Reflections on an international tragedy

The New York Times yesterday published an article describing an "international adoption" of a Russian child by an American family which went horribly wrong, "World of Grief and Doubt after an Adoptee's Death," and the paper asked families with their own international adoption stories to comment.

As an adoptive parent, the article hit hard, and I have mixed feelings about the article and, more broadly, about the process.

Don't get me wrong: adopting my daughter was the best decision of my life, and I have never regretted bringing her into my life, not even during those darker moments of adolescence which bring angst to nearly every parent. She has enriched and enlarged my life in ways I could never have imagined; the journey has been - and continues to be - a wonderful journey.

When I met her twenty years ago she was 18 months of age, living in an orphanage in northeast Moscow; she's now starting her senior year at a good, small liberal arts college in the mid-Atlantic region. It's been a long road with more than a few potholes along the way, but it's been a good journey. There were thirteen years of ballet and several years of softball - oddly, the love of baseball endures the more. There was an assortment of the other sorts of activities typical of a bourgeois American child, too, from gymnastics to scouting to horses; you name it. She was a high school cheerleader who earned praiseworthy academic awards. Her social life was probably a little cloistered but not terribly unusual for her day and age. All in all, a childhood seemingly typical of her community. Through it all, she's always known - and been proud - that she is Russian.

Some of those potholes along the way were my fault. There really is no school or standard text for parenting; for such an essential task one is remarkably dependent on extemporized, seat-of-the-pants learning, and I certainly made my mistakes along the way. Still, I think the worst of the potholes stemmed from those first eighteen months. The staff at the orphanage were clearly loving care-givers, but they were overwhelmed by the numbers and she naturally didn't get the sort of parental care and nurturing that every infant deserves, and that has echoed down through the years as she's dealt with feelings of rejection, abandonment and loneliness, as well as delayed intellectual, emotional and even physical development. Her road has been the harder for that, and she has had to work hard and continues to work diligently to overcome those shortcomings. Perhaps she never ill, although I am optimistic that she's been developing the coping skills to manage the problems she can't overcome. Still, by this point in her life, I do believe that she's on a par with her "biological" peers, and she (rightfully!) feels loved by her parents.

For her, I think the "bottom line," such as it can be stated now, is that her future looks good, and she'll be ready to face what it brings. Moreover, it can safely be said that her life to date and her future are immeasurably better than the prospect faced by the scores of children she left behind at that orphanage.

But her and my very positive outcomes should not blind prospective parents to the dangers involved in international adoption, and probably in adoption generally.

Let's face it: babies born into loving families capable and willing to raise them as they should be raised simply are not placed for adoption. No, they become available because their birth parents cannot or will not care for them (think: the pernicious effects of poverty, or nonexistent prenatal care, or simple abandonment), or because their own shortcomings, habits and failings carry consequences that reach far into the children's futures (think: fetal alcohol syndrome or physical abuse).

So the children who do become available for adoption come with onerous baggage that will impede them all along their journey, and their parents will need to reach deeper into themselves - and to develop a larger repertoire of parenting skills, and require greater emotional reserves - than they will ever have imagined. Quite probably, more than most "biological" parents ever need.

That is most definitely not to say that the rewards aren't there, for they are - more than I ever imagined. But would-be parents who in their naivete or ignorance never bother to learn these realties and honestly assess their own ability and willingness to deal with them will do themselves and their children real and lasting harm. The parents will face disappointment, frustration and failure, and their children will suffer for it through the rest of their lives.

She's twenty today

I remember so clearly holding her in my arms that first time, sending her off for her first day of grade school, holding her upside down so she could walk on the ceiling and then "berating" her for the footprints she left up there, coaching her softball and soccer teams, watching her dance in "Firebird," siting on the edge of her bed at the end of the day as we talked about things on her mind and then tucking her in (even through high school), hiking Billy Goat and Cedar Run and Rip Rap trails, going off with her to "rescue" a bewildered little dog and then watching the two of them become best friends, sharing her college road trip, sending her off to school ... and now she's not even a teen any more. It's amazing, it's astonishing, and I really don't believe it.

Friends have warned me that each coming era of her life would be the toughest, but they've all been good - each with its challenges and frustrations, to be sure, but each to be treasured and then remembered with the wistful smile that perhaps only parents understand. And I know there's a lot more in the future that will be wonderful in its own way.

But where did her childhood go? It seemed to take forever, but now it's gone in as if in a flash, and I mourn its passing.

Yet at the same time, I cherish the adult she's become.

Helicopter-free zone

Woke up in a childless house for the first time in seventeen-plus years. She's in college now, one day into her freshman year. Three days, if you count the weekend.

First reports are highly positive: good room-mate, good suite-mate, new friends, dorm room working out well, lots of fun so far. Too early to know about her classes, of course. But college seems wonderful. At least, that's her view of it.

Mine is different. The house seems terribly empty, unnaturally quiet. The dog - her dog - seems bewildered. So am I, but he shows it more. I think.

Knew full well long before this weekend that she is the central figure in my life, and as every reluctantly realizes, I was doomed to abandonment. And now it's happened. Knowing that it's for the best, knowing it's what she's been craving, knowing that it's what I've always wanted for her, knowing that this past weekend would be the biggest step in her long road to independence ... knowing all of that helps, but not that much. I miss her, and there's a huge hole in my life.

But it's up to me to fill it; she quite properly is looking forward, not backward.

Right now the best I can do is to avoid becoming a helicopter parent, or worse, a velcro parent. The temptation is strong, but it would be destructive of everything I want for her. So I try to limit my calls and e-mails to plausible excuses.

Fortunately, she's helping in that regard. A couple of excited calls about new friends. A wail about a cold night and a missing blanket. A small gift of something I know she'll like, to arrive in her mailbox later this week. And then the first call for money. (And that, I'm pleased, was for a good reason, and easy to oblige.)

But her departure is not without benefits. For the first time since she arrived all those years ago, I'm cooking to my tastes, not to the lowest common denominator she imposed. And I'm biking on those small errands she used to like to share ... provided we drove. I know too that there will be other little surprises along the way, until my life reaches a new dynamic that defines her as a welcome but only occasional visitor.

Still, I miss her. Powerfully. This giving of one's heart to a child isn't an easy thing.

A summer of obsessing

Choosing the school turned out to be easier than I had anticipated. But the anticipation is proving tough on the kid.

Spent the spring obsessing about finding a roommate. She joined the FaceBook page for members of her class, and developed virtual friendships with a bunch of them. Found one she thought she'd like to room with; met her at a local mall and it wasn't exactly love at first sight. Back to obsessing.

Headed south for the school's new students' orientation. Parents in dorms (air conditioned, thankfully!) with the students in different dorms (and not so lucky in the blistering weather).

But luck was with her; she hit it off with the student randomly assigned to be her roomie for the night, and vice versa. They decided to make it official for the full year, figuring the one night shared gave them a far better bet than taking pot luck.

More than that, the trip confirmed that THIS is the college. She met her academic advisor, registered for classes, arranged for her books, selected her computer, dined in the mess hall, bought the requisite tee-shirts.

The virtual friendship with the new roomie blossomed, via FB and a seemingly constant stream of text messages. Took the two of them to an amusement park in early August, and they both had fun; more to the point, the excursion's success augurs well for school-year compatibility between the two.

Of course, she's still obsessing about college. All summer long, she's marked the days down on the calendar, but now that she's down to a dozen she's getting VERY anxious. Which seems about right; I can't imagine it otherwise. My guess is that she'll be happy down there, probably quite happy, but the transition may well have its rough spots.

But there's probably not a better way for her to go ... and go she must, as every parent must recognize.

(Of course, how those parents feel about it is a completely different matter ....)

Mission accomplished

The College Road Trip did what it was supposed to do: bring clarity. It was also fun, mostly.

Long, long drive down to Wise, in the rain. Lot's of snow hanging around from December's big storm, some still pretty, some not. Near Radford a farm field of concentric furrows, with snow in the troughs, was particularly striking. Not many trucks on the road, thankfully - not much traffic at all. 27.7 m.p.g. in the Chevy truck; not bad, but hardly green.

Wise is pretty remote, a little town up in the mountains. Definitely coal country. Must be really beautiful in the Spring and Fall. UVa-Wise surprised by being thoroughly modern. Liked the school and liked the people, but Goldilocks would have understood: it was too small. Thought that would be an attraction, but it wasn't.

Liked Longwood U. a lot when she visited it last year, but was generally underwhelmed this time around. Did like the chair of one of the prospective majors, but that wasn't enough. Farmville is bigger than Wise, but somehow neither the town nor the school rang her bell this year.

But Radford! Loved Radford. Loved the size - big enough to offer a lot of variety, small enough to still be personal. Loved the look, rather what Hollywood thinks a college should be. Liked the majors, and really impressed by some of the faculty. Liked the amenities, liked the town. Had lunch with the daughter of a friend who's a senior there, and what she had to say just added to the enthusiasm. Will take real commitment, especially to being proactive in seeking help - tutors, profs, library, etc., but I'm pretty sure she gets it. And the help seems to be there for those who seek it.

Decision made.

And I didn't embarrass her.

College Road Trip

We're going on a college road trip!

Daughter worried that she'd never get into college, but dutifully sent in early admission apps to three schools. Minor snafu when the high school counselor forgot to send in transcripts, but that was resolved in time.

Pick up the phone at work; daughter screaming. First thought: something terribly wrong! Second thought: no, wonderfully right!

Admitted! To her first choice school. About a week later, another letter: admitted to a school she didn't think would accept her. (Still waiting to hear form the third.)

Much fretting over which to accept. A slowly dawning smile when I reminded her that a couple of weeks earlier she worried about never getting into college. This is a far, far better dilemma.

So we're leaving Sunday. Four days, three schools, a lifetime to chart.

I'm told that under no circumstances am I to sing "Double Dutch Bus." Or anything else to embarrass her.

I just don't get it

But then, I'm old.

Got my 16 year old a cell phone a while back. Unlimited calls within network, and a generous allotment for prime-time out of network calls. No good; it didn't include unlimited texting.

"But you can call," says I.

"Daaaaaaaad," says she, clearly frustrated by my ignorance of all matters significant.

Despite exhortations to be prudent, if not miserly, texting still occurred, month after month. Recriminations.

Back to the provider; signed up for unlimited texting within network, and what looked to me to be a generous ration of texting outside of network. Kid agrees to bear the cost for any over that amount. First month's bill with the texting service comes today. 178 messages out of network over and above that generous allotment.

"Pay up," says I.

"Daaaaaaaad,: says she, with that exasperated, dismissive voice only teens can master.

I just don't get it. But then, I'm old. And getting older.

Note: this was originally posted on ketches, yaks & hawks 2 July 2008

She's out on her first date!

My baby!

Gulp.

Note: this was originally posted on ketches, yaks & hawks 9 February 2008

Where are you going, my little one?

I had a dream last night which in one form or another probably comes to most parents.

Early in the dream, my daughter and I were doing the sorts of things together the way parents and eight-year olds do, laughing and playing. As the dream progressed, she slipped in and out of my awareness, a little bit older and more independent each time she reappeared. At the end of the dream she was fifteen, in the midst of a dozen or so friends walking down the street away from me; just before she rounded the corner and left my sight, she turned to look at me, smiled, and continued on with her friends.

I awoke with tears in my eyes.

It can hurt so much, yet you know you've got to let them go.

Note: this originally posted on ketches, yaks & hawks 7 November 2007

Earring

I have a fifteen year old daughter who is, as people who know me realize, the most important person in my life. As I write, she's in her bedroom, sobbing. Soon, I will go in and try to comfort her, but for now it's best to let her sob. Especially as the occasion of this outburst was my doing.

She wears pierced ear earrings. The piercings were done by a physician and healed quickly. For several years she was happy with them, which was well for I had told her that they were the only ones she'd have while a minor. Still, not long after, she thought multiple earrings were cool and asked about them, and of late she's been saying more about wanting a third piercing, high in the ear and through the cartilage there, so the discussion has been recurring with increasing frequency.

I grant that many of her friends have multiple piercings, and I grant that my views may be archaic. But there you have it.

Tonight she came home with a stud earring high in her left ear. She got the piercing knowing full well my views, and probably knowing that there would be consequences. If so, she was right, and there are. Anyway, the stud is no longer there, and neither, at least for the moment, is the good relationship we've generally enjoyed.

To be honest, I don't know quite what to do. I feel that children, including teens approaching adulthood -- perhaps especially including teens approaching adulthood -- need, and at some level appreciate, limits, and that those limits need to be reasonably consistent and coherent. I know, too, that teens rebel, that rebellion is part of the maturation process, part of the process of experimenting with and establishing one's sense of identity.

However, having drawn the line, whether rightly or not, I don't think it can be erased easily and probably not wisely, either. Yet as transgressions go, this really isn't a major one ... except that it entailed the deliberate flaunting of a well-established and fully recognized rule. So what do I do now? I wish I knew. Parenting has never been easy ... and clearly, adolescence isn't easy, either.

Note: this was originally posted on ketches, yaks & hawks 1 November 2007