My husband, John, grew up in the country. I grew up in the suburbs. But we both spent a lot of time in the city. After we got married, we found our first apartment in the heart of Minneapolis. As we talked about dreams for our family we always knew we’d find home either in the city or in the country. Not the inbetween. Sometimes we’d dream of a downtown condo where our kids walked or took the city bus to school. Other times we dreamed of open fields and chickens chasing kids in the yard. Both were beautiful and both felt like us.
Back in 2017, we found ourselves in a spot where our lease was up on our downtown Saint Paul apartment. So, our conversations about buying land and building a house had picked up pace. Luca, who was then almost two, loved being out at her grandparents and exploring in the woods. It felt like the right time for us to make our country dreams come true. We packed up our amazing apartment and moved in with John’s parents. Not even a year later we would find out about our daughter, Jona, which forced us to find a more permanent place to call our own while we went through the home study process. We ended up deciding to stay put and bought a house in western Wisconsin about an hour outside of Minneapolis. We’ve loved making this small townhome for the past two years. We’ve made lifelong friends and formed an amazing community.
But one of the things that we have realized over the past year is that sometimes dreams change. Especially for our kids.
The reality is, raising two Black daughters in a less than diverse town is not easy. We didn’t think it would be, but to be honest, it’s harder than we imagined.
Before we started the adoption process we knew we were open to race.
We took all the diversity trainings.
Read all the books.
Talked to transracial families who had come before us.
We felt prepared, as prepared as anyone could feel.
The thing is that nothing really can prepare you for the first time it happens. For the first time the “n” word is used to describe your sweet toddler. The first time “colored” is used. The first time “brilo pad” is used to describe her hair while a stranger’s fingers pick and pull at it in the aisle at Walmart. The first time someone asks “is English her first language?”. Or “where did you get them from?” You feel a little more prepared after they’ve happened a couple more times. You aren’t caught off guard anymore. You have your response down. But now instead of a clueless toddler you have a growing, curious four year old that is hearing every word. You have a four year old who upon attending her preschool orientation where she was the only non-white person in the room she asks “Mom, are there any brown kids in my school?”. The four year old who notices when she’s the only brown girl in her ballet class. Or when your four year old is told by a classmate that he doesn’t like her skin.
And your heart breaks. And you realize things have to change.
I recognized my privilege in these scenarios. The fact that those disgusting words. The ignorant questions. They had never been directed at me before. I knew that for Black people they had been experiencing it their whole lives.
You acknowledge and recognize that although you have books with brown characters and brown Santas at Christmas and see other friends who are brown, it’s not enough.
You are providing mirrors but it’s just not enough.
She doesn’t see anyone who looks like her at the library or the grocery store or walking down the street. And eventually, that four year old and one year old will be teenagers wanting to talk about hair and makeup with friends and they won’t have anyone who can relate.
And we will have to drive over an hour to find stuff for their hair and skin. Over an hour to get braids done. Over an hour to find “nude” tights that match their beautiful brown skin.
The bottom line is they need mirrors not just for them but for our family.
We are a multi-cultural family. And we have to make a decision that is best for our family and our children.
So our dreams have changed, not just for them but for us too.
And we know that moving won’t protect our children from racism or ignorant comments. But after listening to many transracial adoptees, we are confident that this is the next best step for us.
And what does that look like? It means that in the next couple of months we will be moving back to Minneapolis. Luca will be enrolled in a Minneapolis Public School. She is so excited, by the way.
Sometimes people think changing your mind is failing.
But let me tell you this, there is no failure in learning.
There is no failure in changing.
There is no failure in striving for what’s best for your family. Not anyone else’s family. Just yours.
Written by Lauren Rasmussen | Wifey to John, stay at home mama to Luca + Jona, and their fur baby Australian Shepherd mix, Roo. She is a lover of coffee (most always with cream) and Mexican food. A Northern girl through and through she loves spending time outside no matter the season. She has a deep passion for adoption and the community she found through her own adoption process. She hopes this site will encourage, inspire and more than anything assure others they are not alone.
