First Impressions

Last night's dinner was a hit and there wasn't enough to go around for everyone to have the seconds they wanted. Apparently I blew it by not buying a second bag of spinach. As Brent stood in the kitchen trying to make the last of our dinner stretch among four empty bowls, being the dad that is, he came up with an excellent solution.

"Hey guys. We don't have any more buffalo chicken salad, but I just talked to Mommy and she said we can go get ice cream instead!"

The kids raced to finish up the little bit of seconds they got and scurried to their room to find their birthday party favor gift cards for a chain ice cream shop that sells 31 ridiculously fake and heavily dyed flavors (so glad those gift cards are nearly empty). We piled in the car and headed up the street for some after dinner ice cream.

The kids chose their flavors, cup or cone, and toppings and settled in to one of the sticky tables to attempt to ingest more ice cream than they could smear all over their face and appendages (one kid was more successful at this than the other). Brent and I each found something to take us back to our childhoods (rainbow sherbet anyone?) and sat down next to them - keeping a good distance from the kid that was loosing the battle between ingesting and wearing her ice cream.

Shortly after we all got settled a teenage boy and his father walked in. Each had a shaved head and a detailed sleeve tattoo on their left arms. The father sized up our family with some intensity. Sensing the challenge, Brent stared back with confidence. Both of us instinctively and subconsciously scanned their tattoos for symbols indicating potential intolerance of our transracial family.

Just as quickly as this initial guarded, unspoken exchange occurred, the father's face softened into the sweetest grin, his eyes sparkling, as he waved at Elsa, who apparently, had noticed his stares and decided to wave. Hopping up to see if I could get some water to help Elsa remove some of the chocolate coating her mouth, cheeks, chin, nose, fingers and forearms (the ice cream was literally up her nose) I passed by the dad. He turned to me, and respectfully and quietly inquired, "Did you adopt them?"

The questions that followed were pretty routine for our family. "Where are they from?" "Are they siblings?" "Did they speak any English when they arrived in America?" "How has their adjustment been?" These questions can really get old, especially when it feels like the interrogator has forgotten that they're speaking about two kids who very well can hear and understand them and may not feel good about having their stories dissected by a stranger in an ice cream shop. However, with this man they were asked in a respectful and generally interested manner. He even answered his own question, "Are they siblings?" with my routine answer - they are now.

"Have you read Kisses From Katie? I just finished it. It's about this woman who travels to...to..oh I forgot. It's one of the bigger, more common African countries (as if a country can be more common than another). [I correctly guess Uganda]. She goes to teach, just for a year, and she's still there. And she's adopted 13 girls. 13! Girls only though. You should really read it. It really moved me and so does your family. It's just beautiful and your kids are amazing. Look at those smiles. I'm David, by the way."

After getting as much chocolate off of Elsa as possible with some very thin napkins and a cup of ice water we sauntered back out to our car. As the kids rattled on about something that happened at camp that day, Brent and I marveled at how we both, automatically and instinctively, suspected the worst from these two men, based solely on appearance and an initial gut feeling, only to be shown the opposite. We considered how parenting in a transracial family both routinely gives you the opportunity to challenge common perceptions and stereotypes while also forcing you to rely on them more heavily in an attempt to keep your family safe. On this night, we are reminded that what you see on the surface is often insignificant and its always better to test the waters with a friendly wave before drawing any concrete conclusions.