First Impressions

The kids are outside playing catch with their dad.  I'm inside, making lunch; because I cook for a living, meals usually fall to me.  I argued that the kids should be working on their science projects, but I was overruled - sometimes I think we spoil them too much.  I feel like the villain when I have to insist that schoolwork comes first, but there has to be some discipline to balance out my husband's laissez-faire parenting.

I'm concerned about his work picnic next week - families invited.  He's confident about it, but how will they react to us?  I've never been as sure as he is.  Maybe we could just stop by for a little while.  My concern is that that would be rude.  My husband's concern is that it would be running away and admitting defeat.  It's bad enough that we had to move to another state just to live the way we want to - I had wanted to leave the country entirely.

Another hateful radio program comes on.  I had thought this station was safe, but apparently nowhere really was.  We try to protect the kids from as much bigotry as we can.  It's impossible to shelter them forever, but we can at least keep them from the poison in our own home.  I know they hear enough of it at school, even in one with a zero-tolerance policy.  I nearly cried when I heard my little boy use the word "faggot" to describe another boy.  I tried to talk to him about it, but how can a third grader make sense of something like this when many grown adults can't?

The kids come inside, covered in dirt - again.  Their dad follows them in, saying "Come on guys, time to clean up, then lunch, then you've got to get cracking on those science projects!"  He kisses me on the cheek as he comes in, then goes to wash up himself.  How someone gets that dirty during a simple game of catch, I'll never know.

They're growing up so fast.  Soon enough, even our youngest will begin to question things and be confused and hurt and not understand.  I've been told it's a normal transition before coming to terms with things, but I'd prefer for our children to remain children as long as possible.  Adulthood comes soon enough anyway.

No one looking at us would guess that we're such a standard family.  But we are, in many ways, the same as them.  We go to church every Sunday, although they'd probably call our very liberal church a godless bunch of sinners anyway.  We get take-out on Fridays, we take the kids to Little League, and we put their tests and quizzes up on the refrigerator.

They'll never see us that way.  They claim we couldn't possibly be normal.  That we couldn't possibly feel the same as the "typical" family. Because our kids are not "ours", in the sense that they're adopted.  Because we're not all the same race. Because I'm their dad too.  Because some people will never care to look beyond their first impression.