I have oodles and oodles of training and college degrees and all that professional feathering that comes along with being a clinical social worker (now quite retired thanks to Ms. Lupus).
Anyway, I worked with many children in my life...
and had the privilege of working with adoptive families from time to time.
In spite of this...
when it comes to BEING an adoptive parent...
I often ask myself, "Do I know what the heck I am doing?"
And when my son grows up...
I am sure he will chime in and let me know how I have screwed up.
Anyway...
Little Bear and I had the late afternoon and evening alone together as Hubby had to go in to work this weekend.
We spent the afternoon feasting on National Geographic and making frisbees and having me listen to Little Bear chatter about the Pokemon guys.
Dinner time rolls around, and I fix Little Bear a sandwich tray to take with him to our front room table. I was really not hungry (and extremely lupie exhausted) so I lay down on the couch and clicked on our local news while Little Bear was out of the room.
And, of course, our local Irish celebrations are the top news for tonight. I watch rather shamefacedly as folks from the 1st ward (where my parents grew up) hail themselves as the "white Irish".
yikes.
I feel embarrassed and angry at these folks. The neighborhood has the reputation of being quite racially intolerant.
So we don't go down to the 1st ward and join in on the parades and parties.
Before I can turn off the t.v. my little guy pops in, looks at the t.v. with the folks in their plastic green party favor outfits and announces:
"I want to be Irish too!"
I felt kind of stunned.
I clicked the t.v. off, and told my son...
"You ARE Irish. Daddy's ancestors came from Ireland, and my grandmother's folks immigrated from Ireland...
so you're Irish too."
He was quiet for a bit...
and then said,
"No, Mommy. I want to be Irish like THAT."
"Oh you mean like on the t.v.?"
"YES!"
I tried to explain to our beautiful son, who bears the wonderful bloodline of his homeland Korea, that he is Irish because we are all family.
I tell him that we are so Irish that we don't think about it in a St. Patrick's day kind of way. It is our heritage... we have Irish stamped into our daily lives.
I look at his silky black hair and his delightfully shaped dark eyes and his round face...
and realize he wants to LOOK Irish.
Okay, I get it, but my heart twists around that.
I know that this moment is not about cultural heritage and pride in ethnicity or any of a kerjillion social worky things that fly through my brain. I know this is not the time to give my kid a lecture.
Our last name is Kelly, and our kid wants to embrace his Kelly-ness.
So we make an impromtu St. Paddy's day celebration in the living room.
I pull out my dad's Irish plaid cap and put it on Little Bear's head.
I have Little Bear tote his sandwich fixings back into the living room. We set up a picnic.
I get down on my hands and knees and dig, dig dig through a pile of old video cassettes... finally locating DARBY O'GILL AND THE LITTLE PEOPLE.
We pop that in, and settle down with food and dancing leprechauns and all the stereotypical Irish stuff of movies from that era.
I settle back at the couch...
look at my son...
and he is absolutely delighted.
Smiling, laughing, getting up and making up his own Irish jig during the dance scene in the film.
With my Dad's Irish cap planted firmly on his head.
I reflect:
I am so concerned that my son knows where he came from, and knows the heritage of his birthland...
that I forget...
he is just a little guy and he needs to know how much he BELONGS to us.
He notices racial differences now.
He is completely entranced by the mother of one of his classmates. This mother is Japanese. Little Bear never misses an opportunity to let me know when she is present.
His eyes lit up when I walked over and introduced myself to her.
I have no idea what my child is thinking and he is not able, yet to tell me.
I think he is working things out in his mind.
I think maybe he wishes I looked Korean like him... and I am so worried that he might think if that is not going to be so, then he wants to look "Irish" like me.
I don't know.
I don't know.
But, for now...
my kid is a high stepping Irish kid.
I told my husband about the Darby O'Gill hour here at home and asked Hubby to bring home something Irish so our kid could celebrate St. Patrick's day properly.
So when Daddy came home...
I placed a garish plastic green derby on my son's head and pinned a Luck o' the Irish button on his sweatshirt. I hugged my son and told him he is Irish, he's a Kelly and we are all Irish.
And if any kid told him different he could say that the kid is full of blarney.
HAPPY ST. PATRICK'S DAY!
