“Their names will be ‘Tabernacle’ and ‘Georgina,’” my daughter’s friend Molly announces. “My children, someday. A boy and a girl.”
“Is Tabernacle even a name?” my daughter Mia asks, with no small measure of disdain. She’s nine and doesn’t, as they say, suffer fools.
“Anything can be a name,” her friend says. I’m glad Molly hasn’t backed down.
“That’s right,” I say. “Anything.”
The names of several celeb-u-tots pop into my head. Jermajesty. Audio Science. Tu Morrow. Pilot Inspektor. Um, yes, those are all real given names. I must admit, though, I’ve always been fond of Moxie Crimefighter, the name Penn Jillette and his wife gave their daughter. I find it appealing, and empowering somehow. I make a mental note to remind my daughter to be more diplomatic in the future. This will be especially important if she ever moves to Beverly Hills.
Later, I ask Mia what she imagines her family will be like someday.
“I don’t know what I’ll name them,” she says. “Not Tabernacle, of course. But other than that, I don’t know.”
“Are you going to have two, like Molly?”
“Nope. I’m going to have a lot. A big mish-mash of kids. Some’ll be adopted, some not,” she says.
My daughter was adopted when she was a toddler; she’s captured my interest with this last comment. Parents by adoption are always on the look-out for clues as to the way their kids are processing their own adoptions.
“From Guatemala?” I ask. My mind flashes on the adult Mia walking through the airport, holding a baby from the country of her birth. I see myself, seven years ago, with Mia sitting on my hip, snuggled in the sling.
“Sure. Guatemala first. And then from lots of places. Like somewhere in Africa. And maybe China, too.”
“You like that idea, huh?” I ask. “Having a big family with kids from all over the world.”
“Yes! It will be so fun. Everyone will know different things. You know — games and languages and everything. And everyone will have different ways to do stuff. But they’ll all be in the same family so they’ll teach each other.”
“Wow. That’ll be interesting,” I said. “I can’t wait.”
“Yeah. It’s going to be fun,” she said.
We start talking about holidays, family dinners, and other elements of what her family culture may someday look like.
“Race is important,” I say. “You know what ‘race’ means, right?”
“Like if you’re Asian or something?” She asks.
“Right. Or Latina or African-American…”
“I know.” She uses that dismissive tone again.
“Some of the kids might be really into the countries where they were born,” I say. “And others might be more into where they live now. And, probably, how they feel about their first countries and cultures will change, depending on how old they are or what’s going on in their lives.”
“Yeah. That makes sense,” she says. I wonder if she is making a mental note. She takes a deep breath and I wait, wondering what she is going to say. She lets out the breath.
“What is it honey?”
“Oh nothing,” she says, turning to the window.
My heart beats a little faster. Is she wondering about her race and cultural background? Do we do enough to celebrate it? Is she longing for a land she has never really known?
“Really – tell me,” I say, trying not to sound anxious.
“I just remembered. I told Haven I’d email her. She moved and I’m kind of missing her. I wish they didn’t move. But last night after the pool, I forgot.”
“Well, let’s go email her now,” I say, grateful, actually, that instead of being troubled over the early losses of her life, she was lost in thought about missing her friend.
A friend whose name, by the by, is so unique and pretty itself.
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Jennifer Grant is the author of the recently-released memoir Love You More: The Divine Surprise of Adopting My Daughter.
