Dance of Family and Community

Abstract

Dance of Family and Community Susan Henderson (bio) On the Outskirts of Normal: Forging a Family against the Grain. Debra Monroe. Southern Methodist University Press. http://www.tamupress.com. 232 pages; paper, $22.50. Click for larger view View full resolution Detail from cover In her memoir, On the Outskirts of Normal, Debra Monroe tells a compelling personal story of a twice-divorced single white woman adopting a black child in small-town Texas. But it's what her journey reveals about our culture and the universal trials of motherhood that make it larger than one woman's story. The very idea of adoption brings about scrutiny of who you are and how you've lived. On paper, Monroe's career as English professor and published author look impressive, but what of the qualities she hoped would remain hidden—a shaky past with her own family, a history of choosing men who physically abused her, her habit of not letting people get too close? Given her track record in other relationships, she begins to question whether she deserved to raise a child "because it's not your life you might ruin but a life depending on you." And this honest look at where doubt meets longing had me rooting for her from the start. As the interview process continues, Monroe let the agency know that she was open to adopting a child of another race, a choice that had the extra benefits of a shorter waiting list and a higher chance that she'd be in the care of a newborn. This choice, however, proves to be a bigger issue in her small town, prompting questions like, "Have you thought that through—what you're putting yourself and the kid up against?" Potential birth mothers express concern, as well, wondering whether Monroe was a racist, a startling reminder that adoption for some carries "the specter of history—humans bought and sold. Giving a child to a white social worker is a last resort." After a series of false alarms, the baby who would become Monroe's daughter is born, a moment she describes as "letting my heart exist outside my body, and as she'd grow, letting my heart roam around the risky world." Their relationship is met with nonstop curiosity from the white community, including such shocking questions as, "What is she?" and "Is that a crack baby?" From the black community, she collects opinions about how to care for her daughter's hair. How she responds to others, Monroe realizes early on, will teach her daughter about herself and her world. Furthermore, Monroe writes of re-engaging with her own parents while, at the same time, trying to offer her child a very different upbringing. And it's this dance with the outside world—this learning to trust her own instincts as she also learned how much she needed this imperfect community—that gives her story its hard-earned wisdom. Exhausted by the intense focus on what was best for her child, Monroe's own needs suddenly intrude with guilt and urgency: "What about me? What has happened to my health? What has happened to the book I was writing? Do I dare consider dating? What if I screw up again and choose someone who's no good? What will I be modeling for my child?" It's the dance again—the tug and pull of love and fear, vulnerability and courage, care of others and care of self. My only criticism of the book is that there's a circular quality to the storytelling. Events are revisited again and again—the call that the adoption has gone through, the death of a family member, a hospital visit, the memory of a threatening neighbor. Sometimes this circular aspect of the book feels as if maybe the chapters were once separately published essays and the author chose not to unpack those essays and work them into a chronological or thematically building story. I have to admit, however, that something about this nonlinear storytelling also feels true to life. Memories are like that. They circle back on us—reminders of old wounds and vulnerabilities, roads we don't want to...