When my oldest son, Keith, was in Kindergarten I would volunteer in his classroom. The first time or two I arrived in his room and he ran over to give me a big hug, I noticed confused looks on some of his classmates’ faces. Then I heard some of them whisper to Keith, “Is SHE your Mom?” or “How can she be your MOM?” He would proudly answer, “Yes that’s my Mom.” and “She just is.”
He probably didn’t understand why he was getting the third degree about his Mom. I clearly understood that it was because they assumed Keith’s Mom would look him with dark skin, dark brown eyes, and black hair. Then I walked in with my light skin, blue eyes and blond hair. I would have been surprised if the children didn’t question if I was actually his Mom.
