Being autistic brings its own challenges, especially when it comes to recognising certain behaviours in strangers, particularly without proper context. Growing up in an aggressive, patriarchal culture dominated by macho, egocentric alpha-male attitudes, I learned that even small things—a look, a bump, clothes, saying something or saying nothing—could spark an argument that would often escalate into physical violence. This has left me with a lingering perception of certain people and situations as threatening.
I am white, my wife is South East Asian, and our children are Black. Our children are also twins. We are a very visible family. Being part of such a family is not a choice our children made, and we are deeply aware of this and never forget it. I remain conscious of my privilege, especially knowing that the other three people in my family are treated by society as “less than.”
No matter where we are—whether it’s a shopping centre, a park near our house, a market, a museum, a restaurant, or an event—we are noticed. Our kids are toddlers: gorgeous, playful, adorable, loud, and, of course, twins. We arrive with a double buggy, multiple bags, and an ongoing whirlwind of activity—changing, feeding, or running after them. The twin factor adds to the magnetism, as people can’t resist the usual questions:
“Are they twins?”
“You’ve got your hands full!”
“Which one is the naughty one?”
Uncertainty in Interactions
In our case, there’s an added layer of complexity. I never know whether people approach us because they’re curious about our family or because they see me—a white man with Black twins—and feel entitled to ask questions. They may assume I’m “one of them,” that I’d understand their questions.
As an autistic person, I struggle to read people sometimes. I don’t like assuming they have bad intentions, but I also don’t want to entertain every person who feels like saying hello to our babies. I usually nod with a half-smile and try to move on. Sometimes, though, they plant themselves in front of our buggy on a narrow pavement, making it impossible to move forward until they’ve had their moment.
Intrusive Questions and Behaviours
Many of the truly inappropriate questions come from people we see regularly in our neighbourhood but who are essentially strangers. We’ve been asked about the girls’ adoption status, why they were adopted, and about their birth family. These questions are deeply intrusive but seem to arise because adoption is quite obvious in our case, especially after repeated encounters.
What’s more unsettling, though, is the visibility we experience as a family. We are clearly “that family.” Perfect strangers sometimes comment on how much the girls have grown, giving us the unnerving sense of being watched.
Crossing the Line
The repeated, silly comments I can brush off. The more intrusive ones I shut down, albeit uncomfortably. But what shocks me most is when people feel entitled to touch our children. Even when they were tiny babies in a covered buggy, some people would lift the cover to peek inside without a second thought.
It’s often well-meaning elderly ladies with a “friendly grandma” vibe, assuming we’d welcome their attention. In confined spaces like public transport or lifts, it’s even harder to avoid.
What’s most frustrating is when people ignore my wife and me completely, going straight to the children. While a quick smile or “hello” is fine, crossing the line by physically touching the girls, while disregarding us as their parents, is unacceptable. It’s as if, in those moments, we’re not recognised as their guardians—let alone their parents.
Living as a Visible Family
Transracial adoption is inherently visible. When we pick up the girls from school, we are instantly recognisable. We knew this would be part of our experience when we entered into it, and we did so with confidence.
While this visibility hasn’t stopped us from going anywhere or doing anything, it does confront our sense of intimacy and privacy. The constant stares, the overly long looks, and the undue attention can feel invasive—especially for our children, who didn’t choose this visibility.
Ultimately, though, there is value in diversity and representation. Visibility matters. Whether it’s ethnicity, gender, or sexuality, sometimes just being there—standing proud—is a powerful statement in itself.
So here we are, a visible, ethnically mixed family. I am proud to be the husband of an incredible woman and the dad of two amazing kids.