Moon

There's a teaching assistant at Liam's school--an Indian woman--who honed in on Liam when he first started walking the halls there two years ago, and has kept tabs on him since; she put three kids through the school system--got to dry up the tears when her kids were taunted because their gums were purple, not pink, or were automatically assigned the part of the slave or the Indian in any class plays, or, post-9/11, were called terrorists because they were brown-skinned Muslims. One of those boys grew up and went to medical school in DC, and came back on his break and worked in Liam's preschool, and Liam fell in love. Right away I noticed that Liam started tucking his shirts into his jeans and throwing on his loafers instead of sneakers. Everybody needs a model--role or otherwise.

This morning I dropped Liam at school and Moon was beckoning to me, smiling. "Liam ran up to me last week and asked, 'Do you know my Mom?' and I said 'Of course I do!' He was so happy, and skipped back to class." She loves the connection--loves being able to reassure him, especially given her own children's experiences.

What she doesn't realize is that Liam was asking about his birthmom in India. He came home on Friday and said, "Mrs. Jahrwara knows Aparna! She told me so!"

He goes for months and never says a word. Then he'll ask me if he has his father's hair, or if he laughs like his sisters in India. He'll tell me that he knows about elephants because he's Indian (and I'm not). He'll whisper that he misses them, and ask when we can go visit.

There's not the smallest part of me that wishes he didn't ask; it's his pain that's hard for me to bear. I only wish I could put them all back together again. Imagine being five years old and 8,000 mles away from the places and faces of your birth. Imagine not resembling anyone you love. Not anyone. And even though everyone adapts their language about family and heritage and lineage--all that stuff--and you're consciously included--the language conciously adjusted--it comes through that you are apart from it: that you will never be part of that. Your lineage was cut the day you were born, and finalized 7 months later when you got on a plane with a stranger.

There is beauty in the coming together--in the love. Certainly. But the pain is unspeakable, and you just don't know how a child will grow to bear it. Some do, some don't.

I told Moon that Liam was asking if she knew his birthmother. "No he wasn't," she said quickly. "His mother is the one who raises him and loves him. He knows that."