(I wrote this months ago, just making adjustments to the new now)
Following my usual half hour on Skype with my parents on Sunday morning, I started to think about them when they got me. I mean, making the decision of adopting a child.
It’s wild.
Everything is new and fancy at that time hence my face, dad looks like a young Popovich.
They couldn’t conceive a kid at that time. And I’m sure my dad wanted to do more than the basic thing of finding a white baby. He was like “fuck it if we can’t make our kid, let’s save one that really needs help.” That’s how I understand their decision to adopt a six year old black kid. I mean, that’s punk as fuck. Unless the reason was to secure a crib in paradise later, then it’s kind of lame but whatever.
Older foster kids do not having the best odds in life. Parentless and not a baby? Some would even say dude you’re so fucked. You’ll be sniffing glue by the age of 9.
So anyway. Very bold move from them that worked out pretty well for both of us, back then. In today’s France or US I would never think that this is a good idea. Between my parents and I it’s still a lot of pain and incomprehension and attempts to make it up for whatever etc. It is a very singular relationship and it was at a great time and place to make it happen. If I look back 80s Paris was one of the most open, richest culture ever seen on earth. Not kidding. There was a strong inclusiveness that disappeared now that everyone is back to heritage shit. Yes, it was fake like Benetton ads. But you fake it until you make it.
We didn’t make it and we’re not faking it anymore. Our recent failures to live in peace together, the fact that it only marginally gets better cut me really deep. My crumbling world got me like:
If I had one, I couldn’t imagine having to teach my kid about Sandra Bland, Alton and Philando, or Trump. Even less in the context of adopting a child different from myself. “so you see daddy is black and has to deal with some stuff you will never have to deal with unless you’re hanging out with me but then it will be very different and then it’s complicated”. Just thinking about the prospect of doing that makes my eyes turn like mini oceans. It’s so hard. The privilege of seeing extremely clearly how much we are not together at all, despite what the president says and what we say to ourselves. I have it.
I feel like my parents and I are humbly nurturing a mutual respect for our differences and that it’s pretty unique to us. They don’t do that with my sister they gave birth to. I don’t see that with other parents. It’s very fragile love and at the same time it’s graphene love.
I’m thankful. I try to do my best. I just want to love and make the shit the shit.