If you've followed our adoption story for any length of time you know that although we know our children were underaged (presumably to make them more 'adoptable') by 1-2 years, we do not know their true ages. Additionally, we have no power to change their birthdays to make them closer to their biological age. So what we have is a boy who has a birth certificate that says he's 5 and parents who say [to him and others] that he's 6 who has a true age of probably 7. Not fun.
The other day our 5,6,7 year old son was playing soccer and kicking butt. [Sidebar: His whole team is seriously awesome and they mostly owe that to an amazing coach who takes 6 year old soccer seriously. We love his coach and consider him a true gift given to us to help our son steward his God-given talent. End Sidebar.] His awesome team was winning this particular game and as Vaughn scored his 3rd or 4th goal of the game, one of the parents on the opposing (read: losing) team yelled, "Jiminy Christmas! That kid will be driving next year! What's he even doing on this team?!" To which the hair on the back of his parents neck stood up. Andy jumped up and I quickly called his name three times (ANDYANDYANDY!) to try to avoid the horror of being the next YouTube sensation of two parents fighting at a children's sporting event. My wise husband understood all that ANDYANDYANDY implied and just kept walking past the guy. So many things I wanted to say...so many things. But I said none of them. When the game ended we collected Jiminy Christmas and went home.
On the way home Andy and I talked a lot about this. We have always been open with Vaughn about what the situation is. At this point it's really only awkward when he tells someone who shouldn't be in the know, something like, "my mom says I'm six but I know I'm really seven." And isn't that the point of how to deal with assholes? Who really needs to be in the know about our situation? Not that guy! My conclusion at the end of talking it out with Andy was this: we are in this situation with our children's ages. It sucks that Vaughn looks 7 and every time someone asks his age the response is, "you are tall for 6!" Do you think we haven't heard that one hundred million times??? But there is nothing we can do about this without complicating our lives further. So, who cares what the parent on the losing team thinks? (Which reminds me- would that guy have cared if Vaughn sucked at soccer?) I can't care what people think about my family and I can't address everyone's concerns. The coach knows that Vaughn is older than the other kids, but he has decided (and I'm sure there's some red tape for him) that he will own that risk and he is the only person we have to answer to when it comes to Vaughn's "soccer age". Would it have created an atmosphere of "understanding" or "peace" to explain anything to that guy? No. He doesn't care about Vaughn or our family or anything except his kid sucking at soccer. So, as for me -unless the situation calls for something else, and someday it may- I am going to do my best to realize that I don't owe anyone an explanation for my family. Honestly, everywhere I go I see people staring at us and I busy myself with my task and I get about the business of being a family because we are none. of. their. business.*
*Exceptions. Please feel free to approach us/stare for a while then approach us for any of the following reasons:
-you have a kind word to say to us that is not a flimsy cover for your curiosity
-you want to adopt and you would really like someone to talk to
-you are lost and decide you need to ask the person who has the worst sense of direction in the room
-you see me at the store all frazzled and tired in my sweatpants and you know
-you owe me money or you found my wallet in the parking lot
1 comment:
All I can say is, you have got to teach me this manner of self control you have. I feel ashamed that I haven't even met your kiddos yet, thank you for the sweet Christmas card, you both are truly amazing parents, I could've told you that before you had children.
I love your honesty and on that note:
Yesterday Tasha almost tackled me as I was approaching the butcher counter because she thought I was going to tell him that their free cookies were stale. First of all, I was going to ask about a cut of meat not complain about a cookie. Second, goodness gracious my child must see me as this walking time bomb most days because she's paranoid about me opening up my mouth to anyone in public...*sigh* Know this Celina Baldwin, I wouldn't swap life battles with you but you my friend are choosing all the right ones to fight. Thanks for your transparency and you've taught me an important lesson on how to deal with assholes:)
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