“Oh, that’s cool, I guess.”

I flipped through my memories the other day on Facebook and came across this one:

Overheard, man and woman talking in the elevator.
Woman: How old is the baby now?
Man: 5 weeks, and she has lungs like an opera singer!
(conversation ensues all about the man’s baby.)
Woman: Did you know I have a baby now? I’m a foster mom!
Man: awkward pause, “well that’s cool.”
Awkward silence follows.

I have run into this attitude so many places. When I talk to people about my experiences as a foster parent, I get one of two reactions much of the time, and both are unfortunately problematic.

Option 1 – The Gushing (often with a backhand full of knuckles)

“You’re a total saint! I could never do that!”

“Ohmygosh, you’re a complete angel!”

“Oh wow. That’s amazing. I don’t know how you do it! I’d get too attached!”

My former boss is a huge culprit of the awkward “you’re an angel” comment. What, pray tell, is the proper response? A quiet, “No not really?” Or a firm, “Hardly,” perhaps? You can’t say you are an angel, and saying just “thanks” feels like you’re admitting you are. Truly, what should one say when one is called an angel for being a foster parent at least once a week? Gah! I don’t miss those days.

It wasn’t just her though. It’s something I find all over the place.

I had a minor medical procedure done Wednesday. The anesthesiologist was a super nice guy and did a great job, but in making small talk we discussed whether I had kids, so I answered that I’m a foster parent. His reply was a “Oh, that’s great! How old are your kids?” Wonderful response! So I answered that they’re 5- and 9-year-old sisters. Then he replied “Oh, you’re a saint for keeping them together. A saint.” Cringe. Less wonderful.

I just vaguely said something like “I’m hardly that. And the kids are amazing. We are so lucky.”

What else can one say under the circumstances?

Then there’s the “I couldn’t do it, I’d get too attached” comment that is always a favorite. I get that people are trying to say (or at least I hope) that I must be strong if I can do this. But it actually sounds a whole lot like “You must be a cold fish if you can just let kids go back like that.” I don’t know a single foster parent who doesn’t loathe the oh-so-popular “I couldn’t do it. I’d get too attached.” So, so, so many people say it!

Please my beloved friends and followers who aren’t fellow foster parents: avoid the “I’d get too attached” tag like the plague, and avoid hyperbole like “saint,” and “angel.” Stick to something less dramatic. “Oh that’s wonderful. I’m so glad you do it.” It’s clean, simple, and doesn’t insult unintentionally or require a self deprecating reply. I love hearing phrases like that.

Option 2: The Awkwardness and (inadvertent?) dismissal of my parenthood

This is the reaction of the clip from my FB feed that I quoted above. When I was at the law firm, this was what people’s reactions mostly consisted of. Some examples of what I mean:

Story A. There was a very-high-up partner who loooooved to gush over babies. I’ll call her the “Baby Loving Partner.” Everyone who had a baby had to bring it in to see this partner so she could ooh and aah and love on them. She’d engage in animated conversation with any parent about their baby’s habits and parenting strategy and funny stories and horror stories.

One night at a formal dinner, one of my colleagues asked me across the table how my foster son was doing after his “big event.” It was after my little Gronckle stopped breathing entirely one night in the middle of the night and took years off our lives and the life of the EMT who took care of him in the ambulance. He was seriously close to death several times. So because other folks at the table hadn’t heard the story and seemed curious, I briefly relayed what had happened.

The Baby Loving Partner was the most senior partner at the table so I think felt obligated to say something. She didn’t make eye contact, and said “That sounds scary. My daughter had bad asthma.” And immediately changed the subject to something utterly inane and unrelated.

The colleague who had asked about my foster son looked at me weirdly but went along with the subject change, which is generally what you do when a senior partner is rude, sadly. You go with the flow.

Later that night, my colleague asked “What the hell was up with [Baby Loving Partner]? She usually gets all worked up over babies being sick!” I just shrugged. And said “that’s how [Baby Loving Partner] is. She doesn’t think I’m a real parent or that my kids matter in this world.” My colleague was appalled – possibly by my flip take on things but more, I think, by the Baby Loving Partner’s response – and I felt validated that someone else had noticed the weirdness. But I’ll note no one at the table full of colleagues, including the colleague who had asked the initial question, called the senior partner on her rudeness or asked me anything else about my baby who had almost died.

Story B. I attended a baby shower for one of the most popular associates. She was having her first baby, and there was generally a lot of buzz around the firm about it. So all the female partners and associates gathered at a very nice baby shower for this associate.

I sat toward the end of the table with a bunch of other attorney moms. We all sat there and munched and took turns telling stories about how challenging our kids can be. The theme turned to “favorite parents,” and how kids can have them and be downright mean to the non-favorite parent about it. A colleague told a story about her daughter. I chimed in with a story about how I was left with the 2-year-old twins for a weekend and they howled for Daddy multiple times, and the one who talked asked “where’s Daddy” like 1,000 times in two days.

My colleague’s story was met with sympathy and chuckles and head shakes. My story was met with stony silence and people shifting awkwardly in their seats. No one looked directly at me. And someone finally changed the subject to kids who are escape artists, and the conversation moved on without me.

Now, I am autistic, and always worry I’ve done or said something wrong because I’ve missed a social cue. So my takeaway from the moment was to feel utterly terrible about myself because I must have done something wrong, right? Why else would my colleagues have acted so weird?

But after the baby shower, one of my colleagues walked to my car with me. At my car, she said “I’m sorry people are weird. No one will talk to me, too, because I don’t have kids.” Then she walked away without waiting for a response. Why didn’t that colleague say something at the time to make it less awkward? Did she want to have company in being excluded? I have a whole lot of questions, but no answers.

Eventually I stopped expecting attorney colleagues to care – actually care – about my kids. I had two friends who were fellow attorney at the firm who cared then and still care now, and some wonderful staff members did. But overall it was a terrible social experience to be a law firm partner and a foster parent.

It could have been worse. One time my husband asked his boss for the afternoon off because he needed to take Mouse to the ER. She had RSV and her breathing was getting really bad. (She wound up getting admitted to the hospital for several days). The boss flipped his lid, and ended a loud and outraged diatribe with “she’s not even your kid!” Stellar human, that one! But in some ways I feel like that’s what some of my attorney colleagues were thinking and just not saying.

Lest you think my attorney colleagues were especially awful, it’s not just them. Think of the elevator conversation I quoted on Facebook, and my husband’s former boss. A whole lot of people don’t get why we foster parent and don’t know what to say to us about it all.

I think some folks are, frankly, dicks. Former boss man, I’m looking at you! There are people who genuinely think foster kids don’t really matter, or shouldn’t be helped, or something like that. Or they think that our experience just does not compare to their parenting experience and we are not “real” parents and they don’t get why we care so much about kids who “aren’t even ours.” These are folks who lack empathy as humans, or who are so wrapped up in their own worlds they’re at present unwilling to expend any energy thinking of kids in need. It’s too much for them.

To do them credit, I think some of my former colleagues are decent humans who just didn’t know how to relate to an experience that was so alien to them. They were at a loss for words. Some may have had so many questions they felt would be inappropriate to ask that they got stuck. Some may have been a bit like me – sometimes I just can’t think of the right thing to say to someone and I’m so worried about saying the wrong thing that I go mute.

If you’re not like the boss man and actually do care about someone who is a foster parent, there are some easy things you can do to be supportive.

Go ahead and ask your questions if they’re getting in your way. Maybe the foster parent won’t be able to answer some because of privacy, but they surely can answer some others. Be a student and learn.

Or, if you’re worried about saying the wrong thing, just treat the foster parent you care about like any other friend who is a parent. Assume for a bit that they love their foster kids like you love your kids, and run with it.

That last tip? Won’t ever lead you astray.