It occurred to me yesterday, as I watched LuLu interact with others in the doctor’s waiting room just how she views herself. When we arrived there was a young boy (maybe 5) with his father and twin infant sisters. He was sitting across from us wiggling. LuLu was watching The Aristocrats on the waiting room TV and cheered as the bad guy was locked into a trunk and shipped off. This young boy impulsively jumped up, ran over to LuLu and hit her on the leg. His dad immediately sprang into action, scolding and retrieving the boy back to his chair.

“It’s alright,” LuLu said, “I do that sometimes too.” And she was right. She does jump up and very impulsively react, often to sensory stimuli. The young boy had been watching LuLu intently. And her sudden cheering for the movie caused a reaction in him. I then began watching his interaction with his father: the eye contact that didn’t really connect, the slow responses, the sensory stimulation. I was likely looking at a child with a developmental disability, such as autism. He was sweet, and offered up an apology when prompted by dad and struggled with himself to sit quietly for the remainder of his wait.

No sooner had this family been called back to see the doctor, but another came through the door. This time it was a mom, with her curly-headed boy of about 5 and his tiny little Chinese sister, who was a new patient to our doctor’s office. I realized there was probably much this mom and I had in common or could talk about. We both shot each other eager smiles. But LuLu began to tic and squirm, much like the earlier boy had just done, and the other mom’s face read confusion. Meanwhile, her new daughter climbed up on her lap and melted into her in a way I found heartwarming (since it showed signs of a growing attachment), and they looked at a picture book. Mom named all the animals and daughter copied.

There was nothing for me to say to this mom in a very public waiting room; even though there was so much we could have talked about. When I mentioned the family to LuLu later, she acted as if she barely noticed that the girl was Chinese. Instead, she was much more interested in the young boy and his reaction to her. Just like her reaction to Lewis, the main character in Meet the Robinsons, she was identifying more with this boy and his disability, than she was with a child who physically looked like her.

There was a mom who emailed one of the adoption listserves I participate in recently asking how other parents balanced the child’s need for therapy and attachment intervention with their need for cultural and racial identification. The mom was lamenting that there weren’t enough hours in the day or money in the bank to pursue both therapies and cultural camps or language lessons.

I remember those feelings of grief and regret that integrating her Chinese culture into our lives was not nearly as likely to happen as I had dreamed, given her greater special needs. Like so many, I had dreamed of attending FCC (Families with Children from China) events, taking her and KayKay to Chinese Cultural School to learn Mandarin, embracing her heritage. Over the years our circumstances have reduced that to a quick acknowledgment of Chinese New Year, trips to our local Chinese restaurant and occasionally reading some books on Chinese history.

I’m sad that LuLu views herself more as a disabled and traumatized (abandoned) child than as a beautiful Chinese daughter. But I’m not surprised. It’s hard when those issues loom large each day, presenting a massive hurdle to climb. I am encouraged when I see her compassion to others, like she clearly extended to this young boy. She is looking for a sense of belonging and clearly recognizes that others with neurological differences are similar to her…and extends the hand of friendship, like this situation I blogged about with a boy with Aspergers.