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The Black and White of Motherhood
Transracial (Sort of) Adoption and Me
When I say transracial adoption, sort of, I mean exactly what I say. I was adopted as an infant into a Black home, the home of my paternal uncle and his wife. And, if you look at me, what you see is a white girl.
I’m not. I’m mixed-race. My birth father (my adoptive father’s baby brother) was Black. My birth mother was white.
In the 1970s, adoption was adoption. There was no consideration given to race. Kid needs a home. People have a home. That was it. And in my case, the people with the home were family.
That didn’t mean it was easy.
Being Mother's Day, I can’t help but think about my 2 mothers.
I never knew my birth mother. She died when I was 3 weeks old. Anything I know of her came from photographs and stories from people who knew her.
She was beautiful, as is obvious from her photo. I resemble her quite a bit. And she was smart, on her way to nursing school before she got pregnant with my older brother.
