Because of how brave Ruby was…

I hate getting on planes. I’m going to be brave today, by getting on that plane. This made me think about the picture (above) that I took earlier this week of Marcel superimposed next to the famous Rockwell of Ruby Bridges. I explained to him how brave she was over fifty years ago, to go into a school where she was the first brown skin student “invited” to study. (I framed it in terms of how brown skin kids did not have the same choices about where to go to school as creamy colored kids did. ) So today in honor of Memorial Day, and our trip in a few hours to Washington, DC, the Martin Luther King Memorial,  the Lincoln Memorial, the Air and Space and our walk by President Obama’s house.. I thought I’d ask my family, and you what it means to you to be brave today.

Marcel: Going to a new school, and doing new things. I’m going to be brave by going to a new school next year.

Sam: Making new friends. They are hard to pick because you just met them, and you don’t know if they are going to be a good friend or not. A good friend is one who involves me in stuff.

Shrek: It is brave to believe that I am your cup of tea. Not just you. All three of you. It is not about being afraid of messing it up, it’s about realizing I don’t  need to contain or diminish what is here to figure out how I fit in.  But that I get to just be part of something that is already thriving and flourishing and vibrant and? It is brave to be part of something that is both traditional and non traditional, and in some ways it is not what I thought I was prepared for. (I appeared much more non traditional at first. As Shrek became more embedded in all things Mama C, other more traditional parts emerged–like me talking about wanting to get married one day. This was for the record–a very cool conversation for us to have this morning. And it certainly took my mind off those jet engines.)

Me: It is brave to keep seeing the container I have worked so hard to make to hold my family and me safely in the world is just not the right size anymore.  I got damn comfortable, and “good at” being Mama C and the Boys in practice and theory. My entire identity in the last eight years has been built around doing this as a single mother. But, here I am looking at a table of four getting ready to go on a trip together to meet the extended family. We are sipping coffee, laughing, and writing a blog post together. What could possibly be brave about that?

OK dear readers how are you being brave today? What is it to be brave? Last week a new blogger I recently came across pushed “publish” on a post that was really hard to put out there. She took a huge risk.  Yesterday one of Sam’s team mates who has had a really hard time getting a hit, came up to bat again. He nailed it.  How brave is that?

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Thank you to my new subscribers this week! It is always a thrill to get that little email saying someone new has signed up to get the blog personally delivered to their email.

Me: Yes. Yes I do.

Marcel: How can you love yourself if you are not brown skinned?

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family stick

Marcel: Mommy look–this stick is our family! (picks up stick with half the bark on, half the bark off)

Me: Beautiful.

Marcel: Mommy if I am on one side, and Sammy is on the other, you are what is underneath. You are holding it all together.

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Sammy: (reading his adoption story book) Mommy, can I have a pen?

Me: Sure. Do you need to change something?

Sammy: Yes.  (Writes. Hands book to me)

Me: Reading out loud the page where I announce that meeting him completed my path to becoming a mommy.  Then I pause and read what he added after I wrote and now I am complete; SO AM I.

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We had the stomach flu last week. Sometimes a three day bout with the plague, is all it takes to bring you together?

OK, then at dinner tonight Sam said; “You know what I am most thankful for?” I smiled at him, expecting him to say something gushy about me. Instead, he looked at me and said; “Having a maid.”  It was all I could do to not initiate a little spontaneous Frisbee with the dinner this Mama-maid-made him.

Instead I calmly explained why I would prefer he NEVER use that word to describe me, and in the next breath how maids are undervalued for all their back breaking work.

“I know why we leave them all the money in the hotel Mommy. But this isn’t a hotel. It’s just our house… And you don’t ever change my sheets do you?”

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A little image from this week when Marcel was about to set foot into his kindergarten orientation below. Talk about love–that child is so in love with the idea of being in big kid school. His joy is LOVE.

In the clothes he had to put on last night, to make sure he was ready for Kindergarten orientation…

Share some love here at Mama C. Any great one liners you could have done without, or can’t believe you heard? Have a great weekend all, and know that this maid for one is really looking forward to a little time with friends off the clock and on the dock!

After dinner, when Roy was done cutting Sam’s hair–Marcel said; “MY TURN!”.

being very big boy still

We did it!

And in case you were trying to remember how it used to look…

two summers ago…

Daybreak-
I am momentarily alone,
meditating in the big blue chair,
framed by orange yellow daffodils,
reaching for that sliver of light in the air.

The creak of the bunk bed ladder
delivers his little heavy footed feet
barely balancing
his needing
to climb into my lap,
wearily
and crawl sweetly back
into an earlier version of himself.

His skin is the color of the warm coffee
suddenly out of my reach.
I watch as he returns deeply into
his gentle mocha dreaming
on the backs of flying dragons
still so easily within his reach.

I pull him closer towards me all the seven years
I’ve had so far to hold him
no amount of this will ever be enough.
Now I am teetering on the edge of another mother’s grieving with
all the other mothers now fearing
their seventeen year olds
leaving the house (and not coming back).

Maybe it was seeing Trayvon’s mother’s vacancy
where her son, and her heart ought to be
that made me
cross the street the other day
when we were all outside at play
over to that young Black man
who was just walking along,
ignoring us until I got up in his way
to just say; hello!

He stopped short and looked long into my eyes
and told me how he
used to live across the street from my family.
He remembered when my littlest boy was little little

Those curls of his, they were so wild, and free.
They’re all gone-he asked or was he telling me?
Surprised, I blurted how I cut them off, because they were- unruly.

He nodded and smiled while walking slowly away from me-
this twenty something version of Sammy
has every bloody reason to be unruly.

Unruly.

Be unruly in your dreams boys
whack the ball clear
over Jackie Robinson’s legacy
leap and extend yourselves
further than Alvin Alley.
President, engineer, poet and astronaut-
not holding back but
breaking free from our shared history
and stomp, don’t stand all over the unequal ground
bequeathed to you indirectly.

Like the time the referee
held onto Sammy a little too long
while he was squirming, anxious to move along.
Admonished apparently to pass the ball more
and shoot less,
I wondered when the other light skin boys
might get a similar address.

But for now my little love,
just sleep and breathe in deeply your
luscious dark brown dreaming
conquer your dragons while clad in
your heavy armor and mesh hoodies.

My brown skinned prince so sweet and near me-
if squeezing you tighter will keep you fear free
and holding you here
will not let (my) fear ever take you from me.

Evening-
I am no longer alone,
meditating on that moment in the big blue chair
framed by orange yellow daffodils,
and sensing a mass of hope in the air.

- C. Anderson 2012

Sammy was just reading this sweet book to Marcel. He is such an amazing reader. He is also a very deep and intuitive young man. With Mother’s Day approaching I asked him if he’d like to help me make or pick out a card for his first mom. His response; “Mommy I think she needs a break from you and me. Let’s just skip it. She’ll write us when she is ready.” For those of you who have not been following, the short version is that after a long distance open adoption for the last seven years-mainly through letters, and texts, Sam’s first mom “Tea” has been out of touch with us for almost a year. Despite numerous attempts to connect, to sort through what may have gone wrong,  she has chosen not to respond.  Sam is aware of her silence on many levels.  As much as I try to shelter and protect him from the disappointment and hurt, there is only so much I can say. He is left with his own sorting out that I am rarely privy to.

I sent her a sweet, somewhat light, and very heart felt card to acknowledge all the amazing love we feel for her, and her family.

Sammy did not want to sign it.

It is his choice. It is her choice. It is still hard.

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For another particularly poignant piece on the subject of Mother’s Day and the adoptive parent in an open adoption relationship please see this post from See Theo Run.

Addendum: The next day. I received several off line emails since posting this.  I gather from this response that folks are deeply concerned about my well being.  Sam, one commenter said seems to be doing just great. Dear readers-I am fine. I just feel some deeply intense loss, and that loss is compounded by the presence of what is already, and has always been a complicated little day for me as a mother. Like many of you, reaching motherhood was not via the path I expected or imagined. There is no “better way”, or “easier way.” There is just the way one reaches it, if one is able in this lifetime to do so. As many of us know, there are no givens, even if as little girls and boys we are led to believe that parenthood is one big stop on the line, if you get on that bus…I am rambling. Clearly there is no such thing as a neat little post about something so BIG as Mother’s Day.

I am also really looking forward to celebrating with my kids. Shrek has been planning all sorts of lovely surprises with them which is ridiculously sweet. It is just that I hold the “event” of Mother’s Day in two very separate places, and was looking to acknowledge that here. Maybe my work is to integrate it all a little better.

We are doing beautifully today. After cooking us the most amazing biscuit and egg breakfast,  Shrek is off playing baseball with the lads, so I can blog exercise. We have been doing some huge relationship growth stuff, and with that comes some big excitement about future collaborations… The coolest part? I am fully in this, and not freaking out about any of it. As he and I consider future plans, and progress I am feeling more and more confident and present in this relationship. How did that shift happen?

Life is magically full. To keeping it light and loving today. Enjoy your week, hope it is full of your own Supermoons!

Even if this story is missing 90% of the truth, and sharing only 10% of it, the outcome did not really surprise me at all. I sat with that story, grieved for the girl, and the family. I immediately wondered how that story might or might not apply to the experience my sons were having. Then I let myself try to imagine being raised by parents of color in a non white community. I tried to imagine what it would be like, if there were no white people in my neighborhood or school, or in 98% of the movies I saw, or music I listened to. I imagined only going to a Black/ person of color dentist, and doctor, and once in a great while meeting another white kid at a play group, or on a soccer team.  I imagined what it would be like if everyone assumed her and I would naturally want to be friends because of how much we were suddenly alike. I tried to picture my family acting out their very well intentioned “white traditional customs” to help me feel seen or taken into consideration.

Then I imagined my family noticing all of that, and doing their very best to make friends who looked like me, with kids who looked like me too, and not just having a few books on the shelf, and one white doll. I let myself feel the relief in knowing I was not always going to be the other, the exception, the one who “is not really white, because we see her as one of us!” I imagined how I might feel so worried to ask them for what I perceived I needed in case it seemed like to do so was in someway a negation of all the “good” and “loving”  they were providing me. Not that I would even know what it is I needed to begin with, but if I did…

I tried to picture arriving at college years later, and being roommates with another white person, but really not understanding certain “givens” that all other white people might just assume I would know, or do, or talk about. Givens around customs, hair care, celebrations, religion, food, art, and so forth.

That little five minute journey opened me up even more to what I need to be doing more of, and more of. Sammy did not choose to be placed in this family.  I chose to honor his place in this world to the best of my ability, when his first mom, his birth mom, his only mom until I showed up placed him in my arms. The more I learn, experience and grow, the more able I am to provide him with an experience that allows him to be as fully realized as possible in this world he has been placed in. That is my duty to him, and Marcel.

I just know that for me anyway, I tend to learn more, when I can imagine myself in the other person’s shoes. Or, at least try to.

At the supermarket the other morning, Marcel and I had the following exchange.

Marcel: Mommy when people look at me do they see my brown skin or my white skin?
Me: What would you like them to see?
Marcel: My brown skin of course!
Me: I love you so much, and I love your brown skin.
Marcel: Because I love my brown skin so much too, that is what people will see first!

To me the magnificence of this exchange is manifold. Obviously Marcel is not only thinking about his own racial identity, but he is articulating it beautifully, and clearly confident in his own assessment of himself and his world. Over the last few months he has been more and more interested in talking about who in the family is more brown or less brown and why. My big drive has been to let him know how rich and gorgeous his brother’s color is, and how Marcel’s creamier brown skin is also enviable and lovely.  Marcel is also trying to understand on some level how Sammy came from Tea’s tummy (Sam’s first mom) and how Marcel came from mine, and they are brothers and we are a forever family. Throw the donor in there, and you have a lot for a four year old to grab on to.

At first Marcel was not “seeing” himself as brown too, and was much more sure he looked just like me. So the exchange above tells me that my work to balance out his perception has been landing. This is also a result of the increased time outdoors, and Marcel’s corresponding darkening color, which I keep calling attention to in an enviable way.  The kid loves a little competition. I was pleased that I answered his first question, with a question, because it allowed for me to uncover a little more deeply his thinking, today.

Of course the real celebration in the exchange is how he equates self acceptance, and love for who you are as the reason others would be drawn towards that thing about you too.

I have a feeling a certain remarkable set of teachers he works with have more to do with that strength in himself than me. As always I have a lot to learn from my kids for sure.

Alvin Ailey’s REVELATIONS from Alvin Ailey on Vimeo.

Robert Battle’s TAKADEME from Alvin Ailey on Vimeo.

On a similar note, last week Shrek sent Sammy and I to see the performance of a lifetime: The Alvin Ailey Dance Theater. Although I had looked into getting tickets weeks before, the price was out of my reach for the whole family (not having kids prices at these events still puts me in a twist) so I grieved it, and let it go. Then Shrek suggested I take Sammy by himself, and found great seats at a reduced rate (he just finds a way, always).  So Sam and I got decked out and went on our date, while Shrek and Marcel went to the movies.

The moment the first brown skinned male dancer came on stage Sam’s eyes were the size of apples.  He looked up at me and whispered; “Mom there are men?!?” When I smiled and shook my head, he followed with; “BROWN ones?!?”  He sat in his seat CAPTIVATED for the entire show. The slower pieces, and the hip hop ones, the spiritual ones, and the New Orleans ones. He was RIGHT THERE (OK the mints purchased at intermission helped). Then, all the way home he danced. DANCED. (We live close enough to walk to see the performance–city living has it’s advantages!) And my favorite part? How after he came home he pranced about the house, in just his pajama bottoms with no shirt-just like the dancers. It was as if suddenly his beautiful brown skin, fit, muscley and growing body was transformed into those remarkably striking, powerful, elegant, athletic  and BROWN dancers too.  This morning, he walked into the room, took of his shirt and began to eat breakfast. OK Alvin, shirts on at the table buddy, I said. Oh come on! He retorted, smiling.

Minor qualm: where were all the boys in the audience? Brown boys and white boys? What a powerful example of masculine grace and beauty. I realize that I had my specific reasons to get to that show and yes the tickets were prohibitive in cost. But for all the brown and white skinned girls in that audience, I am sure as many boys would have been transfixed as Sammy was.  What keeps other parents of boys from getting their sons to an event like that? Is dance theater still that gender regulated in our mainstream culture? If ever there was an opportunity to change that, it would be a show of this caliber on so many levels.

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Do you have some loving on your BROWN stories you;d like to share here? Your brown could be another color, or ethnicity of course. Your story could be about gender, sexuality, or just some way that you witnessed growth in yourself or your family that you’d like to put out there for the world to see!  We need more and more chances to do that! Have a great week, and thanks to my new followers on facebook, twitter and here.

WOOOOOT!!!!! Talk about a milestone!

we went out and had an ice cream to acknowledge the beginning of the season, and all the ways we worked together to reach that sweet number of “people who like to read about US!”

And generally looked at each other with loving, appreciation:

Which is how I feel about all of my readers too–so thank YOU.

Working on his power twist

Watching Sam hit a baseball is one of my favorite past times. Marcel has a swing on him too, and starts t-ball at the end of the week!  At practice yesterday Sam boasted to his teammates about his powerful hit, a result of our batting practice the night before. The kid really can hit!  I was happy to reconnect with the parents I know, and reach out to a few new faces. The bleacher culture is one I’m surprisingly at home in. I love the snippets of opportunity for adult conversation, outbursts of cheer, and that camaraderie  web that brings us together at practices and games. Sitting next to one brown skin Papa, I immediately launched into my; “I am so glad Sam is one of several kids of color out there again this year,” conversation. When his partner joined us I immediately boasted about Sam’s choice of threads at Easter. Read: this Black mama will think I am a good mother of a brown skinned child if she knows I bought my son a three piece suit…I stopped myself before making her look at pictures on my phone. I had just met the woman ten minutes ago!

Marcel at bat/ All rights reserved Mama C and the Boys 2012

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Sam is aching for a new game on my iphone–so I am going to ask him to talk about what’s on his mind in exchange for a new app.

Me: what do you see when you look at that picture? Sam: Hitting the ball really far.

Me: What does it feel like when you hit the ball really far?  Sam: It feels like my whole body has worked together to hit it. I feel happy.

Me: What is your favorite thing (besides hitting baseballs) to do outside? Sam: Swim.

Me: Not skateboarding? Sam: Skateboarding means you can mess up and fall, but in the water you can’t fall and mess up. Can we go swimming with my new wetsuit today?

What is the best part of having a little brother? Sam: Having someone always interested in what you are doing.

Me: What did you like most about our week off? Going to the waterpark, going down the slides, and the wave pool.

(Enter Marcel.) Me: Marcel what is the best part of having a big brother? The awesomest part in the whole wide world. I love him so much. He makes cool robots.

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Yesterday we bought a used wetsuit for Sam. He might be doing some surf boarding lessons, and he loves to skim and boogie board too. I love to sit on the beach, and Marcel loves to play in the sand.  I spent several hours this week (spring break week in these parts) putting the calendar together for the next five months! t-ball and baseball practices and games (clone me!!!) summer sport, science, art and peace camps, family travel, curriculum and assessment planning time, and some precious mama alone time too. Outfitting us for easy beach days is an investment in all of our happiness.

in post facial relaxation mode

Speaking of happiness, I’ll admit that I indulged a little this week in what I imagine is; “how the other half lives” (says she who comes from upper middle class privilege, living a very comfortable, insured, well fed, and want for very little life) including a facial, a massage, several long walks, trips to the gym, and afternoons in the garden. Shrek treated us to an indoor water park get away, dinner out, and my trip to the spa. Having removed several errant hairs from my chin, I thought I was in the clear. I was horrified to learn that I had; “textured skin” and needed to exfoliate twice a week with this fifty-five dollar product to maintain all of the benefits my skin just experienced.

Seeing me in a picture is still odd. Of course that means that Shrek was there to facilitate the happiness. He does that so well. Finding time for us to talk about us, and our present and future is not easy. We have seven kids between us, which is plenty to cover in a two hour dinner date. Throw in some politics, requests for a raised flower bed, and my wanting to read a draft of a new poem, or him wanting to share a new song he is working on and who has time for; “you know when you/I do that thing, and you/I react this way?!?” conversations? So we make time to go down a water slide, and hope for some good laughs and an easy landing instead.

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Before I close, I want to say that perhaps one of the most meaningful moments of the week happened at the Memorial for Trayvon organized by Pious Ali. The way in which he built the event around the youth in Portland allowed something deeply resonate to transpire. Trying to frame the event for the boys prior to the event was “messy” as my dear friend and fellow mama in the hue Erica shared. Our “wolf pack” as we call them (all boys, all brown, all BIG in the world) were all there, along with many other transracial parents–which was encouraging to me.  Hearing the young people sharing their stories, poems, and truth allowed us to really feel around this again, as another dear friend Annie Sibley O’brien put so beautifully. Indeed we did.

Youth and Reverend Lewis--photo by Robert Houle-at Trayvon Memorial 2012

I hope to hold and honor that moment a little bit longer with a poem I am writing and ultimately performing later this week. If and when it is ready I’ll share it with you all here first. I read it to Sam last night–after he found and read the draft to himself. He liked the middle part because it “told a real story”. Perhaps that means the beginning and end still need work!

It’s pouring rain, and a Monday morning after a week long break. I am leaving to walk to work in a half an hour, and the boys are still snoring. Uncle is on his way down soon to facilitate this transition. But I’ve already accomplished a ton, if I can get this grand post out to before I go.  Looking forward to hearing about your bleachers, slides and streets too–leave word–tell us something that’s on your mind, or a soft landing you had recently!