Twenty questions
Let me give potential adoptive parents a wee bit of advice.
If you start firing off questions about someone’s child while they are finishing off eating dinner…
If the person being questioned starts answering with shorter and shorter answers until the answers are one word long…
You’re doing something wrong.
Don’t compound it with “I looooove adoption! I have one of my own, but we want to adopt one, too!”
I felt like I was facing the Spanish Inquisition tonight.
The dotter and I had just finished her (woohoo!) first ballet class. OmegaDad is out of town for the night (again). I decided to take her to our favorite mommy-dotter restaurant, which serves Mexican food, which OmegaDad doesn’t like. We enjoy our cheese crisp and taquitos. OmegaDotter had shifted to the other side of the booth so she could concentrate on her drawing (nominally a dinosaur, with many, many clawlike hands, which she cheerily told me was going to KILL and EAT us).
Our waitress comes up. OmegaDotter shows her the picture. Our waitress sits down. This is okay, it happens in our town, sometimes it’s fun, usually it’s just a quick chat.
“Does she take ballet?” (Dotter was still in her leotards and tights.)
“Yes. She’s just started her first lesson tonight.”
“Is she your daughter?”
“Um, yes.”
“Is she adopted?”
“Um. Yes.”
“Was it very difficult, very long?”
“Not that difficult, but, yes, very long.”
“Where is she from?”
“Did you keep her name?”
“Does she know the language?”
“Are you going to have her learn it?”
I was…taken aback by this interrogation. It’s been a long time since we got anything like it. Question after question. One right after another. I was withdrawing. I was getting very curt. I was giving one-word answers.
I am a wuss–it took me this long to whip out the often-advised, “Why do you want to know?”
At which point, the “I looooove adoption!” came out.
At which point, I gave her a bit of advice about how if she was going to adopt, she’d better realize that her adoptive child is “one of her own”, too.
Look. I loooooove adoption, too. That’s how I came to have my daughter sitting with me at the table, enjoying a relaxing dinner out. But if ever there was a textbook case of how not to approach an adoptive family, this was it. It left me feeling extremely uncomfortable.
My own fault. It’s been so long since anyone’s intruded like this that I was blindsided. Now is the time for me to start practicing the “Why do you want to know?” as the very first response. Check out ChicagoMama’s excellently snarky The Question for a good discussion on this whole type of scene.
Technorati: adoption, nosiness, conspicuous families, interrogation
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