I knew at some point the issue would come up... the issue of ignorance and prejudice. I just didn't expect it to come up so soon. One night Kajal was laying in my arms and she looked up at me with the saddest look on her face. She held up her arm to me and said softly, "me, black". As if this, being black was a horrible thing. How was I going to do this. First, explain to her that she isn't black, she's Indian.. and brown. Second, that black and brown are both skin colors, beautiful, breathtaking skin colors. Not definitions. Not better, not worse... just skin. I started very simply. Kajal, you're not black... you're brown. Beautiful, beautiful brown. You're from India.... you are Indian and you are beautiful. She just stared at me blankly, and shook her head. 'No, mommy, me black". It's hard enough communicating about such an important subject never mind when you speak two different primary languages. This conversation, came up two more times when I finally realized that someone at her school was identifying her by her skin color and doing so, in a negative way. Making her feel less than. Lately, Kajal and I have talked about her hair. She keeps expecting me to cut it as it was cut in India. I tell her that no, we wont be shaving her head... but letting her hair grow. And then I'll ask, don't you want your hair to grow long... like your Mommy's?  Kajal will giggle and nod, yes. On the third night that she brought up her skin color, she was very pensive. All of a sudden she got very excited and took her hands and wiped them over her face and down her arms as if she was washing herself all over and she asked "Mommy, me grow pink, like you?"

My heart hurt for this child who was too young to be questioning herself, her natural beauty. To feel self doubt, so young. I looked my child deep in the eyes and said instead.... "maybe I'll grow brown, like you" and proceeded to tickle her until she laughed. Then whispered to her that I've never seen anyone more beautiful than she is, right now, just the way she is...

I remembered when I first thought about adopting a child who would look so different from me. I really had to think about it over a long period... was I ready for such a difference. Would it be too hard... on her? on me? Would people stare? Would it matter? A thousand questions went through my mind... I was full of fear and doubt until my heart took over and I realized how little skin color mattered when it came to love and building a family. Loving a child.  Well, yes, people stare. We get looks of love, compassion, curiosity and judgement. I look at this child and I don't see her skin color. I see my daughter... I see a child who is braver, funnier, kinder and more loving than I could ever have dreamed of giving birth to. She is my soul child... the child God meant for me to have. My heart hurts when she hurts, my soul aches when she is in pain. When she smiles, my world is more beautiful than heaven could ever be.

When prejudice, fear and hatred rear it's ugly head to this innocent child I am more angry than I ever imagined. I want to wrap my arms around her and scream to the world that anyone who threatens her, who hurts her will have me to deal with... I get the Momma Lion thing.

Kajal made a crown made of cut paper and crayons. It was the face of Martin Luther King. She walked down the street in her pink winter coat with the crown worn proudly on her head. Martin Luther Kings face, sat above the face of my child as we walked through the North End. People looked, they laughed, smiled and some... well, let's just say, some didn't get it. She was celebrating a holiday she didn't understand yet, for a man that made such a difference in the world... a difference that may have led to our country being at the place it's at today that may have made it possible for me to be able to fly half way around the world to bring a child of a different race, religion and culture home to be my own. A gust of wind blew her crown off just as we were crossing a busy street. Kajal yelled out, waving her arms in panic. She screamed 'stop' to all the cars headed our way and I jumped in the street. Held up my arms to stop traffic and we chased the crown down the street, blowing in the wind. She got it, place it safely in her backpack and the two of us walked happily, hand in hand down the street, once again.

Kajal at the Science Museum in Boston, riding her first see saw