Stella Luna Lands a Letdown

Sitting in the auditorium I notice
first the lack of color around us.
One biracial father, one other adoptee.

Including my family, that makes four
out of say, three hundred.

My first response is not dread it's curiousity.
Why aren't there more, OK any families of color here?
Here being a public school auditorium just outside of town.
What is the cultural difference in entertainment value
that is of little or no interest to families of color here?

What is it about children's theater that holds no appeal?
Or was it how it was advertised? Or to whom?
Where could I go on a Saturday afternoon 
and see another or other demographic?


Then when the play starts, the dread sets in.
All white cast of four from Toronto.
Two men, two women. 
They sing, they dance, they exude.
They manipulate the puppets, 
and they attempt to captivate the all white audience.

Then the content unfolds igniting the dread like a pile
of dried leaves, crackling and swirling around me.
An accidentally abandoned 
baby fruit bat "adopted" by his bird friends is forced 
to deny all that he knows 
to survive in this new family's home.

He eats bugs instead of fruit,
Sleeps upright and by day so his new mother 
doesn't kick him out.

She threatened once.

He calls himself clumsy, and flies away in shame.
Where he is happily reunited with his real mom.
Bye bye bird family. 
My biological family has saved me now.

With Marcel on my lap laughing, 
and Sam three seats away next to his friend
with a serious and distant look on his face.
What is his interpretation? How will I ever know? 

To be a transracial adoptive parent is a constant
unending stream of messages that require 
interpretation, mitigation, and action.

Like a fruit bat, I just want to hang upside down 
sometimes and let that be enough.
Writing this blog, and knowing that my readers
can see me hanging here, is so very often 
the enough that I need. Thank you.