They are of the astrological sign Leo; The Lion, the independent, the proud (sometimes too proud), the showman, the slow-to-burn with anger.

Our son is half-black, half- Aztec, his birth mother from Old Mexico, born across the border in El Paso, Texas.  His birth mother felt unable to provide him with a good life, and a friend asked us if we would like to adopt him. We struggled a bit about the idea of raising him in a predominatly anglo community.  To say we were a bit on the idealistic side would be understating it, but it was, after all, 1983, and the world was changing.  Right?  We supposed that if we were to provide love, support, and cultural identity to him, it might be rough in some ways, but okay, maybe even great.  We were back-to-the-land hippie New Pioneers, ready to take on anything the world might ask of us, even as we considered the potential difficulties. 

Two years later we fostered a Ute Mountain Ute daughter with special needs; we eventually adopted her.  We were strong advocates in our tiny school system for cultural diversity and justice for all kids who were different.  To some extent, introducing kids of color was a good thing for the community; babies are non-threatening, and our darling children helped neutralize some biases, of this I am sure.

As they grew older, it grew harder for our kids.  "But would ya let your son or daughter date one?" sort of issues came up.  The school grew less helpful in sorting out problems.  The fault never lay with the white children whose parents held the community power; the kids of color were expected to adapt, somehow, to the predominat culture, and to overlook bias or sometimes overt racism.  We tried to parent positively, and educate the educators positively, but we were only moderately successful.  Our son, especially, seemed more threatening to people as he grew older.  You may discount blacks being followed by security cops in stores, or being stopped "while driving black" as urban legend.  We live in a rural county in the Southwest, and please believe me when I say that it is true.

Jordan went to, and graduated from, a small Western Colorado college.  He is now a hotshot wildland firefighter, earning money to pay back his school loans; he substitute teaches in the off-season.  He is a wonderful kid, and we love him (and his sister) more than I can say.  We are proud to be a family of color.

The day Barack Obama was elected to the Presidency changed our son.  I swear to God, he walked just a bit taller and straighter, with maybe a teeny hint of swagger.  He did have to put up with endless jeering about "the new Negro President from his fellow firefighters, but somehow he could take it better.  When he came home for a couple days on leave, we talked about it.  And cried.  And laughed; and cried some more.  He said it made being black in America just a little bit easier; it's all he ever wanted: for it to be just a little bit easier.

Happy birthday, son, Mr. President, and you darling, Helen.

p.s. I'm all teary/bleary-eyed now, so please excuse any editing errors.  Jordan loves sharing a birthday with the President; he's on a fire today, and we're having good thoughts for him and the other firefighters.  love, wendy