Obama Inauguration a 'Mixed' Blessing

The night our country elected Obama, my husband and I danced in our street while belting out “Happy Days Are Here Again!”  We hoped to attract a crowd of celebrants; instead we heard the sound of windows being shut!

Oh, well! We went inside to call our four children to share the joy. Three out of four, an unbelievable family average, concurred that the best man won. The fourth, our adopted African American child, agreed that he was proud to have a black President, but admitted that he hadn’t voted for him.   

My husband and I produced three standard-issue kids: a boy, David, and two girls, Jane and Susan. To even things out 37 years ago, we decided to adopt a boy, two-and-a-half year old, Joshua. We took classes to prepare for integrating our family; the experts said that we must get used to people staring at us in restaurants. No problem. We'd experienced that when we were leaving Denny’s and one of the three kids, trailing behind, screamed, “Don’t leave me . . . again!”

The experts also told us that young children don’t notice color. Untrue. Two-year old Susan had many food sensitivities, including chocolate, and the first thing she asked her new brother: “Are you chocolate?” She showed relief when he answered “Nope,” while the poor kid was probably wondering how he wound up with five crazy white people. The first time we took him to Sunday School, a little boy excitedly told his mother, “We have a new boy, and he’s blue!” He clearly didn’t know his colors, but he knew a cool kid when he saw one.  

We did experience intolerance based on color. One day the boys came home from school both saying that David had fallen on the ice and maybe broke a finger. We took him to the doctor, who examined the bruised knuckles and bent finger and asked, “Who’d you hit?” David looked sheepish as he confessed to slugging a kid who called his brother a racist name. Not the Christian way we wanted our kids to handle things, but we couldn’t help being proud of him.

That same year the school’s principal said my scholastic expectations for a black child were too high. My beliefs prevented me from doubling up my fist, but I angrily walked several blocks home from the PTA meeting – forgetting I had driven to the school.

At a Little League game we overheard some other parents commenting on how well Josh did and what a shame it was that his parents never came to support him. Never having missed a game, we introduced ourselves. Once I lost Josh in Macy’s. I described his height, weight and what he was wearing but forgot – for an hour – to mention his race. So while security searched for a child resembling the rest of us, Josh received lots of attention and treats.

Amusing things about being an integrated family have continued as our children reached adulthood. Jane’s son Jarrett adores his Uncle Josh and assumes every child has an uncle like him. When an African-American dad picked up his daughter at Jarrett’s daycare, our grandson raced up to him and announced, “I know you who you are; you’re Anna’s uncle.” The man explained otherwise but Jarrett maintained, “You can’t kid me, you’re her uncle!”

This year Josh volunteered to buy the finnan haddie our family traditionally enjoys for Christmas breakfast. A curious butcher asked why he happened to buy a Scottish fish. He answered truthfully, “My people always have this for Christmas.”

His people forgive him for voting against Obama!

Alice Marks lives in the little island town of Port Aransas, Texas, and is the mother of four adult children and six grandchildren. After retiring from a career in early childhood education – part CEO and part Mother Goose – she has dedicated much of her time to the lifetime passion of writing. Her greatest success in publishing, however, was giving birth to a published author of two books. She also owns a victory in a recent poetry slam!