@HeartArt: I have to think that your son’s relationship to the issue of heritage and race, not to mention culture, is necessarily experienced through a different prism, one more faceted by at least one carat, than that of which I would say many speak.
Issues surrounding adoption are inclusive of issues related to the explanation of how family was constructed, why it was so, and takes care in this modern age to be free of the societally-imposed taboos of shame and abandonment, infertility and second-tier parentage. Revelation is often something that I have found to be a near-offensive tactic against criticism.
Perhaps you would not agree. This has been what I have observed.
I also did genetic testing, and while I can assure you that I have no idea what an ancestral lineage past 1897 is, I can tell you that when I travel to large cities, or when I am walking through airports, people from all over the world have openly claimed me as theirs. To see them smile as they walk to me, hoping that I speak their language, such brightness in their eyes…makes me claim the world as my family. And this I tell my children. In NYC, Lebanese, Moroccan, Dominican, Venezuelan and Haitian people know without doubt that I belong to them, and I have been scolded for not speaking Spanish and Lebanese at different times, scolded for “being ashamed,” of who I am. Such would not be the case.
The genetic testing revealed about 39% Croatian background, which seriously made me go, “Huh?” But, it is what it is. I feel no need to tell anyone anything if I am touched, poked, prodded, assailed.
The exception to that: once on a commuter bus an Irish woman (“straight-up Irish” as The Brothers would say) reached across the aisle and grabbed my face, and exclaimed in deepest accented English, “Oh, My Lord, Child…You’re Irish!” Her unplanned, visceral response was one that was, I believe, alarming to both her and me, and we were kind of stuck in the moment, as she turned my face from left to right, to examine my bones.
Considering what I’ve written about my youngest son, I was not inclined to disagree. As I gently pulled her hands from my face, and kept her in embrace, I told her I do not know for sure, but , “Yes, Ma’am, it is quite possible that I am.”