Over the years, onlookers, gapers and completely conspicuous gawkers have asked all the awkward questions — the questions that more people than you believe ask of a family who clearly looks “different” from other families.

Our team, we sometimes stick out in a crowd. One, because our energetic boys are usually leaping and jumping and poking sticks at each other THROUGH said crowd, and two, because one member of our team was clearly born in a different country. Of course, throw in the fact that said member is the most contagiously charismatic creature you have ever met and ALSO dons a wrist brace in the subtle color of construction cone orange, and people everywhere somehow feel entitled to ask questions they would never ask of families with children who resembled their parents and WEREN’T wearing prosthetics that nearly glowed in the dark.

In our two and a half years with Superman in our home, grocery store clerks, Costco shoppers and park patrons have asked if this boy we love so much is our “real” son, if I am “the Asian lady’s nanny” and if we “resorted” to finding a child in China because we couldn’t have our own children. But perhaps my favorite question of all time came from the commissary bagger who, as she helped me load milk and eggs into the back of my car, asked me if I had me an Asian man on the side. 

Oh yes, I thought in my head. But shhh, don’t tell my husband. When this one popped out, he didn’t notice. Let’s keep the secret for a bit longer, shall we?