I am MOM

I am MOM
If I knew then what I know now . . .
"I take a very practical view of raising children. I put a sign in each of their rooms: 'Checkout Time is 18 years.'"
Erma Bombeck

Tuesday, November 30, 2010

Ethiopian Turned Canadian




Not long ago, in the midst of our day, right after asking the kids to shut off the TV, Faven wistfully said to me, “It would be great if we could stay home all day and watch TV!” 
Amazed (and somewhat annoyed), I said to her, “You would really want to do that!?”
“You bet!” was her exuberant reply.

I found myself deeply disturbed by this desire in my Ethiopian-born daughter.  What had I done to her, I painfully pondered?  How could she want to participate in this waste of time activity, when a world of opportunity was right before her, for the taking?

Later I realized that this same desire has been alive and well in all of our children.  Faven is not an exception, simply because she experienced a different way of life in her first ten years. And yet, it still bothered me.  I remember a story in Melissa Fay Greene’s book, There is No Me Without You, where Haregewoin Tefera (orphanage director and subject of the book) visits the United States, and comes to Melissa’s house.  Standing in her home, Haregewoin witnesses one of Melissa’s daughters, who had for a time been in her care at the orphanage in Addis Ababa, jumping from one chair to the next to the next.  Undoubtedly disenchanted by the behavior, she commented to Melissa that she had spoiled her.  I hear that same voice in my head.  Not necessarily the voice of Haregewoin, who also had a hand in caring for Faven, but the more lingering, indistinct voice of Ethiopia.  I take my responsibility for maintaining my kids Ethiopian-ness seriously by: celebrating Ethiopian holidays, presenting Ethiopian food, connecting my kids with Ethiopian born Canadians, pursuing opportunities for them to maintain and learn their first language, and allowing them to connect with their heritage in their own way.  Therefore the fact that both of my Ethiopian-born kids have become Canadian is heart breaking even amidst the reality that it is inevitable.  Ethiopia, simply, is far and away from where and how we are living – no matter how hard I try, I cannot change that simple fact.

In my struggle to harmonize aspects of life in Ethiopia with this contrary life in upper-middle-class Canada I simply have to accept the gifts and blessings of both places, and give and receive accordingly.  Ethiopia has shared so much more with me than its’ children.