There was a vase that sat on a high shelf in your sitting room. In intricate patterns, the overlapping colors create shapes that reminded...
Writing Until It Makes Sense
A mix of creative writing and reflective pieces on topics like family, identity, adoption, and race.
Read some of my personal favorites
"But she's not Black!"
I overheard my White adopted mother proclaim to my White stepfather after a visit from "concerned' neighbors because they saw a Black kid running around the neighborhood.
Today is June 21st, 2023, it's the summer solstice here in the northern hemisphere. 32 years ago, my 42-year-old adopted mother died in a nursing home that overlooked a church.
It starts out so simple and the first face you see you can't really see, you more sense them. And they usually weep at the joy and miracle that is a child. But for you, they cry because they know that this is just not what they want.
At my suburban school, the White kids would ask me "What are you?" confused that my skin came with the White language in a White community. And a pain in my chest would open up and threaten to swallow me whole. Adopted as an infant I had no real information about my biological parents except my biological mom was White and my biological father was Black, and even that information wasn't certain.