Last week, someone asked me if I was David’s grandfather. This in itself isn’t a bad thing. 
In the past when people have questioned David’s parentage, I have simply said that he is adopted. Which is true.
What is wrong with the idea that a white person would have an African-American son?
Or even the other way, what is wrong with the idea that an African-American would have a white son?
What business is it of theirs?
I could see being concerned if the child was in distress, showed signs or behaviors of abuse. But you won’t see that with my son.
Recently, a friend was asked how much her son cost.
“How much did he cost?”
I am perplexed.
I have no idea what the cost of birth is, but what business is it of another person? I could see if the interest involved their wanting to adopt a child, but my impression is that wasn’t the case here. Yes, the child is adopted.
Heck, I am adopted. I can bet you dollars to dough-nuts that my parents were never asked how much I cost.
Why do you think that is?
Because I am the same race as my parents.
Just because a child is of another race. Adopted, or both, why would you ask the parents how much the child cost?
When we look at our children, we don’t see their race. We don’t see the color of their skin. We see our child. Our son or daughter.
You know, even with the frustrations, fears and events we have experienced with David, he is very much our son. Not every child that is adopted will bring the same background.