About 2 weeks ago, we learned of the mass shootings in ElPaso, TX and Dayton, OH. Sunday afternoon, the details began to trickle in. As I was cleaning up lunch dishes, our 14 year old daughter, Teresa, came into the kitchen obviously disturbed.

 

"Mom, you know about what happened in ElPaso right?"

 

"Yes." I put down the dirty dish because there obviously more.

 

"So that guy drove 10 hours to find people who look like Dominic and me, people he doesn't even know, just to kill as many of us as possible?"

 

I swallowed hard and suddenly felt sick to my stomach. I intentionally looked her in the eyes, "It appears that is the case, Honey."

 

"What makes people hate so much?"

 

I was at a loss for words. Giving her an intellectual response about systemic racism or lack of exposure to different cultures wasn't going to help.

 

Just to be clear, this was not the first conversation we had about race, racism, or culture. She was barely 5 years old when a classmate told her to "Go back to where you came from. You are not welcome here." She was 10 when a different classmate threatened to call ICE and have her removed from the country. Yes, we've talked about racism as they have grown up; though imperfectly I'm sure. We've responded to racist remarks. We've talked about why her hair doesn't stay in a tiny dancer's bun like her blonde friends'. We've navigated social studies projects on family history that left us all in tears. We've had to translate racial slurs, and I've called out family when they've used those slurs. We've also talked about building friendships across lines of color, culture, language, and economics. And I'm proud to say she is extremely good at building those relationships.

 

But this was somehow different. This broke my heart in a new way. Maybe because it involved mass murder. Maybe because immigration policy is in the news daily. Maybe because, as she said, this was targeting " ... people he doesn't even know, just to kill as many of us as possible."

 

I swallowed hard again and asked, "Do you sometimes feel angry that you were adopted and brought here to this country?" (I wanted to give her space to question our wisdom. I've certainly questioned that wisdom before.)

 

Teresa responded, "No, but I'm angry that there are idiots in this world that have so much hate in their souls."

 

Me too, mija. Me too.

 

Friends, we have a racism problem in this country. We have a racism problem, and it continues to divide our already polarized country. But I am convinced that we can change this, one kind word or relationship at a time. Dr King said, " Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that." Can I ask a favor of you, as my friends? Would you make a conscious effort this week to have cross-cultural or cross-racial conversations filled with love? It can be as simple as expressing gratitude to a server or a cashier. If you have a strong enough relationship with a friend of a different race, you might even ask how you can be a stronger advocate.

 

My stomach still aches when I think about what is in store for our beautiful, kind, amazing kids. We weren't completely clueless when we began the adoption process, but the process of raising two Latino kids has certainly opened my eyes as well. I've learned not to be shy about discussing race, culture, or politics. In fact, I've come to believe that part of the solution is for white people to stop striving to "not see color" and to begin to understand and appreciate differences.

 

I don't claim to have this all figured out. I'm very much still learning, but I share in hopes that the story of mi hija preciosa may help further the conversation.