This Reminds Me

Archive for the ‘Adoption’ Category

I finished a fascinating book this week - The Baby Thief – The Untold Story of Georgia Tann, The Babyseller Who Corrupted Adoption.

Georgia Tann kidnapped or illegally procured more than 5,000 children in Tennessee in the 20′s, 30′s and 40′s to sell to wealthy(er) parents.  Not all babies either – some were young teenage girls, sold to single men.  Many were school-age children, snatched from their front yards with the justification of a court order secured by bribery.  Scores if not hundreds of infants died in her care, often sweltering in the summer heat of attics.

Horrifying stuff.  And yet – really historically interesting, because she also single-handledly created the first American market for adoption.  Fighting the prevailing national eugenics ferver which condemned children needing homes, she convinced couples to adopt – and thus line her own pockets with handsome fees.

I don’t agree with all of the author’s  conclusions about Georgia Tann’s legacy affecting adoptions today.  Though she herself is an adoptive parent, she refers to us “as the most pampered of the birth triad.”  Sorry.  The adoptive parents I know have been anything but pampered.  I also don’t agree that every single adoptee has the right to know his birth family.  In a perfect world, that would be true.  But if a girl has chosen life for her baby under the condition of anonymity, I think that anonymity has to be respected.   To me, that’s no different than honoring the Baby Moses laws.   This society created the “right to choose,” and that means the right to choose privacy, too – or watch for more girls to make more difficult choices.

The book’s recurring theme is the constant gnawing ache of these adoptees to know their histories, especially if they were taken at an age when they could remember a past life.  Their pain oozes from the pages as they describe frustrating, life-long quests to fill that familial void.

I couldn’t help but think of Julia, whom we adopted at age six.  She remembers Russia, of course – the good and the bad.  And I’ve made an effort to ask her questions about what she thought when she met us – what foods she liked to eat – who her friends were – what she liked to play – so that as she forgets, I can tell her those things as part of her adoption story.

The day we met in the office of the Director of Children’s Home #47 – isn’t she a cutie?!  Keith could easily lift all 37 lbs. of her with one arm.  He said, “I don’t remember this little.”  Rachel, Lois and Hannah were that size around age 2 1/2.

I’ve made an effort, too, to talk with her about her first mother.  We know little about her, but I do know she cared enough to give Julia life, and was in difficult circumstances herself.  Julia will never hear a harsh word from Keith or me about her.  Julia and often speak at bedtime about how we’ll all be together in heaven one day, and how I’m going to hug her first mother’s neck and tell her how proud I am to share a daughter with her.  I want to keep the lines of communication open on First Mother, because I don’t want my baby afraid to talk about her.  Ever.   I don’t want her afraid to “offend” me, or be swallowed by the black hole of loss, frantically “looking for love in all the wrong places.”

I think adopting an older child is a lot like getting married.  You choose them – but they also have to choose you.    There are two families coming together, not just one absorbing the other.  The honeymoon is way easier than the distance.   And while you don’t know what tomorrow brings, you know each of you had a past that will influence it.

An adoptee kidnapped by Georgia Tann said, “There’s a hole in me that can never be filled.”

That hurt me just to read it.

Pray that we families of adoptees do the things we need to do so we don’t have to live it.

Julie and I walked over to meet new neighbors Monday night.  As I stood chatting with the wife, she said they’d lived in Houston.  “Houston!”  I exclaimed.  “We used to live there, too.”   While we compared notes, Julia stood passively before interjecting, “I never lived in Houston.  I’m adopted.”

With three teenage daughters, it takes a lot to startle me.  But that comment did.  After a moment of leaden silence, I swallowed and said, “Well, Jules – tell her where you’re from.”  Julia did.  And a three-way conversation about places-we’ve-lived-and-why-we-love-San-Antonio conversation ensued.

Julia has never before offered up “I’m adopted” in front of me.  Not that she couldn’t have.  But she hasn’t.

So why Monday night?  Was it because – just before we went outside – I’d explained who the family was in Houston (our pre-Julia existence) whose son had sent us a thank-you note for a graduation gift?   Was it because the neighbor is expecting their first baby in September – and looks it?   Was it because the neighbor’s husband plays pro basketball, and may play in Russia next year?

Or maybe – just maybe – was it because she’d spent the entire day with Keith – seeing her sisters off to church camp, watching TV, running errands, just basking in his undivided attention in what she described as “the best day of my life?”

Three years later – there is still no place she’d rather be than with Keith. Or possibly above him.

Keith and I figured there would come a point when people around us didn’t know Julia was adopted.    Everyone who “knew us when,” of course, would know.  And it’s not like it’s a secret.  But it’s also not a just-met-the-neighbors talking point.

I think she’s more and more confident of not only who she is, but also who  she was.  She occasionally tells me about life in Russia now – usually at bedtime, when we are whispering to each other, snug in the rocking chair.  She tells me what she misses.  She recalls snippets of life and caregivers even before Children’s Home #47.   I bring up a few subjects she doesn’t, because I don’t want her afraid to talk about them.

When you know who you are – and you know who you were – I guess it’s easier to acknowledge facts that meld the two.

Like you never lived in Houston.

And you’re adopted.

We celebrated our third Sister’s Day today, remembering when Julia came home from Russia and became not only our daughter, but also the sister of Rachel, Lois and Hannah.  That sibling relationship and subsequent attachment has been every bit as important as her relationship and subsequent attachment to Keith and me.  We were a “unit” before she arrived; we weren’t interested in just adding another child.  We wanted to expand our family – all of it.  So while most adoptive families celebrate “Gotcha Day,” we celebrate “Sister’s Day,” in whatever fashion (within reason) the girls choose.

The girls chose lunch at Chili’s, followed the new movie Up, then a trip to Borders.    Up chronicled the adventure of an elderly man and a young boy discovering the real meaning of family in a foreign country.  Rachel, Lois and Hannah cried.  I could have.   It’s just a great movie, and perfect for today.  I particularly related to a scene where the elderly man reads a newly-discovered wish from his much-treasured, deceased bride:  “Thanks for the adventure.  Now go have another.”   Keith and I had ours in St. Petersburg three years ago, called by God, and spurred by the thought that we didn’t want to lament on our death beds, “Oh, I wish I had…..”

Rachel got a special “Chicken Soup for the Soul Celebrates Sisters” book to mark her upcoming graduation, inscribed by each sister – including Julia.  Who, by the way (and surely not to brag) was rated “Advanced – High” or “Advanced” on every category of her end-of-school-year Texas English Language Proficiency Assessment System” examination. 

Hannah surprised each sister – plus Keith and me – with handmade cards and a chocolate treat in each.  Julia waited about 10 seconds to scarf the Nestle’s Crunch bar.

Today was special at church, too, with Senior Sunday, and Rachel’s recognition with other graduating high schoolers.

Part of the recognition at church included a slide show with “way back” pictures of each graduate.  Rachel and I included this one, to surprise Keith – whose beard might have been a little scary to his firstborn.

The Shearer Hills Baptist Church Youth Choir led us in worship today, too.  That’s Lois in black on the far right, then friend Brooke and Rachel.  and Hannah half-hidden behind Rachel.

Make an on-line slide show at www.OneTrueMedia.com

I thank my God when I remember you

For he has blessed my life with yours

In every prayer of mine for you

I’m filled with joy for I hold you

I hold you in my heart.

And yes, girls – I do thank my God when I remember you, for he has blessed my life with yours.  In every prayer of mine for you, I’m filled with joy, for I hold you in my heart.

I love all four of you.  Happy Sister’s Day.   xoxoxo yo mama

Today is the third anniversary of Julia’s homecoming.    We arrived after about 27 hours of travel from Moscow to Zurich to Dallas (where Julia became a citizen when the wheels of the plane touched ground) and finally to San Antonio.

Thanks, Shels, for thinking to have a camera out!  I sure wasn’t thinking.

We’ll celebrate our third  “Sisters Day” soon – doing something fun we all want to do.    Hanging our Russian flag.  Chanting the “loves Julia” mantra  I sung to my baby from our first mother/daughter day together in St. Pete.

And remembering that mixture of exhilaration and exhaustion when we finally had all four of our girls together in one room.

Then: Счастливо для нас!  (Be Happy for Us!)

Right Now:  My eldest and youngest are sitting next to me right this instant, thinking I don’t notice the computer game they’re playing isn’t “educational.”

Tonight at dinner, Rachel shared a variety of jokes/puzzlers  overheard at her after-school childcare job including,  “The orphan was on one side of the road, and her parents on the other.  How did she get across?”  Answer:  “She didn’t.  If she had parents, she’s not an orphan.”

Precisely, Rachel.  Precisely.