Your kid is not like my kid, and that's okay!

A few nights ago, I read an article written by a black mother of biracial children, who doesn't feel comfortable when her kids make white friends. While I respect opinions that differ from my own, this one was a little hard to swallow. I'm white. My child is white but is often mistaken for biracial, especially after a long summer out in the sun. The idea that this mother is teaching her children separatism, if not racism, just because the other parents aren't having regular discussions about white privilege, bothers me a little.

Some people say they don't see color. We've been guilty of this statement. In many cases, as in our own, it's meant to say they don't judge someone based on the color of their skin. We don't stereotype or assume based on prejudice. If someone's a jerk, you call them out for being a jerk. It has nothing to do with that person's gender, sexual orientation, skin color, religion, etc. That person is simply a jerk.

I grew up in the melting pot that is Jacksonville, FL, which is the first major city snowbirds see when traveling to Florida. It's also a port town, Navy town, transportation hub, and the largest, most sprawled out city in the country. I met a lot of people from a lot of different backgrounds. My high school was a melting pot within a melting pot, a great example of this diversity. We had kids of all races and nationalities; everyone was statistically a minority. I'm not going to say that racial tensions didn't happen, but they weren't a prominent feature in my teenage years. I certainly didn't feel privileged based on the color of my skin. I felt like I was just like everyone else, not better or worse.

When I was 25 and pregnant, my then-fiance-now-exhusband and I moved to rural Missouri for his work. The first culture shock I experienced was that the only Walmart in town closed every night at 9:00pm, but I soon started to realize what else I was - or wasn't - seeing when I went shopping. Everyone in the town was white, with the occasional darker skinned individual. I learned these migrant workers and their families would come in waves, based on farm season. They didn't speak English, but they also didn't stay long. I also found out that the Ku Klux Klan is headquartered in Missouri, with a major branch located only 20 miles away from where we were living. This is its own story, which will be posted more in detail another time. In short, this was the extent of the diversity in the small, rural town in which I now called home, and I didn't like it. I met some of my best friends in rural Missouri, but I will never regret the decision to work our way back to a city in which my child could experience other races and cultures.

We do talk about race in our household. My child attended a magnet elementary school, which is located in a primarily black neighborhood. She felt what it's like to be on the other side of prejudice because she was one of a handful of non-black students in this school. Despite this, or perhaps because of it, she has good friends of all colors, religions, and nationalities. We talk about race, when the issue comes up, which it does occasionally. However, it's never been a deciding factor in who gets to be a friend. Without any outside influences, kids truly don't see color. I don't mean that it's not visible to them; of course, it is. However, they couldn't care less about skin color or anything else. My child pays attention to the much more important things, like whether the Hogwarts Sorting Hat would place someone into Ravenclaw or Slytherin.

ADHD and Me

The last year has been pretty rough. Without going into too much detail for the public eye (those who know us personally know the issues), let's just say that we've had to deal with more than the average family drama.

Enter therapy. I've never been in therapy before. I've always known that mental health issues were hereditary, so I figured I had some form of bipolar or depression like my mom. My mood swings weren't that drastic, so I just coped with it in my own way. However, with as much stress as I'd experienced last year, my mood swings were getting out of hand. I couldn't cope as well as I used to, so I just needed a little help. I called EAP at work and started seeing a therapist periodically. Little did I know where that would lead...

I was certain my mood swings meant bipolar. Maybe they still do, but my doctor doesn't think so. However, all those little personality quirks I'd had when I was a kid were apparently more than just being highly intelligent and gifted. When I was growing up, anything I saw as mundane, or routine, busy work was the worst punishment. I couldn't focus on anything that bored me, no matter how much I wanted to. Big projects overwhelmed me so much that my mom would simply do them for me, rather than battling with me to do my own work. However, if it was something I was interested in, I was a sponge for information.

Looking back, maybe I had ADHD all along. Maybe not. All I know is that this diagnosis seems to make sense. My doctor prescribed a low dose, non-stimulant ADHD medication and an even lower dose mood stabilizer. I don't feel drugged, sluggish, or overly hyper. I feel free. I can focus at work and get my job done, as opposed to feeling like I'm drowning in catch-up work. Unlike previous attempts at antidepressants, I don't feel like a robot or a zombie. I can cry, laugh, and feel. I still get angry occasionally, but I don't fly off the handle and start screaming for little things. I'm certain that prescription drugs are not the final answer, but they certainly have their place in recovery. Now I'm working on becoming more mindful, less stressed, and more centered. I seek joy in the little things again, which I hadn't done in quite some time. I may not find it all the time, but at least I'm looking.

Shameless plea for money (no, really...)

I'm hoping to raise at least enough money for the 25% down payment by the end of October. Please help if you can.

W.E.I.R.D. is Beautiful

Think back to third grade. Teachers and other adults are still huge and have supernatural powers. You slip up and call your teacher "Mom" and your mom "Mrs. So-and-so" more often than you'd like to admit. You think of yourself as the weird kid. Maybe you have a birthmark on your face. Maybe you're a biracial kid with blond, frizzy curls. Maybe you're taller/shorter/skinnier/fatter/hairier/frecklier/buck-toothier than the rest of the kids. Everybody is different, but kids are mean. They'll find whatever it is that makes you different and make you feel horrible about it.

Now, think of the beautiful people you know. That biracial woman with blond hair is one of the most exotic beauties you've ever met. You couldn't imagine that friend without her unusual birthmark and think she's prettier because of it. The tall/short/skinny/fat/hairy/freckly people all stand out in your mind, but they all have their own unique beauty and help make the world a more interesting place. Oh, and the buck-toothed kid got braces in middle school, making him really weird for a while, but now he has a gorgeous, movie star smile.

My point is, we don't have to wait until we're adults to appreciate what sets us apart from the crowd. It's okay to be different, unique, even weird.