I had one of those insignificant experiences today that ends up telling us more about who we really are and what we think and believe than a planned introspection could do. I had taken the children to get passport photos, deciding two of us need to renew our passports and the other needs a new one. We went the cheap convenient route- a drug store 1 hour photo deal. In my effort to be nonchalant, we ended up with some very bad photos. The children were fairly restless during the wait, but being such cuties earned the attention of the salesclerk who showered them with stickers and affection. She tried to make polite conversation with me and I found myself the subject of a barrage of uncomfortable questions fired with sincerity but hitting the mark with intensity.
"Where are you going?" I didn't want to answer this mostly because we haven't told the kids yet. It is still my private secret, hidden like a jewel that I have only taken out to share with a few friends. I tried to sidestep the question with a deft "Oh, we're just getting prepared" but that didn't sway the determined,curious....ok, nosy, young lady. I was pressured into responding "Africa" with none of the zeal and passion that I usually exhibit. For some reason she made me wary. Because she was black- I must plainly admit it. I guess this is also why she felt free to go ahead and ask me if all of the children were mine.
I really had to think about this answer, if only because I have been feeling such anxiety over our relationship lately. Here I am in a pharmacy being questioned by some young thing who is unknowingly making me evalute my entire life's relationships, its failures and consequences, my own personal misgivings and inability to forge a bond of understanding between these two children; many times I feel like I just don't like them. I wonder if it is possible to help them change and at the same time feel completely overwhelmed with the task. I wonder whatever happened to my lofty dreams of welcoming these 2 as my own and helping them navigate the webs of our American culture. There are so many things, things I don't want to discuss here, having decided this is not a "tell all" but rather a "tell something" of one perspective of my life, the journey to Africa.
Which must begin with me and this clerk discussing the biology behind my tribe of children. After all, this is what she's asking, and feeling free to do so. Which of these many hued children belong to you? I mumble something about this being a collection of kids between my husband and me and eventually create some distance. I feel like my life is ever more rich than she has reduced me to and I am put out most definately that she has intruded in even this little way.
I leave with my collection of bad photos and adorable children. I wonder if vanity or finances will win in the battle over bad lighting. And I wonder if there is any way to make the image of our sweet family match the reality. I thought that knowing I was going would allow me to be more patient and forgiving. I am just as baffled by the children as ever and am vowing once again, as I do every day, to make the morrow kind and gentle.
But I also have to question myself. Any reason why I couldn't have just said yes?
