Phil Gives a Book Report

As my progress indicators have implied, I am plowing through my last reading assignment before our home study interviews. This particular book consists predominantly of interviews of adults who were adopted transracially (that is, they are African-American or biracial while their adoptive parents are European or European-American). The adoptees differ in their opinions on the propriety of transracial adoption, but each states unequivocally that he or she loves his or her adoptive parents.

The cornucopia of thought on the issue is interesting, but the most fascinating part to me is the image of 'black' culture which emerges from the pages. The people in the interviews describe meals of fat back, greens, and cornbread as traditional 'black' food; they also mention a tendency in African-American families to administer corporal discipline with belts and switches rather than a bare hand. This strikes me as odd because these things were standard in my family, which, as anyone who knows us can attest, could only get whiter by stumbling face-first into a vat of bleach. Of course, there are other factors which make my cultural background much different than that of an African-American, but I find myself wondering how large a portion of African-American culture is, in fact, Southern culture that stuck with the people in the years following abolition. The parallels I have seen make me even more convinced of how ridiculous the claims of 'racial superiority' made by bigots are.

I think that is more than enough deep thought for the night; let me tell you about our requisite wacky occurrence for the day. As I walked up to the house this evening, I saw our neighbor, Robbie, knocking on our front door. Upon closer inspection, I noticed everyone's favorite backyard escape artist sitting there with him. Apparently, Ranger had hopped into the bed of Robbie's truck after extricating himself. I was greatly concerned that our loving dog had once again clambered over the fence, but upon closer inspection, I found something much simpler to explain his escape. The gate to our back yard was open, which means that he merely popped up the latch and simply walked free. We typically counter this maneuver with a locking clip on the latch, but we must have forgotten this time. Fortunately for us, Ranger and Robbie get along fabulously.

Current Status: 246 / 392 (62.8% completed)