A black American couple wanted a child. They wanted a child very badly but could not have one of their own. After many discussions, they went to an adoption agency. A heavyset black receptionist in a loose blouse greeted them in the reception area. She made them feel hopeful and welcome. The receptionist nodded sympathetically and gave them each a clipboard.
Soon, a woman with real authority came out. Her authority came partly from the fact that she had made them wait. Clearly, her time was more valuable than theirs. Also, she wore a stern expression and a dark purple tailored suit. From her dark, coarse hair, you might guess that she had black or Latin ancestors, but you couldn’t tell for sure, even if you squinted, listened for an accent, or sought out certain inflections in her voice. She had an Anglo name, and she said nothing personal about herself. The woman took the couple’s clipboards and looked them over. In the box where the adoption agency asked what race of baby they wanted, both the man and the woman had put an X in the box marked WHITE. The adoption agency woman pointed to the boxes to show them the X mark and asked if they had made a mistake.
“No,” the wife said. “No mistake. We want a white baby.”
“A white baby,” said the possibly ethnic lady. “White babies are hard. Why a white baby?” It sounded to the couple as if she wanted to stop them from getting a white baby. It sounded as if she would not help them get a white baby.
The couple sighed. “We just want what anyone else would want,” the husband said. His wife grabbed his forearm supportively and said, “This is America!” which explained everything. But that did not satisfy the lady who might’ve been passing for white. The couple fidgeted and frowned.
Eventually the wife explained that they felt a white baby would have a better chance at success if black Americans raised him. “A white baby raised by black people could become the president of the United States,” said the potential adoptive father. “Or he could become a rap star.” The opportunities were boundless for a white baby raised by Negroes. “If not that, he could at least go top ten on the R & B chart.”
“But plenty of white people are already raised by black people,” the creamy-skinned woman said. The black couple got very offended. “We are doctors. We have medical degrees,” the wife said scornfully. “We are not going to become domestics. We have the right to be parents, and we have the right to adopt whatever type of child we want.” A white baby needed black parents, they agreed, in order to get the best of both worlds. The world of prosperity, abstract thinking, winter sports, technology, mayonnaise, and spiritual emptiness that white folks lived in, and the world of authenticity, ignorance, poverty, dancing, fattening food, and connection to God that black people lived in. The couple wanted a white baby, they said, because a white baby raised by black people could have extremely diverse friends and interests, and no one would question his ability to play basketball or his credibility as a financial advisor.
“If we can get a male, and he’s good-looking, the sky’s the limit,” said the husband. “Everyone always wants to help a white boy.”
Naturally, the maybe-not-white woman was taken aback by their candor, and at the same time seemed surprised by the couple’s articulateness with regard to these issues. She also thought they might be insane. “Are you sure?” she asked.
“Oh, we definitely want a white baby,” the black woman said.
“Yes, we do,” the black man said, nodding gravely.
“And even if you can’t find one for us,” his wife said, blackening her attitude to emphasize her seriousness, “I’ll be damned if I’m gonna sit here and let someone question our right to even want a white baby.”
The black woman made her spine broom-straight and looked her in the eye. She stuck out her neck and shifted it a little, blackly. “Do you think we’re not good enough to have a white child?”
The adoption agency woman looked perplexed, but she backed down. “It’s just that white babies are so hard to get, even for white adoptive parents,” the woman said. “There’s so much demand and not enough supply.” Her tone of voice had become high-pitched, soothing, afraid. “Plus, black children are so much more in need, and you could really help a black child more by raising it in its own culture. You could really make a huge difference in a black child’s life.”
“We know, we know. We’ve talked all that through,” the black woman said, waving her hand in the air. “And we still want a white baby. Nothing you can say will change our minds. This is a free country, we want what we want, and why should we let anyone stop us from achieving our goals?”
“Please!” the lady suddenly snapped. “You know it isn’t practical! Can I at least get you to consider the alternatives? I could place a Middle Eastern child with you.”
“That’s not white!” the black woman shouted.
The black man leaned forward in front of his wife and pointed to his mouth. “Read my lips,” he said. “White! Baby!”
“Okay, okay, I understand your needs, and we really do want to place children with families who want them more than anything else. This won’t be easy, but I’ll see what can be done,” the adoption agency woman said, blowing air through her cheeks. They knew she wouldn’t do anything.
It took several years and a discrimination lawsuit, but eventually the stork delivered a white bundle of joy to the black couple. “Here he is,” a new woman from the adoption agency announced. “Say hello to Jeremy!”
The black couple were overjoyed. They signed all the papers and brought Jeremy home. He had round blue eyes like fishbowls and skin as white as a bathtub. The new black mother rocked the baby in his blanket as her husband waved good-bye to the adoption agency woman through their picture window.
After the lady left, the black wife scooped the boy up and lifted him out of the crib. She undid the folds of his blanket and held the child up to her husband, who took a hearty bite out of Jeremy’s face. The new mom chewed off Jeremy’s tiny fingers. Blood went everywhere. The boy screamed and cried and kicked for as long as he remained alive. When the child finished struggling, the husband and wife picked his bones clean. Afterwards, the wife boiled them for soup stock.
“I can’t believe how hungry I was,” said the black man.