Family Reflections

Family Reflections is an essay I wrote years ago and which I performed in the 2017 production of Listen To Your Mother. Here my child first begins to articulate the ways in which she notices the color of her skin. Our children are not colorblind. Race and skin color do matter. Regardless of the fact that children may not be talking about it, when my child noticed in pre-school that she was the only person of color the message she took away from that was heartbreaking for me. It also informed me of the fact that I needed to find a school where she would see herself reflected in the faces around her. For those of us who have adopted transracially, where we live, and where our children go to school matters. It is not always possible to move to a new town, or neighborhood or school, but I believe we have an obligation to give our kids a community that reflects and celebrates their ethnicity whenever possible.

My mother left me her grandmother’s tall upright bedroom mirror when she died. For decades this mirror reflected back to my mother’s maternal lineage their Scottish heritage. As I stood before this looking glass it reflected back to me who I appeared to be on this particular day. My four - year old daughter, head dangling upside down from our bed as she watched me adjust my outfit for work said,

“You look beautiful mommy.” She said it with such sincerity that my heart felt inflated by her love.

“Thank you sweetheart.” Tanika rolled over onto her belly, climbed down from the bed and stood beside me.

“There’s a princess in the mirror.” I remarked playfully pointing to her reflection beside my own.

“No mommy,” she said with a tone of sad conviction, “only people who look like you – with white hair, and your skin can be princesses.”

My daughter is Guatemalan born and of indigenous Mayan heritage. She has rich cocoa brown skin, dark, dark brown eyes, and beautiful thick, silky black hair. This remark, like the one before about my beauty, touched the same place in my heart and I felt it deflate.

“Sweetheart,” I asked with a sadness in my voice I could not hide, “where did you get that idea? Of course you could be a princess, many princesses have your color skin.”

Tanika's reflection looked up at my own with a patient but somewhat irritated expression.

“No mommy, princesses look like you. I wish I looked like you too. I want to have your color hair, and skin.”

I suppose I fully expected this moment when our indigenous daughter wanted to look like the rest of the people in our family, especially her mother. But I wasn’t prepared for the impact her comment would have on me.

We are a multi-racial family living in a mostly white town. We dared to place our daughter in a pre - school where all the little girls in the costume corner were either blond haired and blue eyed, or fare skinned brunettes. Of course she could only imagine princesses being the same as the sea of colors that surrounded her. Where was the reflection of her in this wave of white which crashed down around her self image every day?

I sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled my daughter close to me. The stark contrast of my Scottish-Welsh and her Mayan Indian bloodlines seemed even more pronounced than they normally do.

I turned to the beautiful brown sculpted head of Kuan Yin - the Goddess of healing and compassion that hung over our bed. I knew there was no arguing the reality of our different skin tones, and ethnicities, but I could not bear the thought that my beautiful brown skinned little girl would believe she was not worthy of royalty – even in play.

“You know sweetheart, there are many princesses with brown skin just like your own. And do you know what,” I continued with authority and conviction in my voice, “not only are there brown princes and princesses, but look at Kuan Yin – she is brown and she is a Goddess!” Of course our Kuan Yin happened to be made out of a rich dark brown resin, others are sculpted in white. For the moment my daughter seemed impressed and she smiled.

“I still wish I looked like you mommy.” Was her response.

“I know you do honey, I know.”

We have subsequently had many conversations about our different skin tones, and heritage. When Tanika was six she came home and reluctantly shared her experience at camp that day. Apparently several of the campers insisted that brown people smelled like poop. There have been several other instances where our daughter’s race prompted such negative attention. These experiences informed me of the need to put our daughter in a school that reflected our connection and commitment to ethnic and cultural diversity. We are fortunate that such a school exists where we live. But even with this and our family’s diverse set of friends and extended family we cannot change the inherent sense of ‘other than’ our daughter carries within as she stands beside her blond haired blue eyed mother or brother. We can celebrate diversity and instill as much pride as possible in our daughter’s Mayan roots, but at the end of every day when we stand beside one another brushing our teeth – my daughter and I will never be the same color, and although that does not change our love for one another it does change how my daughter sees herself in the reflection of our family.