You can lose your mind
When cousins are two of a kind
When cousins are two of a kind
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
My mother makes a stand
Once your life is touched by adoption, you notice a lot of things that might have gone right past you previously, especially the way language is used. You'll never look at an "Adopt-a-Highway" sign the same way again.
So I'm going to proudly relate the story my mother told me.
She and a friend and my dad went to a church craft fair over the weekend. They stopped at one booth where a woman was selling cute little finger puppets. She decided to get a couple for Owen and Renee .
The puppets were in buckets with labels like "Animals" and "Cartoon Characters."
Then she noticed a bucket labeled "Orphanage."
Okay...what's that all about? She asked the vendor why the bucket was labeled this way, and the woman said, "Oh, that's where I put the leftovers and the ones I didn't know what else to do with."
So my mom put down the puppets she was going to buy, spun on her heel, and walked out.
But it didn't end there. She thought about it, and then she decided she couldn't let it go. She handed my dad her bags and went to give the vendor a piece of her mind. I'm sure in the nicest way possible, as my mom is not the type to get in your grill.
She went back and told the puppet mistress that she was offended by the use of "orphanage." She told her, "I have a grandson who came from an orphanage, and he is NOT a 'leftover.' He's a blessing."
The puppet maker was pretty horrified, my mom says, at never thinking about it that way. She certainly didn't mean to be offensive, and she took my mom's complaint seriously.
And that's the way I think it is with most of the "civilian" population. They do stuff like this completely out of ignorance, out of just not thinking. I just never thought of it that way before. And I think adoptive families tend to fall into two camps: when you see it, you either let it slide (maybe muttering under your breath), or you become an adoption educator, schooling the uninformed (and maybe not in the nicest way possible every time). Why take the harder path? Because this is the world Owen and his fellow adoptees have to grow up in. We can't spare them every callous or unthinking use of words like "adopt" and "orphanage," but we can occaisonally win one.
So, way to go Mom. That was freakin' awesome.
So I'm going to proudly relate the story my mother told me.
She and a friend and my dad went to a church craft fair over the weekend. They stopped at one booth where a woman was selling cute little finger puppets. She decided to get a couple for Owen and Renee .
The puppets were in buckets with labels like "Animals" and "Cartoon Characters."
Then she noticed a bucket labeled "Orphanage."
Okay...what's that all about? She asked the vendor why the bucket was labeled this way, and the woman said, "Oh, that's where I put the leftovers and the ones I didn't know what else to do with."
So my mom put down the puppets she was going to buy, spun on her heel, and walked out.
But it didn't end there. She thought about it, and then she decided she couldn't let it go. She handed my dad her bags and went to give the vendor a piece of her mind. I'm sure in the nicest way possible, as my mom is not the type to get in your grill.
She went back and told the puppet mistress that she was offended by the use of "orphanage." She told her, "I have a grandson who came from an orphanage, and he is NOT a 'leftover.' He's a blessing."
The puppet maker was pretty horrified, my mom says, at never thinking about it that way. She certainly didn't mean to be offensive, and she took my mom's complaint seriously.
And that's the way I think it is with most of the "civilian" population. They do stuff like this completely out of ignorance, out of just not thinking. I just never thought of it that way before. And I think adoptive families tend to fall into two camps: when you see it, you either let it slide (maybe muttering under your breath), or you become an adoption educator, schooling the uninformed (and maybe not in the nicest way possible every time). Why take the harder path? Because this is the world Owen and his fellow adoptees have to grow up in. We can't spare them every callous or unthinking use of words like "adopt" and "orphanage," but we can occaisonally win one.
So, way to go Mom. That was freakin' awesome.
It's Good To Be a Gangsta
Ray took Owen for his first barber shop haircut on Monday. Ray's barber is Vietnamese, and had promised a free haircut for Owen.
Unfortunately, Owen is not yet as appreciative of a bargain as his mom is. He was okay with having his hair brushed, but when the scissors came out, he started crying and struggling. The barber was only able to get his bangs done.
I think he looks like Mr. Spock.
Anyways, during the visit, he got to hear a lot of Vietnamese, and at one point he looked at the action movie on the TV set in the barber shop and said, clear as a bell, a word in Vietnamese.
The barbers translated for Ray. They couldn't get over the fact that he knew the Vietnamese word for "gun."
Unfortunately, Owen is not yet as appreciative of a bargain as his mom is. He was okay with having his hair brushed, but when the scissors came out, he started crying and struggling. The barber was only able to get his bangs done.
I think he looks like Mr. Spock.
Anyways, during the visit, he got to hear a lot of Vietnamese, and at one point he looked at the action movie on the TV set in the barber shop and said, clear as a bell, a word in Vietnamese.
The barbers translated for Ray. They couldn't get over the fact that he knew the Vietnamese word for "gun."
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Owen's Americanization: Part 2 -- English Lessons
Yesterday, I took Owen to a birthday party, a joint celebration for two brothers, 2 and 6, born in Vietnam. Since 2-year-olds don't really have that big of a social circle, the guests were mostly friends of the 6-year-old. The parents had rented out an area museum, and there was plenty to do and see. Owen had a great time.
He also got an English lesson.
When it was pizza time I grabbed a seat at a table of 6-year-old boys and a few parents.
The boy next to me was making some kind of choking noise (imitating, as it turned out, a poisoned Chinese baby dying from tainted formula), and Owen started imitating him. The boy laughed, and then asked me what Owen's name was.
"Does he walk?" he continued.
"Yep -- he walks, runs, jumps, all that stuff," I said.
"Can he talk?"
"Yes," I explained, "But not much. He's only been in the U.S. for three months, so he's still learning English. He can say about 20 words."
The kid's dad piped in: "Hey, maybe you can teach him a new word today."
"Yes," I said. "That would be great. You can teach him a new word, and then he'll know 21 words!"
Without missing a beat, the kid said, "I've got a word to teach him: F*ck-duck."
Silence and a very careful (and difficult to maintain) non-reaction from me.
"What did you say?" the dad said.
"F*ck-duck."
I tried to be graceful. "Oh, he already knows how to say duck," I said. "That's one of his words. He just loves ducks."
"No," the kid corrected me, "F*CK-duck. F*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck !!!!"
Ahem.
Luckily, Owen wasn't really paying attention.
He also got an English lesson.
When it was pizza time I grabbed a seat at a table of 6-year-old boys and a few parents.
The boy next to me was making some kind of choking noise (imitating, as it turned out, a poisoned Chinese baby dying from tainted formula), and Owen started imitating him. The boy laughed, and then asked me what Owen's name was.
"Does he walk?" he continued.
"Yep -- he walks, runs, jumps, all that stuff," I said.
"Can he talk?"
"Yes," I explained, "But not much. He's only been in the U.S. for three months, so he's still learning English. He can say about 20 words."
The kid's dad piped in: "Hey, maybe you can teach him a new word today."
"Yes," I said. "That would be great. You can teach him a new word, and then he'll know 21 words!"
Without missing a beat, the kid said, "I've got a word to teach him: F*ck-duck."
Silence and a very careful (and difficult to maintain) non-reaction from me.
"What did you say?" the dad said.
"F*ck-duck."
I tried to be graceful. "Oh, he already knows how to say duck," I said. "That's one of his words. He just loves ducks."
"No," the kid corrected me, "F*CK-duck. F*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck !!!!"
Ahem.
Luckily, Owen wasn't really paying attention.
Owen's Americanization: Part 1 -- Halloween
Part 1: Halloween
Okay, first off, we never did get him back in the pug costume. I got a larger size at Target, but no dice. He threw a fit the one time I was able to wrestle it back on him, and from then on, whenever I picked it up, he'd run. So for Halloween, we put him in his Redskins jacket and called it a costume.
I know, lame.
It's not like he didn't have a lot of Halloween activities to attend and opportunities to see kids in costumes. But he just wasn't feeling it this year. Maybe next year.
In addition to the Smith-Tucker 10th Annual Punkin Hunt -- a terrific day in a setting that surpassed Cox Farms -- Owen attended the Town of Vienna Annual Halloween Parade and spent Halloween night in Vienna, trick or treating and answering the door.
Despite the cold, he loved the parade, especially the firetrucks and Bolivian and Chilean dance troupes. He was jumping up and down in my arms, bopping to the music. A few of the floats were Halloween-themed, and he would say, "Pumpkin! Pumpkin!" when they passed.
On Halloween night, he helped Dad string up some Halloween lights on the porch, which showed us that Christmas is going to be a blast. Also that I will need to put a chain-link fence around the Christmas tree.
He picked up on trick-or-treating pretty quickly. He almost got the phrase down, and he liked knocking on doors. One of us would take him to 2 or 3 houses on Ray's block, then come back to hang at the house some and answer the door. Every time we got back, Owen would take his candy out of his bag and put it in a line on the edge of a chair.
He ate way too much, but hey, it was his first Halloween. He was up at 11 p.m., running around the house, crazed on the sugar and chocolate, but hey, isn't that what Halloween is all about?
Okay, first off, we never did get him back in the pug costume. I got a larger size at Target, but no dice. He threw a fit the one time I was able to wrestle it back on him, and from then on, whenever I picked it up, he'd run. So for Halloween, we put him in his Redskins jacket and called it a costume.
I know, lame.
It's not like he didn't have a lot of Halloween activities to attend and opportunities to see kids in costumes. But he just wasn't feeling it this year. Maybe next year.
In addition to the Smith-Tucker 10th Annual Punkin Hunt -- a terrific day in a setting that surpassed Cox Farms -- Owen attended the Town of Vienna Annual Halloween Parade and spent Halloween night in Vienna, trick or treating and answering the door.
Despite the cold, he loved the parade, especially the firetrucks and Bolivian and Chilean dance troupes. He was jumping up and down in my arms, bopping to the music. A few of the floats were Halloween-themed, and he would say, "Pumpkin! Pumpkin!" when they passed.
On Halloween night, he helped Dad string up some Halloween lights on the porch, which showed us that Christmas is going to be a blast. Also that I will need to put a chain-link fence around the Christmas tree.
He picked up on trick-or-treating pretty quickly. He almost got the phrase down, and he liked knocking on doors. One of us would take him to 2 or 3 houses on Ray's block, then come back to hang at the house some and answer the door. Every time we got back, Owen would take his candy out of his bag and put it in a line on the edge of a chair.
He ate way too much, but hey, it was his first Halloween. He was up at 11 p.m., running around the house, crazed on the sugar and chocolate, but hey, isn't that what Halloween is all about?
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