Category: Uncategorized

Defining Moments – Carissa’s Post

.Reading time 5 minutes.

Last time I posted about one of the major defining moments in my life.  I talked my friend Carissa into writing some of her memories of the same day.  Here is some of what she wrote:

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I remember a lot of concrete. This was an orphanage for the mentally and physically disabled. As we walked up to the metal doors and waited on a mentally challenged teen to open the door, it felt surreal, almost like a horror movie.

Inside we were led up a few flights of concrete stairs. I can still see the layout of that floor. The rooms were lined up, in all their grayness, with different ages and abilities in each. The second room made me freeze. There were maybe 8-10 toddlers tied to potty chairs, just sitting there rocking.

The next room had beds for kids who couldn’t get up. The bed closest to the window was empty, but you could see exactly where the child always laid. The hollow and the pee stains looked old. The girl in the next bed looked like the Toy Story doll without any hair. I remember my heart felt a little warmer when the volunteer who had brought us pointed to the picture above the bed. It had a name on it. Someone did value her!

Then it was lovin’ time! These girls from the UK would come every day and take one kid, for one hour each and just give them attention. How cool was this! They had a room with padding on the floor and a few balls and toys. The volunteers would brush teeth, sing and play, change diapers (very, very dirty diapers) and smile a lot. I remember playing with one little boy and giving him piggyback rides. He had this piece of string that he would wind around his finger and then hide back in his teeth. After play time was over, they told me I was hanging out with a 15 year old girl. Yeah, a little strange.

Feeding time was another shock to my system. All these little kids needed to be fed in a timely manner I guess, so the orphanage workers just shoveled it in faster than I thought possible. And then it was my turn to feed. I sat in front of this 2 or 3 or 4 year old and tried to get the big metal spoon into his mouth. And then my eyes met his. I saw Jesus. I don’t know how, but that is what I saw. Jesus’ eyes were staring back at me. This was one of the “least”. I will never forget that.

Before we left the orphanage that day, they took us on a quick walk around the building. Many rooms with many kids, sitting in beds.  I don’t remember much except the empty faces. And giving my Band-Aid and my ABC gum to two excited kids. They had nothing.

It took me days to process what I had seen. Even now, 13 years later, the memories bring deep emotion with them. That day at Siret will always be with me. And I am a better person because of it.

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This is just part of Carissa’s journey in loving the “least”, but today her and her husband Jon are in the process of adopting two babies from Uganda.  If you are interested in helping their dream come true, here is a link to their facebook, they are doing a t-shirt sale to raise funds.  They are an awesome example of intentional parenting. Every time I’m with them I’m inspired. 

 

      
Men’s Front                                                           Ladies Back

 Truthfully it feels kind of funny to do this, because you know, only “real” bloggers do giveaways.  But this cause is so exciting to me, I can’t help but be a part of it.

If you leave a comment on this post, by Friday March 4, I’ll enter you into a random drawing for two of Jon & Cari’s t-shirts.  One for you and one for the man in your life.  

So you’ve got nothing to lose, leave a comment! I’ll announce the winner on a pulse; and then get in touch for the address and stuff. Thanks Everybody!

My Daughter the Racist

.Reading time 6 minutes.

I downloaded & read the NurtureShock book recently, and found it fascinating. A lot of the chapters weren’t anything hugely significant or shocking, but one chapter especially had me absorbed.  It was the chapter concerning race and how we teach our kids about race.  More specifically, how we don’t teach our kids about race.

                Now, race and prejudices, minorities and the equality of all men, have always been a hobby horse of mine that I climb aboard and can go on and on for quite awhile.  So it’s been kind of a big deal to me that my kids are color-blind.  Since I don’t notice those things, and certainly don’t draw attention to skin color, my kids won’t either.  Logical, right?  I really thought my kids would absorb my color-blind attitude.  I really thought they wouldn’t notice that a black or Asian person looks different than them.

                News flash!!  They do notice. It is naïve to think that they won’t.  And if they are living in a parent created “race- free vacuum” they are quick to improvise their own conclusions.  This book says that 80% of white parents do not talk to their kids about race. They are afraid of saying the wrong thing.  I can so identify with that.  NurtureShock also surprised me by saying that having a multi-cultural setting has little to no effect on small children’s attitudes about race. 

                I was reading the book during the Winter Olympics.  So, drum roll please….Elena & I are watching figure skating… and if you followed it at all, you know where this is going.  We watched Kim Yu-Na. She is adorable. So graceful.  So beautiful.  

And Elena goes

“No, no, not her. I don’t like her at all.”

We watch Mirai Nagasu, and Elena goes

“Not her again, I’m so tired of her.”

As a light bulb flashed in my head,  I say,

“Duh my child, that is not the same person”.

  So I pressed her, and fished from her why exactly she didn’t like those figure skaters.

                And profoundly she said:

“Because I don’t like their faces.  Or their hair.”

So that, my friends, is when I was humbled to discover that my own daughter, through no fault of her own, is an anti-Asian racist.  I didn’t flip out.  It actually made me smile and think “OMW the book is right! She is totally rooting for the people who look like her.

But the book did inspire me to boldly go where white parents don’t go, and talk about race. Not vaguely as in “God loves us all the same” because kids are not going to connect the dots and realize we are talking about race if we don’t tell them.  Get over trying to be politically correct.  Get over the fear of saying the wrong thing.

I don’t have a neat and tidy ending.  But the new and improved mom tried to tell her daughter that she has a black cousin through adoption.  All in the name to bring about racial awareness, to break down those walls!

E: “No Mom she’s not black.” 

Me: “Yes, Elena she is.”

E:  ”No”

Me: “Yes”

E: “Look here’s a picture and I told you she’s not black.”

                Gene walks through the room while we’re arguing, with a peculiar look on his face, obviously thinking I’m losing my marbles for making an issue out of this.  So I let the matter drop, feeling insecure again that maybe I have lost my marbles, even if the book says we should talk about these things.  But I’m thinking that Elena’s need to have her cousin white just proves my point.

For the record, I have no fears of her being racist in the long-term. Not on my watch.