BIG News Around Here

I am now the proud Daddy of FOUR children!

Our daughter was born Sunday at 36 weeks gestation, her birthmom picked us out of 6 profiles the next morning, and she came home Wednesday!

Introducing...

Jasmine Faith

March 27, 2011

5 lbs. 15 oz. 18 inches

You can see more pictures and read about our whirlwind 48 hours to bringing our daughter home, at my wife's blog: http://www.adoptioncreatesfamilies.blogspot.com/ We are all so very happy to have our family completed by this wonderful surprise!

The Lucky Ones

When attending social events with strangers or casual acquaintances, Laurie and I are often asked for intimate details about our children’s adoption stories. We’re reluctant to share such details, not because we’re private people (readers of our blogs, testify!) but because we view these details as the children’s stories. In other words, since it’s not our story to tell, we don’t tell it.

Through experience, Laurie and I’ve found a comfortable middle ground where we share our journey through fostering and adopting, thus limiting as much background of their birth families as possible. Nevertheless, what little we share includes some unpleasant facts, as a certain amount of grief, loss, and trauma accompanies every foster or adoption story. These unpleasant facts inevitably inspire the listeners to respond, “Those children are so lucky to have you.”

While I’m fine with saying “Thank you” and hoping to move on to a new topic as soon as possible, Laurie takes every opportunity to educate people. “We feel we’re lucky to have them,” she says. Then our audience nods their head, as if we gave them the response they expected. It feels to me like the entire conversation was part of a prearranged script, with Laurie and I reading the roles of “Saint” and our audience reading the role of “Inspired Listener.”

It’s an awkward statement – one that would seem ridiculous if the roles were reversed. Were a biological parent to be going on about their child’s grades or soccer team, it would never occur to us to say, “Your kids are lucky to have been born to you.” Furthermore, calling our kids lucky might seem more genuine to me if it came from an informed and credible source. At a recent parent/teacher conference, Isaac’s kindergarten teacher told Laurie, “Isaac really lucky to have you guys for parents. I can tell you guys are really involved with him.” Since she’s intimately acquainted with Isaac on a daily basis, her compliment was sincere.

But strangers have no idea if the kids are lucky to have us for parents or if we’re lucky to have them for children. It might not feel so forced from strangers if I agreed that the children were lucky to have us. The last time we acted out the screenplay was at a dinner party a few weeks ago. We were late getting out of the house, and in the car on the way to the babysitter’s house the kids were especially rowdy. The catalyst involved a toy laptop designed for children younger than our oldest, older than the youngest, and for boys the same as age as our daughter. Long story short, each of them was claiming the toy.

After what seemed like an eternity of arguing, crying, and bad attitudes, and several warnings and threats from their mother and me, I commandeered the toy and announced, “That’s it! If I hear anyone else say another word, or if anyone even looks at their brother or sister, they’re gonna be sorry.” There was a sad silence that lasted almost two minutes before one of them started fussing about something else. To avoid another outburst, I kept my mouth shut.

Later at the party, we met an older couple and started talking about the kids. Laurie whipped out the little photo album she keeps in her purse and gave the couple a short history of the last few years. Each time she turned a page, the wife touched her cheek and said, “Oh they’re precious!” Then she put her hand on Laurie’s knee and said, “They’re so lucky to have you guys as parents.” Laurie had been going on and on about the kids for at least ten minutes, so anyone listening could tell how proud we were of our kids. However, I couldn’t stop thinking about the incident back in the van.

Announcing that the children were forbidden from speaking to each other was the kind of statement an evil supervillain announces right before he casts the hero into a pool of angry sharks, but not something a grateful father says to the children he loves. After the party, we picked up the kids and on the way home, Isaac said, “Dad, you can let Vivi or J play with the laptop.” He handed Vivi the toy and she responded, “Thank you, Isaac. Look, Dad, I play so nice.” Then J said, “Fifi (Vivi), I play next my turn, please?”

Were I a suspicious father, I would have wondered if the kids had planned this conversation with the sole intention of making me feel like a heel. It just seemed too much – the kindness, the politeness. Where was this coming from? I gave Laurie a “What the?” look, and she smiled and hugged my arm. “They’re good kids,” she said. And I had no choice but to admit that I’m lucky to have such good kids.

This story is also posted at www.wearegoodkin.com.

Token Diversity Family

Shortly after Isaac came home, a friend – a white friend – said to us, “This is great! Our child doesn’t have any black friends.” Immediately, the phrase ‘token black child’ rang in my ears. I was struck by visions of social events in which people fixated on what made our family stand out. As a multiracial family, Laurie and I both recognize that we stand out. In almost any crowd, we are treated like a novelty.

We know that as the parents of these kids we have signed up for a lifetime of explaining and educating people, and we try to approach new people with optimism, and hope they will use discretion and tact when asking questions or making comments. We’ve learned that inappropriate questions and comments typically catch us off guard because they can come at anytime and from anyone – strangers in the grocery store, acquaintances, and friends and family with whom we thought we’d be safe.

We recognize the importance of giving people the benefit of the doubt but only up to a certain point. Often times, the oddest comments have come from people who seemed uncomfortable and didn’t know what to say. When someone at work found out I adopted my son, he offered that his Japanese teacher had adopted a newborn but the birth father was contesting the adoption. I failed to see the relevance, so all I could think of to respond was “Okay.”

To be honest, I had a really hard time in the beginning with all the blatant staring and attention. I had to remind myself that if I saw a white man chasing a small black child through a crowded restaurant who was crying and screaming “I want my Mommy!” I’d stare too. But as his parent, the staring made me want to claim him all the more. “I love you, Son” or “Hold Daddy’s hand,” I’d announce. My wife and I don’t suffer the same kind of inappropriate conversations. My lot is to endure blunt questions like “Why did you adopt? Do you shoot blanks, or something?” and “Is your wife barren?” A lady once asked me, “Do you wear boxers or briefs? I’ve heard briefs can really mess up your count.”

Meanwhile Laurie gets asked, “How much did it cost?” and “What if their ‘real’ mother comes back for them?” Then, after she discretely avoids answering the questions, someone says, “I’d love to adopt. I don’t think I can handle another pregnancy.” Then Laurie gets to listen as the group discusses baby showers, breast feeding, and many other aspects of parenting we’ve yet to experience.

While Laurie and I prefer to be accepted as normal parents, as time has passed, we’ve accepted the attention that comes with having such an interesting family. At parties, hosts who know our kids nonchalantly introduce us, adding, “They have the cutest family,” ultimately forcing us to whip out pictures of the kids. For a while, it felt like we were being labeled; the couple who just got back from a trip, the couple who sells real estate together, and us, the couple who adopted. Inevitably, we became the center of attention, and I felt the eyes of the entire room on us as we talked about the same mundane things everyone else’s kids do.

Just a few weeks ago, Laurie and I attended a wedding shower where we knew only the groom and his immediate family. The mother has known Laurie for years and took great pride in introducing us to the other guests. “Come on, Laurie,” she said to a group of couples, “I know you keep a little photo album in your purse. Let’s see those little darlings.” It’s hard to feign modesty when you keep a small photo album handy for just such an occasion. But the guests genuinely perked up with interest: “Oh. My. Gosh.” “Aren’t they precious?” “You all are just a bunch of saints. Saint Billy and Saint Laurie.”

It might have been too over the top, but this was nothing we haven’t heard before, even the “Saint” part. Years ago, we might have felt awkward pretending to be humble. We’d feebly thank them, but we usually made them feel embarrassed rather than encouraging. But I’d like to think we’ve grown past that, to a point where I can humbly accept their adulations, where I can reach out and hold Laurie’s hand, put my other hand on my heart, nod my head, and say, “You’re right. We are terrific people.”

Pulling Back in Open Adoption

A few years ago, Laurie and I met a couple who said that they had “adopted” their birthmother when they adopted their child. She had become a member of their family, spending the night on holidays, even baby-sitting the child.

In foster-parent training, Laurie and I learned that, when you adopt from foster care, birth families rarely maintain an open relationship. When preparing to adopt our second child, as a newborn, our agency taught us about the benefits of contact to everyone involved.

When we met M, we loved her immediately. She relaxed us with her sense of humor, and thrilled us when she told us that the baby in her tummy was ours. “I want you to be in the delivery room with her when she’s born,” she said to us. “I want her Mom and Dad to name her.”

Our relationship blossomed over the first year. After we brought Vivi home, we met with M every few months. In between visits, we exchanged phone calls, e-mails, and texts. We even spoke in training sessions together, to couples interested in adoption. Our agency told us that hearing our story alongside M’s gave new families a good perspective on open adoption.

Then, some time after Vivi’s second birthday, that relationship changed. As M became comfortable with us during our visits, she began to make more personal remarks, including some that contradicted what she had told us earlier about her pregnancy. Eventually, Laurie called our agency to explain the situation, and we had to involve our lawyer to confirm that the adoption was unassailable.

While our worst fears of something disrupting our family settled down, our hurt at M’s actions took a while to process. We never considered ending the relationship—M is our daughter’s birthmother, and, because of that, she is our family, too—but we decided we needed to pull back a little. The summer passed, and we remained out of contact with M.

One night Laurie was on the computer when she received an instant message from M. It read, “I’m so sorry for everything that happened.” Laurie responded that we were hurt by the events that had transpired, and that we had needed some time to work through it. M's response was quick, “Well, I hope you all have a good life. Take care.”

We sensed that M was reacting this way to keep herself at a distance, should we decide to break off contact, so we quickly explained that, while we were disappointed, she was not going to get rid of us that easily. She was family. M said she couldn’t believe that we still wanted to maintain a relationship. Her family had been telling her that one day we would stop all correspondence, and she thought this was it.

The next time we met, we told M that family members have fights and disagreements, but that doesn’t mean they never speak to each other again. These days, we visit less frequently, but continue to send photos almost monthly. Through this experience, Laurie and I learned that an open adoption is an evolving relationship, requiring patience, love, acceptance, boundaries, and communication.

When I think about the couple who “adopted” their birthmother, I wonder whether we missed an opportunity. They said they thought they would receive one addition to the family but, to their delight, they got a second. I don’t see M that way. Laurie and I hoped for a child, and we got one, with Vivi. The bonus is that we have one more person in our life who cares deeply about her.

This article can also be read at http://www.adoptivefamilies.com/.