As a caucasian man traveling alone with my African American son (5) and African American infant I realized I was triggering intrigue in some parts of the world, well, most parts.
“Where did you get your boys?” a person may randomly ask.
Yes, I specifically recall it happening on a plane or two and in an airport bus. It even occurred once in the London underground, where in retrospect, the person must have really wanted to know given the “no talk” rule.
I recall being flippant or playful or casual in my reply and I learned quickly a few ways to express “it’s none of your business.”
But, I did not always respond this way.
Sometimes I detected a longing in the questioner, an ache, and, if there was time enough to really answer the question I did.
I found myself answering fully if children asked.
One morning during Nathanael’s kindergarten days one of his classmates approached me.
“Mr. Smith, where is Nathanael’s mommy?” and as gently as I knew how I told Andrew we did not know (which remain the truth) and that I was Nate’s only parent.
Tears steamed down Andrew’s face and he ran off.
All I could imagine was that the boy, in that brief encounter, had imagined his own life without his wonderful mother.
A fellow parent presented me with this painting of Nathanael and me during Nate’s kindergarten years. I did see her taking a photograph of us a few days before she presented me with this treasured gift.
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