For those who are 'faint of heart' and are not pleased to find humor in life's adventures with transracial parenting, now would be a good time to move on to the next story.

Sometimes transracial adoption leads to humorous occurrences.

This morning, our daughter T--, age 7, RAD, ODD, ADHD, Bipolar, etc (has more letters after her name than people who spend 20 years going to school), was being OPPOSITIONAL (in capital letters), and defiant and slow in getting dressed for school. Not to mention making a big mess in her room and wailing at the top of her very strong lungs.

She missed the bus. Rather than just driving her to school, we decided that to help her understand logical consequences and how they related directly to her actions, and have her walk. Since she can't be safe on her own, and wouldn't know the way anyhow, I, her loving father, decided to shadow her in our late model, green Outback station wagon. Due to all the kafuffle,  it hadn't been a very organized morning and I hadn't had the time to shave or comb my hair, (Which was VERY long at the time).

So here's the picture everyone else sees:

Green Outback station wagon, containing long-haired, unshaven white guy tailing this little black girl at about a half a mile-per-hour, with the hazard lights on. He keeps talking to her, but she's mostly ignoring him. The little girl has her blue winter jacket (despite Utah's very warm weather) draped defiantly from her elbows and is carrying a backpack. She's got an interesting haircut, half Bo Derek, half Whoopie Goldberg. (She had extensions laboriously put in  by her loving mamma, but has eaten some of them, pulled some out, cut some off, and generally looks like she's having the 'bad hair day' of ALL time!) Come to think of it, our hairstyles this morning are more alike than I'm comfortable with! ;-0(

The walk to our local school is about 10 blocks. Everything was fine as we went through the first three or four blocks, where everyone already knows we're crazy, that we have a house full of children of every color and shade, and for the most part understand that being crazy doesn't have to be a BAD thing. But, as we got out to the main road, the 'neighborhood watch' mode kicked in.

With Elizabeth Smart (the kidnapping victim) still in everyone's consciousness (her being found about than 30 miles away less than a month previous to this event), people start to slow down... then do U-Turns,  for a second look, up close and personal.

The first question was, "Is your car ok?" seeing as how I had to get out of the car to get T-- going again... This with a second car performing the vital role of "backup observer" from a very cautious fifty yards away.

Then people started to bunch up. One person came up beside me, rolled down the window and asked, "What's going on here?" To which I replied, "I'm just walking my daughter to school. She missed the bus." Then they rolled up next to T-- and asked, "Is that your dad?" To which she replied, "Yes". At that, they shrugged their shoulders and drove on.

The street maintenance dump truck drives by, then parks on the side of the road to watch.

T-- stops to pick a couple of dandelions "for my teacher", which I tell her to please put down, and would she please continue walking if she didn't want a consequence. She got a consequence. Then she got another consequence. (She hates writing lines, but they are working in getting messages through to her unconscious, and it is teaching her values, so we kept doing it for a couple of months afterwards.) It is interesting to note that her penmanship and spelling skills are WAY ahead of other children in grade 1!

Another interested passerby slowed, asking the same questions. At this point T-- got creative and said, "No, he's NOT my dad!" A tone I've heard before (when she's unhappy with me), but not previously in public.

At least ten passers by were seen slowing down and dialing their cell phones. No doubt calling in my license plate number to 911.

Sure enough, in three minutes or so (and with us being only  a block and a half from the school at this point), officer Crook (his real name, I'm not making ANY of this up) pulls up and says, "What's going on here?"

I got out of the car to reply, "Just walking my daughter to school officer."

"Take your hands out of your pockets please," said officer Crook as he put his hand gingerly on his sidearm.

(Upon reflection, after the fact, I think putting my hands in my pockets when confronted by authority figures goes back to my days as a grade school delinquent, but don't tell anyone, okay?)

"License, registration and proof of insurance." I produced a license right away. He didn't push for the other stuff, which was just fine with me. I hate digging through the glove compartment looking for things that I know I should have, (and actually do some small proportion of the time). And last week when my lovely and talented wife had a car accident, the papers were NOT in the vehicle, a fact which caused her to be annoyed with me, which is unhealthy for me, big time. In our house we live by the rule: "Don't p*** off the Mohawk!"

After explaining the 'situation', officer Crook goes over to talk to T--. I get back in the car at his request while he interviews her. I'm listening to Rush Limbaugh on the radio, although I'm sure the conversation outside was probably more interesting.

Then officer Codner drives up and joins the scene. Now, officer Codner and T-- have a history. He's come to the school to "chat" with her on various occasions about various issues, in particular when she stole $50 from a teacher's purse. He fills in officer Crook quickly, but Crook nevertheless has to go through calling in my driver's license to see if there are any outstanding warrants. (for those curious readers, there are none!)

T-- meanwhile, is deriving some satisfaction from the scene she has caused. Green outback, surrounded by a cruiser and a cop SUV. Officer Codner doesn't allow her the satisfaction. He makes her apologize to me for telling people that I'm not her dad. (I'm not sure if she told Crook I wasn't her dad or not, wouldn't surprise me either way.)

So the two officers remained parked by the side of the road, doing whatever they do when two or more are gathered together, as we walked the remaining block and a half to school. Despite the fact that there are two police cars just behind me, people continue to slow down, look, and pick up their cell phones.

I get T-- into her class, share our adventure with the school staff, who get a good chuckle at my expense, and go return home to share the adventure with my lovely and talented wife.

As I drive by the officers they are just about done with their 'officering conference' by the side of the road, and I stop and ask officer Codner if I shouldn't ought to call 911 the next time I need to walk her to school. He says no, adds that two more interested bystanders had reported the "SITUATION" to him while he was waiting, and told me to call dispatch at 229-7070 and let them know next time we were going to Walk While Black.

Kelly, husband to Deedee and daddy to an entire crew of 'many colors'.

-------------- Follow up ------------------

The next time we went Walking While Black to school, we did call dispatch before venturing into the world. This did not prevent us from being pulled over and detained by the lady officer who came by doing her civic duty, but she did let us go much more quickly this time. :-)

T-- hasn't had to walk to school now for months. She's figured out that the natural consequence of missing the bus is something she can live without. And we only had to walk to school three times to learn this lesson.