When you have daughters from China, there are a few things you should expect. The thing is, no one really warns you about them. When they are little tiny girls errrrybody is gonna stare. I mean, of course they are staring because these little chicks are cute beyond compare. There is just something irresistible about those little chubby Chinese faces.
Errrrrrybody is gonna ask questions. One of those is to ask if they are adopted. Let me stop there. If you don’t know me, you might not pause at that last question. But if you do, you know…I’m Casper the Ghost white. I’m also from Nowhere, Ohio where racial diversity is something you read about in books. When I brought my girls home, we were well into our military career and no longer living in the middle of a cornfield. But still.
After awhile I finally caught on. They weren’t asking their real question. What these folks really wanted to know was…Did you marry an Asian? But no one will ask what they really want to know. Does this strike you as odd? It certainly struck me as odd. But people will do crazy things when they know that their curiosity is inappropriate. They will try to ask around their real question.
My favorite response to this question was not mine. My friend adopted a baby from Ethiopia. The questions were intense for her. Picking up her son from the YMCA Kid Watch she was asked, “Oh, does he look like his daddy?” She retorted, “I don’t know. I never met him!” She didn’t even wait to see their jaws hit the floor. That’s spunk, I tell you!
So many things are wrong with this unasked question. Granted, I brought my second China girl home over nine years ago now. Maybe no one is asking this question anymore. I sure hope so. But my realistic side tells me the questions are persisting.
The first thing that is wrong with it is, who cares? So what if I did marry an Asian? I thought I dated one once during college. (Turns out he just had weird genetics that gave him small stature and Asian eyes and was SUPER offended when folks thought he was Asian…which is probably a topic for another blog, but I digress.) But really. It’s 2020. It was 2010 when I fetched that second nugget from China. Are people really still caught up on interracial relationships? Why in the world would strangers be interested in passing judgement on the person I selected to spend my life with? PEOPLE. GET OVER IT.
Secondly, why the hell is it anyone’s business who I married? These people were strangers, obviously, not folks who knew me. Folks who knew me, knew my husband. Why would strangers care who I married? It’s just baffling, don’t you think?
Anyway, for some reason I’ve been pondering this lately. Maybe because my babies are growing and I’m spending time lamenting that fact. My littlest China doll is now 11. My oldest daughter (homegrown) is about to turn 20. I’d give just about anything to rewind ten years, but that’s not happening. Luckily the current pandemic has brought all my little baby birds back to the nest. And I’m soaking it up…and reliving some of it mentally.
So, tell me. What’s the dumbest question you have never been asked…..
By the way, stay tuned….I began writing this blog post to share my incredible recipe for Fried Rice, but it sort of took on a life of its own. Be sure to watch for that one! You won’t want to miss it!
Right now the platform for this blog doesn't allow me to respond to comments. They are working on it. I am reading them all, I promise. I want to address the use of the term "China doll." Yes, I am aware of the unintended meaning of this phrase. When I brought those girls home, I had a choice to make. In my mind, China dolls are precious, rare, and priceless. So many words and phrases get taken over and made into something they were never intended to be. I decided not to play that game. No one in their right mind would mean anything beyond "treasured" when using that phrase to describe their daughters. I know that the comment was left to make sure I wasn't misspeaking, but I promise, I know. And I just refuse to give in to the disgusting twisting of beautiful words.