Image may be NSFW.
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As we continue the countdown, I’d like to address one of the more interesting questions we’ve gotten over the course of our journey. “Are those kids going to turn out to be thugs?”
Really. I mean it. Really. Maybe we just live in hickville but this was a serious question. It was as if children who have been in care are predisposed to the “thug life”. I’m honestly not even sure what was meant by the question. Through more thorough examination we discovered the inquiry had to do with whether or not our new son would wear his pants above or below his behind.
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Now we ALL know that the location of one’s pants has a great deal to do with identifying a possible thug. I hope you were able to note the sarcasm there. I also hope the weirdo who asked me the question noted my dripping sarcasm when I responded. Of course our new child would be a thug, that is, after all, what the foster care system churns out. Thugs.
Unfortunately for me, this question also came from a relative leaving me with no choice but to go down the dark and dreary road we were on. It turns out that the possibility that we may adopt an African American child struck fear into the hearts of many. Of course, the issue of race and adoption is for a whole other post, but in this case “black” was equivalent to “thug” which is equivalent to “pants below the waist.”
So here I am, minding my own business, and because we are adopting a foster kid I am thrust into a heated racial disagreement. I attempted the very obvious solution which was to point out that white kids abound with their rears hanging out of their pants. What do pants and color have to do with how my child will “turn out”?
And, on that note, what exactly does “turn out” mean? The phrase in and of itself reminds me of my old easy-bake oven. How did your light bulb brownie turn out dear? Food turns out. Events turn out. Lawsuits turn out. Kids do not turn out. There happens to be a great deal of effort that goes into molding and loving a child into the man or woman they will become. We don’t just pop em’ in, flick the switch and wait for them to “turn out”.
Just a side note, my very Caucasian son can’t keep his pants above his skinny butt to save his life. Belts don’t help. Smaller pants don’t even help. So everyone he meets eventually get to see his SpongeBob boxers. Sure does sound like a “thug” to me.