The girls and I were at the counter and through the door walked three little dark-skinned boys. Several seconds behind them followed a very light-skinned man with a baby, also light-skinned. One of the little boys toting his bookbag on his back scooted past me with a polite “Excuse me”. As the father adjusted to the light and caught sight of him, now standing in front of a few customers he yelled, “Get back here! That was very rude!” The boy humbly replied, “But, Daddy, I said excuse me.” He immediately joined who was now clearly his adoptive father. And I won’t lie. I stared. And I’m sure they’re used to it. But probably not for the same reason I stared. Today I thought about a little boy, just about his age, that could be standing in the cupcake line in a few months and he wouldn’t be part of that family. He would be our family.
I think about it. I think about him. No one has said what his skin might look like. And it really doesn’t matter. Because I’ll still be his mommy and he’ll still be anxious for cupcakes and I’ll still be worried about his manners. It’s just what families do.