In 1972, the National Association of Black Social Workers took a very strong stand against transracial adoption. This factor hindered the adoption of African American children by families of other races. This position has moderated over the years due to several factors. The number of black children needing homes has grown significantly. Also, federal legislation like the Multiethnic Placement Act of 1994 has forced adoption agencies to be open to transracial placements of children. Today, the position of NABSW is that there should always be an attempt to place children in homes that match their ethnicity.
My wife and I have transracially adopted five boys. I can not predict how all African American people will feel about us raising children of their race. I can tell you about the response that we have received from people that we know and have encountered.
We have attended an African American church on numerous occasions. One Sunday a month, the children are with us in the church services. Even though we are sometimes the only white faces in the congregation, we have never felt any animosity from any person. When the children are with us, the people react even more positively. I have always assumed that this is an indication that they approve of our family.
On several occasions, I have talked to African Americans about our family. Sometimes I have asked for advice that would help me be a better parent. A man that I see frequently at the YMCA had the opinion that the most important factor was that our children had two parents and a loving family. He thought that this was more important than any weakness that I might have in trying to teach cultural things.
Yesterday, the two oldest boys and I were leaving the YMCA. We walked by an African American woman who gave me a big hello like we were long lost friends. One of the boys asked if I knew the woman. I told him that I did not but that I always try to be friendly to people who are nice. I do know why she was so friendly. She supports us.
Recently, the three oldest boys and I went to Wal-Mart. As we were leaving, they became frisky and I was holding their hands to get us all out of the store. An elderly African American woman was the greeter standing at the door. When she saw us, she folded her hands as if to pray, and then pointed the praying hands to us. We did not have to speak to each other; the look in my eyes told her that I covet her prayers.
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