Shanghai, China, Thirsty, first novel, baby, Tully, writing

How (Not) To Talk to Adoptive Families

Yesterday. Sunday. Approximately 4:00 p.m.

As usual, hot in Shanghai. Humid, steamy, boiling hot.

After Tully's nap, Andrew and I take her to the little play area in the apartment complex across the street. Despite the swarms of mosquitoes, the climbing structure here is a little better than the one at our place. Plus there's a small cafe nearby that makes good smoothies.

As we approach we see a tall Western guy and his Chinese wife hanging out with their two kids; she's quite obviously pregnant with their third. Their little girl looks to be pretty close to Tully's age. "Cool," I say to Andrew, always happy when Tully has someone to commune with.

"Hello."

"Hello."

"Hello."

"Hello."

After the round of simple greetings (during which I figure out the guy is Australian), Tully heads for the stairs of the climbing structure. I follow. Andrew stays near the slide waiting for her descent. When Tully and I reach the top of the slide, the Australian guy turns to Andrew and says, "Did you move here to adopt HER?" While he says it, he wags his thumb at Tully.

I freeze; adrenalin sets me on fire. The question, the guy's tone of voice, and the wagging of the thumb is all so...so...callous.

Tully is now sitting at the top of the slide, smiling and quietly repeating "Dada, Dada, Dada" as she readies for the big swoosh to the bottom. Though she can hear this guy's question and see his wagging thumb, she's not old enough yet to understand what's going on. But soon enough she will be.

Andrew doesn't answer the guy. I don't answer the guy. Even though we know that many Australians are much more direct than Americans and way more direct than Irish folks, we are both still stunned. My blood is pumping like crazy; I hear my heart in my ears. I'm pissed. Beyond pissed.

I stare at the guy. He's a big, ugly man who clearly moved to China and took advantage of the fact that many young, beautiful Chinese girls are more than happy to marry big, ugly men who carry fat wallets and foreign passports. His wife is young, lovely, and obviously a healthy breeder...clearly a good prize for a hairy, knobby guy at least twice her age.

Suddenly, in response to his "Did you move here to adopt HER?" I want to say, "Did you move here to adopt HER?"...meaning his wife.

But I don't. I press my lips so tightly together I don't think my mouth will ever open again. I don't want to get into the habit of engaging negatively on playgrounds, but I also need to figure out a way to deal with insensitive neanderthals (men and women) who think they can say/ask anything.

I mean, what if I walked up to a dad who was playing with his birth children on a playground and said, "Hey, how many times did you have to do your wife before she got pregnant?"

I would never do that. No one would. So why do people feel such freedom to ask very personal questions in rude ways of adoptive families?

And let me reiterate, I don't mind talking about adoption. I'm proud of our family, of Tully, of her heritage. And if someone is interested in how we came to be a family, I'm happy to engage appropriately.

Anyway, after a few more minutes of play, we headed for the cafe and the good smoothies.

Breathe.

Technorati Tags: Kristin Bair O'Keeffe, Shanghai, China, Tully, adoption, family