Choosing Adoption at Ages Eight and Nine

IMG_5121The sceneOscar, age 9, in the top bunk, very, very tired after a long night of football and Minecraft but still remarkably lucid; Edgar, age 8, on the bottom bunk packed with two dozen stuffed animals, four pillows, two blankets, and a beleaguered mother nestled in temporarily to say goodnight.  Edgar is characteristically chatty and full of nighttime questions. 

EDGAR:  “Mom, do you think I’ll get married some day?”

ME:  “If you meet the right person, you’ll know it.  And if you both want to get married, then you will.”

EDGAR:  “How about kids?  Do you think I’ll have kids?”

ME:  “If you and the person you marry want to have children, then you will.”

EDGAR:  “I think I want to adopt one boy and one girl and name them Steve and Elizabeth.”

ME:  “Well, if you get married, it’s not just up to you, you know.  Your spouse would have to agree.”

EDGAR:  “Really?”

ME:  “Yes, really.”

EDGAR:  “Well, we’re adopting no matter what.”

OSCAR:  “Me, too.  But I’m adopting just one child, a girl.”

ME:  “You know, there are lots of ways to form a family.  Adoption is one, but there are others.”

OSCAR:  “Yeah, but adoption is cool.”

EDGAR:  “Yeah, I love adoption.”

MEPause.  “Yes, it is.  And so do I.”  Another pause.   “Goodnight, boys.  I love you.”

OSCAR:  “I love you, Mom.”

EDGAR:  “I love you, too, Mom.”

And the mother, renewed and a little less beleaguered, nestles in further and decides to linger because, really, where else would she want to be?


5 thoughts on “Choosing Adoption at Ages Eight and Nine

  1. How gratifying to experience adoption being more widely considered as an option when children are considered.

  2. What a blessing you all are to each other and many of us have seen the path you and Don have experienced along the way. I call it faith, courage, strength and love and you have it all. The loving soul that shines through in the smile and eyes of Oscar that I witnessed on Saturday was so heart warming and touching. I bet your other guys have similar souls. Be proud of what you are doing. Libby

  3. My daughter was 3. 15 years later we brought boys 4 & 6 home. My heart breaks for the waiting children and would be parents. Love comes in many different vintages.
    Our youngest son left home at 17. I thought it would kill me. Then I learned more about the Attachment Disorder. We loved him through the confusion with his family of origin. His grandmother hired a lawyer so his son’ mother could fight against in court. He wanted the boy to carry my last name. They put me on the stand and was able to proclaim my love for my child with the statement that legal adoption provided me with children much finer than anything my body could make. The opposing atorney let me explain the Attachment Disorder from my point of view. It may have been my finest hour.
    Out grandson is 4 months old. My wife is holding him as he sleeps. We get MLK day this year. We have to take him to his mother in a little while.
    For years I had thought that I had grafted my children into a special family of southerners who have lived in this community. Saturday night about 2 I saw that I am the one that has been inserted into a line of men-fair, blond, blue eyed and strong. Viking children I say. I claim to be a French Jewish gypsy and a Baptist. The French Hugonut thing grows stale.
    What ever I am, the thing I am proudest of is the title of Dad & Pop.
    Enjoy these days
    Psalms 113

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