The kids and I have been in San Diego for the past few weeks, with many of our days spent tromping happily through the vast acreage of Sea World San Diego. The highlight for the kids, always, is Blue Horizons. To visualize, think Broadway spectacular crossed with Cirque de Soleil, and throw in a cast of peppy dolphins and an array of trained birds. Cue the music. Add flags. That’s Blue Horizons.
I admit it. I also love the show.
But for my purposes here, I’ll tell you what happened right after our latest foray. The kids and I were browsing in the gift shop—of course–when a little girl about Olivia’s age walked up and began this conversation.
Little girl: “Are you their mother?”
Me: “Yes, I am. Why do you ask?”
Little girl: “Because you don’t look like them.”
Me: “You’re right. We don’t look alike. But I’m their mother.”
The little girl stared at me. Olivia picked at her fingernails. Mateo wandered away. Then, because I always feel an obligation to educate people, especially children who approach me with curiosity, I said, “I’m their mother through adoption. They were born in Guatemala.”
“Oh,” said the little girl. “Are they really brother and sister?”
“They are now,” I answered. And I took my kids’ hands and steered them toward the Forbidden Reef.
I have to tell you, as an adoptive mother, I always forget my children are adopted. And then, what do you know—someone comes up and reminds me.
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