- my iParenting
- quick clicks
- iparenting adoption articles
- iparenting adoption q&a
- community & groups
- research baby names
- prepare a birth plan
- content channels
- ip channel rss feeds
- read birth stories
- read parenting stories
- recommended books
- e-newsletters
- safety recalls
- ip diaries
- ip store
- mom of the month
- dad of the month
- editor's letter
- letters to the editor
From Our Sponsors
- e-newsletters
- Sign up to receive our free weekly e-newsletters
- award-winning products
The iParenting Media Awards program helps parents find the best products for their families.
Driving Back From a Weekend at Home
A Memory for Some Peace By Caryn L. Abramowitz
It was another weekend of events, this time commemorating one of Andy's cousin's Bat Mitzvahs. At the Friday night dinner kick-off to the Saturday Bat Mitzvah, luncheon, evening affair and Sunday brunch, we got to visit with the entire extended family and then some. We enjoyed cocktail chatter for the most part, even received some well wishes on our impending adoption of a baby from China. I got to join the teenaged cousins in making fun of my husband.
I'm cool; he's "so" not.
Then a discussion with Andy's 88-year-old grandfather (yes, age is a mitigating factor, I do admit), PopPop, which began with, "There are some really pretty 'ones' that are anchors on the news." And was capped off with "Why can't you adopt an American baby?"
My responses, "Oh, you mean Connie Chung?" and "There really are no American infants to adopt," were admittedly lame and untruthful, respectively. In defense of our child-to-be, I should have educated him on the fact that there are many individuals of Asian descent in our country, making a variety of worthy contributions. I should have explained to him that we had decided to go the international adoption route for many reasons, not one of which was the "unavailability" of American babies. But I was lazy, or wimpy, or diplomatic. Yeah, that's it, I was diplomatic. And he's old and sad and why bother, right?
I guess the expression "can't teach an old dog new tricks" became fixed in my mind and overshadowed any desire to correct Andy's grandfather. But it applied twofold to the Friday night dinner conversation. Most obviously to Andy's grandfather – why even bother to educate him, even if it is the right thing to do? But also to me – why am I still thinking about and even disturbed by his dumb remarks? I had to explain to a semi-confused and semi-sympathetic Andy that we can't teach me new tricks in that regard. With hope, when our daughter comes, the "new tricks" will come more instinctively, at least to me, if not to PopPop.
Andy puts the Nick Drake CD on the car stereo and says expectantly, sweetly, "Doesn't this remind you of a crisp morning in Banff?" I agree that it does and he squeezes my hand. It really does. I picture our sweatshirts and our climbs and of course the mountains and our goose bumps soon covered by sweat. And the Brazil 66 CD really does make me think of our hotel room in the Amazon, just like the Wallflowers makes me think of Myrtle Beach. But honestly, 5th Dimension does not remind me of Provence – even though I would say that it does. 