Love Is a Contingent Emotion
I would not waste my money on the new movie "Orphan." It has clearly been developed
by people with narrow hearts. These are the same kind of people who ask--who are her
"real" parents? concluding that I, a non-biological, older
(well, waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay older) parent can not be real, because
I did not contribute any DNA to my daughter's mix. That I have contributed homemade
pancakes and early risings on cold school mornings, hours over her homework, endless
shopping trips (a boring chore for one who hates shopping, but a delight with my
darling), loads and loads of laundry, sleepless nights when a sore throat was in
the offing and more and more excludes me as a real parent, burns me--to say the least!
Here is an essay I wrote several years ago on the reality of parenting
http://www.thimbleberrypress.com/Smitten.pdf.I describe how love is a product of all
the actions you take on behalf of another; the accountability you undertake,
the commitments you make. these are the attributes that make a real parent and a real
child and that grow love.
Orphan Wrong-headed When It Comes to Love
The trailer for "Orphan" questions love--"It must be hard to
love an adopted child like your own." and suggests that DNA is the source of love
of a child. No, it is not. Because, what, pray tell does "your own" mean? My child
became "my own" the moment the legal papers were signed in Wuhan June 15, 1995.
In other words, I and her father became legally responsible for caring for our
daughter--feeding her,getting her to school, clothing her, comforting her and
yes--LOVING her. She did not agree nor do any children, however they become
one's children, to be owned by parents. The ownership part is not the child being
possessed by parents, but the parents "owning" and carrying out their responsibilities
for their child.
Love, I suggest, is something that grows with commitment and time. Love between
parent and child therefore is contingent, not DNA driven. In fact, we have all seen
the statistics on the thousands of children beaten, sexually abused and
"loved" to literal death by their biological parents. If this is love, I'm having
none of it. I'll take my love in my daughter's washed socks not DNA combos.
It is the stereotypes about what makes for reality between parents and children that
continue to confuse people, the very stereotypes that cultural productions like
"Orphan" promote and exploit. Last year I spoke to a Houston FCC group and was saddened
to hear how many parents at the book signing for my book, The Dragon's Daughters
Return, had been stabbed in their loving parent hearts by the "who are her real
parents?" question. Their children had been hurt by this same question as well.
( See my essay for more on this stereotype
http://www.thimbleberrypress.com/Moments.htm.) But the very real love that exists
between real parents and real children is the love that grows from the true heart
such as that expressed by Willa, seven years old at the time, for the
"bad people" who set off bombs in the London metro in 2005.
Willa's Prayer About Love
The Folly of Adults
by Sharon Salzberg
July 13, 2009
After the metro bombing in London, in July 2005, my initial response echoed most of
those around me: sorrow for lives lost, some anxiety about getting on a subway in
NYC, distress at the state of a degenerating world. This was all natural, but
remained strictly within "us versus them" thinking.
Willa, my then 7-year-old godchild, had another perspective. On being told what had
happened, her eyes filled with tears and she said, "Mom, we should say a prayer." As
she and her mother held hands, Willa asked to go first. Her mother was stunned to
hear Willa begin with, "May the bad people remember the love in their hearts."
Willa's startling wisdom often takes me to another place, and a new perspective. She
is now 11, and a fantastic artist, a burgeoning actress, a poet, and an imp. It's
pretty hard to imagine life without her.
Willa was born in China, adopted and raised in the U.S. by 2 of my closest friends.
Their family came instantly to my mind when I heard about the trailer for the
upcoming movie, Orphan, about an older adopted child who turns out to be evil and
wreaks havoc on her new family. The original trailer featured the unbelievable
tagline: "It must be hard to love an adopted child like your own." Really?
For all the Willas who might have sat in a movie theater somewhere, seeing that
trailer, I apologize for the folly of adults. I apologize for our tendency to be
unthinking and insensitive, to create and recreate an "other" over and over again.
Almost by definition, the "other" is an object, not a person, and so anything might
be said about them or done to them, and it doesn't count, it doesn't matter. That
kind of objectification lies at the heart of cruelty, heartlessness, and so much
casual indifference.
Can one just say anything at all about children without it counting? There are
millions of children around the globe who are or were once parentless due to
circumstances completely beyond their control - do their feelings really not matter?
Can one then do anything at all to children without it counting as abusive, or
hurtful, or consequential? Really?
Can one say anything at all about families, with our own definition of a "real"
family counting as absolute truth, and a different construct of a family being
deemed inauthentic or unworthy or lesser? Who gets to decide when and how a child
becomes your own? What distant entity owns that right?
My heart aches for the pain caused by the attitudes we so often perpetuate, the
assigning of "otherness" we so often engage in to exclude someone. As recipients, we
all know when we confront the ignorance of others of who we are, and we all know the
temptation to dive into that person's or group's definition of us and cloak
ourselves in it, to know ourselves as not belonging, and inferior and left out.
"Don't do it Willa," I keep thinking. "Don't believe that about yourself and your
family!" But then, it is quite possible she wouldn't. We should say a prayer.
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/sharon-salzberg/the-folly-of-adults_b_230479.html
In the nursery rhyme of my child hood, Mary had a little lamb. But my new friend and gardening buddy, Mary has a little eggplant. And she is as proud and loving of it as if it were her woolly cuddly lamb. 
Mary sent me these eggplant photos two days ago and I was as thrilled as if I were at a birthing! Here in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, through the magic of the internet..and it does seem magic to me still, I can share in the thrill of that first vegelette transforming from bloom to tiny egglette. That is Mary's love and the trans formative amazement of dirt, rain and sun on a tiny seed to nurture it into its fulfillment. 
Written By Regina Brett, of 
