DETECTIVE WORK

The Full Spectrums went to see a movie a few weeks ago, which is, in itself, a rarity. We went with my Meeting Friend and her family, and chose the only movie that was playing in a matinee, Mr. Holmes.

During a sad, moving part of the movie where Sherlock is really, really old and feeble and decrepit and does something pathetic, Z suddenly laughed aloud. I cringed. Perhaps she was uncomfortable, but it just felt very awkward and inappropriate...I tried to convince myself it was a mistake, but it happened again a few minutes later during a similar part. Everyone else in the theater was quiet...real quiet.  

“Good luck getting old,” said my Meeting Friend as we left the theater. As we always do, my dear MF and I looked for the bright side: “She’s very practical and realistic!” we assured one another; “Great sense of the absurd!”

On another note, the Full Spectrum children are very into any and all Secret Agent/Detective-y stuff, and were absolutely fascinated by the way Sherlock Holmes can detect things about people just through observation. As we walked back to the car, I asked them what Sherlock Holmes could know about them just by using his powers of discernment.

Z answered immediately:”That I’m a sister, and that I was adopted.”

All G had to say was, “That I’m awesome!” [See forthcoming post, “AND MODEST, TOO.”]

I wanted to hear more from both children, though I found Z’s response quite touching, so I told them, “For me, I think Sherlock Holmes could tell that I am a mother, wife, and artist. Those are the most important things to me.”

“I’m awesome,” G repeated.

“I’m mean,” said Z. Though it’s sometimes true, I don’t think mean is who Z is. I looked at her skeptically. “Well...I can be mean,” she amended.

“Don’t you want to change that?”

“What do you mean?” One thing that IS who Z is is a master obfuscator.

“Don’t you want to not be mean?”

She paused. For a while. “...Yeah.”

“Do you think you can change? I do! You’re just a kid still!”

“I think” – very matter-of-fact – “I will always be a little bit mean.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, but I can tell I always will.”

“Well...that is something you will always have to work on then,” I assured her. “I know you can do that.”

“Huh?”

Hmm. Guess that conversation was over. (WHO, exactly, is in control all up in here?)

When I started writing this blog, I did not know anyone “like us;” I felt alienated, alone, and, much worse, so confused about parenting my two very different – from each other, from the “norm” -- children.

I felt like a failure in the most important role I’d ever had: motherhood.

I did not know, back in the day, that Z’s seemingly cruel laughter, her obfuscation, her self-proclaimed meanness are all attachment-disordered behaviors. I would have blamed myself for not raising her to be kind...I would have blamed her for being unkind and manipulative.

A number of factors (my own kinds of detective work: reading, researching, developing an online community, meeting others through the blog, finding a good specialist in attachment disorders, having a Meeting Friend) have helped me to become someone who is able to share the fruits of my detective work  in hopes of reaching people who feel as I have felt in the past (confused, alone) and feel now in the present (confused, alone, AND inspired, connected, and – every so often – just a little wise in my old age).

As for Z, if I were to name a third fundamental aspect of her identity that Sherlock Holmes might have discerned, I would say that she has a fabulous, quite broad sense of humor. That may be her, and OUR, saving grace.

Love,

Full Spectrum Mama

THE WEDDING

We are at a family wedding in Maine. My sweet, hunky cousin, Whitey McWhiteperson is marrying one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen in my life,* who happens to be from Kenya, although she grew up mostly in the United States.

* Also, she’s a great person and a Nurse. Grr. I mean…yay!

We are surrounded by close to a hundred people from Africa – most are from Kenya but a few are from Liberia, Ghana and Zimbabwe; most are immigrants to the U.S., but some are here from abroad. My family, consisting primarily of real live White people, makes up only a fraction of the wedding guests.

Many guests from The Bride’s side are in traditional dress, especially the women, who are in amazing, architectural headpieces and dresses of bright, stunning fabrics.

The Bridal Procession begins. The Bride is preceded by a whole bunch of middle-aged women singing exquisite and/or rowdy songs in Swahili. Other women are jubilantly ululating. As The Bride proceeds, she is accompanied by a rainbow of younger women in a variety of matching outfits by group (future sisters-in-law in lavender taffeta, friends from the U.S. in blue silk, friends/family from abroad in mixed colors…).

The singing, ululating elder women are using large, intricately patterned cloths as rugs to cover the ground in front of The Bride. Each cloth is removed as soon as she has passed, and quickly carried forward to lengthen the stretch of cloths in her path so that she need never touch the ground until reaching the altar.

G and Z and I are watching the scene with delight and wonder. G has settled down a bit from his initial flailing and neediness (from feeling overwhelmed by all the people and a new environment). I see stars in my daughter’s eyes and am happy to know she is experiencing such a harmonious, extraordinary, multicultural and flat-out-super-enjoyable event.

I’ll look forward to the color-blind (gender-blind, sexual-orientation-blind...sigh) day when such heterogeneity is a commonplace, but for now I’m feeling truly grateful that my daughter gets to experience this diversity in relatively-homogenous northern New England.

Figure I – Z (right) with New Friends at the Wedding

A hush falls on the guests as The Bride and her attendants near the altar, which is located on a breathtaking spit of land overlooking the ocean. The singing gets quieter, but no less moving.

Suddenly, through the reverent silence of the audience, a large voice rings out from my rather small daughter: “That dress must have been relley expensive!”

Um…Whoa.

All around us, people are laughing, with a slight undercurrent of chagrin. My entire parenting career passes before my eyes: what about “our” values (non-materialism, valuing what’s INSIDE instead of appearances…)? Why bother raising kids without tv and consumer culture if this is what happens in the end? How is it that, surrounded by marvels of all sorts, the price of the dress is what Z chose to focus on??? Where did this comment of hers come from???? Is there some genetic component to character????????? As well, whence the Valley Girl accent?

Big questions.

So, you know, next thing I know I am drinking a teensy bit more than I might be under other circumstances. Right? Right? Doesn’t everybody feel a smidge uncomfortable around family?

Oh, wait, no. WELLANYWAY.

Lucky for me, after a few hours on the dance floor, what remained with me was laughter and the pleasure of losing myself in the festivities (with a little help from my old friend Vino).

This was partly because Z and I were the last ones dancing from my cousin’s family, shaking our patooties long after the rest of that side had left the dance floor. Thereby proving beyond a shadow of a doubt that (as alienated as some in my biological family may be) my daughter and I are totally related.

And it was partly because, as a fabulous someone said, “At least she didn’t say it looks cheap!”

Love,

Full Spectrum Mama