How Adoptive Families Can Respond to Awkward Comments

When motherhood chased me and finally caught me in the early months of 2007, I was stunned. Pregnancy wasn’t in Katie’s Carefully Crafted Master Plan, which included completion of nursing school and a solid job in the field before children arrived. I was 29 years-old and in no hurry to parent anything except our sweet pup, Sadie. If my biological clock was ticking, I never heard it.

Despite my total shock at the pink “+” sign and the emotional decision to surrender my years of nursing school, the arrival of my first born brought me deep joy. Less than two years later, another little one joined us.

As the white mom to white babies, I never heard anyone mention their skin color or question my role as their mom. People correctly assumed that these two kids belonged to the crazy-haired Caucasian woman pushing their stroller, the white female wrangling them at the grocery store, the haggard, pale lady feeding them crackers as they cruised around Target.

Remarks went something like this:

“Oh! She looks just like you!”   

“He’s obviously yours.”

“They look just like their mama!”

“Wow. You can tell they’re siblings!”

When we decided to adopt we were open to any color, culture, or gender. We knew that transracial adoption would be challenging for various reasons and would bring looks and comments from *usually* well-meaning people. But I wasn’t prepared for the intrusive questions following our adoptions:

Local Woman: Are you his babysitter?

Me: Um, I guess. He’s my son.

Woman: Oh. That’s weird. But he’s…brown.

Me: [awkward pause, trying to find words] Well, we adopted him.

Older female stranger yells as I enter a store with Sam: “OH MY GOSH!! IS HE ADOPTED?! WOOOOWW! WHERE’S HE FROM?!”

Man at the Store: Are they yours? Both of them?

Me with the two Littles: Yes.

Man: Huh.

Me: [Awkward silence hangs in the air as I offer no explanation this time.]

Woman At A Doctor’s Office: Where’s he from? Is he Asian? But he has brown skin. Why does he have slanted eyes? He looks so…exotic.

Me: He’s from the exotic land of the Northeast. [Because some occasions call for snark.]

Airport Security: I need proof that she’s yours.

Me: [I say nothing but I do supply our adoption papers. Because she’s brown, proof is required?]

I’m not sure why strangers feel the need to ask personal questions about our family or publicly declare our racial differences or subtly demand, “Are you their mother?” Maybe most folks are curious, overly friendly, or just plain ignorant. 

I also wonder if our culture might be obsessed with trying to figure out how to categorize people. When families don’t fit the tidy social constructs, particularly in matters of (ambiguous) race, people seem to want an explanation.

While the desire to understand familial connection is benign, the invasive questions can be hurtful. Many transracial adoptees tell us of their lifelong struggle with identity and belonging, no matter how well-loved and warmly accepted they are in their families and communities. The frequent, public reminders that they are different are unhelpful at best, damaging at worst.

As a biological kid with 3 adopted siblings, I grew uncomfortable with the ongoing questions about our diverse family. I often felt like we were on display, especially in new settings as people tried to figure out whether or how we belonged to each other. To be fair, some strangers were respectful and our family has since learned to laugh about certain comments. But as a young kid, I resented being made to feel like we needed to prove the legitimacy of our family–as if blood and resemblance are the only defining qualities.

As a transracial adoptive parent (TAP), I feel that same resentment flare up on occasion. When I’m running errands with my kids, I am often asked to explain our varied skin tones. I feel like I’m on trial to prove to the jury that I’m their mother. My default response has been to people-please my way through the awkwardness, bowing to the interrogation of strangers. At times, I move to the offensive and overshare in order to control the conversation. I’m embarrassed to admit that there have been moments when I’ve felt obligated to share details. I’m learning to let go of those expectations, both internal and external, and focus instead on what is best for the children I’m raising.

To the adoptive parent, I offer

3 Ways To Respond to the Awkward Comments & Questions:

• Consider your kids. In your ongoing effort to help your kids feel a sense of belonging, their (current and future) feelings must be your priority. The details of their diversity and adoptions don’t need shared with strangers, especially in public. While we adoptive parents might feel comfortable sharing when they are infants/toddlers, we must remember that those little ears are growing. Establishing healthy boundaries around their stories now can help build trust between you and them in the future. Their long-term emotional stability is far more important than the fleeting opinions of others.
• Creatively answer personal questions. Inevitably, people will wonder about the varied hues in your family but you don’t owe anyone an explanation. You can briefly state, “Yep, he’s my son through adoption” or politely say, “Thank you for your interest in our family but the details of her story are sacred and we’d prefer to keep it that way.” Or when someone asks, “Where are they from?,” you can respond by naming the city in which you currently live. Then graciously redirect the conversation in a way that protects your children and respects the curious.
• Let your kids respond. If your kids are older and know their story, you can give them the opportunity to answer the questions. For example, a woman sees you with your 12 year-old daughter and says, “Oh! She must be adopted! Where is she from?” You could look at your daughter and say, “Would you like to answer this one?” Allowing your children to respond gives them agency as they determine who gets to hear (the details of) their story and when. Then support them as needed through the conversation.

I have felt the searing pain that comes with birthing a child and I have felt the ache of receiving a child born to another. The roads traveled to bring each kiddo home vary with the hues of their skin, weaving a tapestry of colors worthy to be seen and valued–not questioned at every turn.

I want to do all that I can to help them understand their identity and assure them that they belong. Following these 3 simple guidelines has been a good place to start. I hope they serve you, as well.