A bridge or no bridge?

Do you have a bridge in your nose? I do. In fact, all of us do who are of Caucasion decent. But if you're Asian, you may not. Actually, they have what are refered to as flat or low nose bridges. It isn't something I would usually notice in a person; between Asians and Caucasions I notice the eye differences primarily. Though, in SE Asia, I've experienced that many Asians see the differences in our noses more prominently than we Caucasions do, especially in regions where white people rarely visit. I've walked down the streets of Rangoon, and through villages in Cambodia where adults would belly laugh at me and make a gesture over their noses that says, "Look at that huge nose!" They think it's hilarious. And in the mood of celebrating differences, I laugh with them. After all, I don't have the best nose. I mean, it works OK, but it is a little prominent on my otherwise small face.
Interestingly enough, my nose has also been of much concern to my new Filipino son. He started pushing my nose down, trying to flatten it, the day he met me. For nearly two weeks, after any time that he would take a good long look at me, he'd attempt to flatten my nose. It just didn't look right to him. It is kind of funny. But, I wonder what else hasn't looked right. He's eaten the American food, worn a coat and hat; he hasn't compared our skin tones, or tried to narrow my eyes. But there was something about my nose...
Today was the first day he hasn't tried to flatten it. It sounds insignificant, but it felt that a real sign of acceptance. It was like his way of saying, "I'm Filipino, you're not-so what. You're my mom."
Coincidently, this breakthrough of accepting my nose came after an especially difficult day yesterday. The poor guy woke up from his afternoon nap, looked around, looked at me, and started to cry. It wasn't an "I'm hungry" cry, or a "You're not getting me out of this bed fast enough" cry. It was a deep, sad, big tear cry. It was the grieving that I had read about that would happen when an adopted toddler suffers the loss of his birthparent or caretaker when being placed with an adoptive family. He had shown definite signs of fear and confusion previously, but this was the first time I saw his truly sad. J. isn't normally a cuddly child. He likes to play and be held in order to get to point B, but he doesn't choose to snuggle up in my lap, hold on, and read a book. Unless he's sad. After his nap yesterday, his buried his head in my shoulder and cried for quite a while. He looked at me, touched my face like C. does, like a blind person trying to "see" a stranger, tried to flatten my nose, and cried and cried. Though he doesn't speak, I knew what was wrong: He was homesick.
I put him on my lap and took out a photo album with pictures of him and the nuns from his orphanage. He put his tiny fingers under the photo lamination pages to touch the nun's faces, and smiled, and laughed and cried all at the same time. I let him sit on my lap and hold those pictures as long as he chose. He touched the nun's face who was in charge of the orphanage nursery for nearly five minutes. After awhile, he turned to me with dry eyes. I asked him, "Love Mama?" and he gave me a big hug and kiss on the cheek. Then he signed that he was hungry, and was back to his normal self.
J. has a long, sad journey behind him, and an even longer one ahead of him. However, the paths to come have much more hope in them, Lord willing, than the ones he's been down before. I guess for him, one step on this grieving, exciting, confusing, loving, frustrating road he's on was to accept my nose. And he did that. So, how bad can tomorrow be?
(The picture is of J. with a rain stick I bought for him from his homeland. Like me, he loves the sound of rain).