Meredith’s Musings: Color Me Family

article by Meredith McKinnie

The visual landscape of the American family is shifting. Blended racial families are no longer rare, and now being celebrated. We’ve seen it in the media, but now it’s at our dinner table. It’s refreshing and overdue in the melting pot of America. I’ve witnessed this in both my families. I’m proud of racial diversity in my natural family and the one I married into. It gives personal stake in arguments that surround race and a front row seat to the effects of racial injustice.

My cousin Claire has fostered four babies in the last two years. One Caucasian little girl they’ve adopted, two African-American sisters are on the path to adoption, and the wee one has been with the family since her birth mere months ago. Having no natural children of their own, yet as far as they know, capable of getting pregnant, they chose instead to give homes to the natural children of others, those unable to fulfill their role as parents. They trusted God to bring them the children they needed, the children that needed them. It’s a brave move being the first, not knowing how relatives will react, but believing in something enough to force the conversation.

Another cousin, Abby, married an African-American man over a year ago, and they’re expecting a baby girl in November. I attended the gender reveal this summer and met many of his family members. What I saw was family, in the purest sense. We may look different, but we love the same. This little girl will grow up with two parents who bring dual experience and perspective. I’ve heard people say that mixed children do not have a place of their own. It’s a shortsighted viewpoint meant to curtail one from loving outside racial lines. And thankfully, it’s not working anymore. This little girl will have more than one place, more than one shade of face. She is the physical embodiment of her parent’s focus on love, rather than artificial racial boundaries.

My husband’s twin adopted five children of three different races. When I make Facebook posts from Texas, occasionally I’ll get, “Whose children are they?” People often see color first. And though we’re not colorblind, we are human-focused. They’re Smiths. They’re our nieces and nephews. They’re our family. I feel blessed my children will have a family infused with color from the beginning. It will feel familiar; it will feel like home. When they encounter bigotry or injustice, perhaps they will be more inclined to stand up for those that look different, because their people all look different.

Racial intolerance is learned, and insisting racial separation exists in any form promotes that intolerance. Blending experiences and viewpoints enriches the fabric of our families. It’s what has made America strong, a focus on the value of others different from ourselves. Our country has always melded, learning how to live together, walk beside others who walk differently, valuing those who think differently, finding common ground, to make a more level walking path for all of us. One group is not better than the other, but made stronger simply by the presence of another.

Childhood experiences affect the people we become. Keeping our kids isolated, whether by race or social class or man-made borders limits their perspective. Empathy is essential to a kind society. Resentment builds the more we stay in our bubbles, focusing on the differences instead of embracing the similarities. These kids will be surrounded by shared experiences, hopefully seeing skin color as no different than hair or eye color. The American family is beginning to look more like America. And for a country that places so much emphasis on the importance of family, encouraging diversity at our kitchen tables is imperative.