Pineapple Promise (eBook)

Chapter 1

Why Adoption?

When people learn I am an adoptive mother, they ask one question more than any other. It is sometimes phrased as “What made you want to adopt?” The essence of it is always, “Why?” My inner voice and intuition have always answered without hesitation, “Why not?” I heard the question often enough that I started trying to understand the genesis of the question, since it was never something I considered. In attempting to get to the root of the question, I challenged myself to honestly answer it, regardless of its impetus. What was my motivation for wanting to adopt?

As far back as I can recall, adoption of a child seemed like something I might do; a calling I heard from deep inside. As I pondered the topic, I identified with the abandonment I presumed orphans must feel. My parents were high school sweethearts and married very young. My mom became pregnant shortly after they were married, and they split not long after I was born. It was just my mom and me for several years. I didn’t know any different and it took years before I understood the concept of a ‘dad’ by seeing other families. While I saw my father off and on until I was about seven years old, we did not have an established relationship and I never called him “Dad”. That was just too uncomfortable. But I understood he was my father.

When I was a young adult, a friend’s father told me a story that I didn’t recall from my childhood. He and my mother were also friends. One day while the four of us were spending time together, my friend spoke to his father and began a sentence with “Hey, Dad…” I apparently turned to my mother and asked, “What’s a dad?” My friend’s father said the event stayed with him his entire life in terms of illustrating the importance of being a present father. When he and his wife later divorced, he committed to making sure his younger daughter never had to ask that question of her mother.

As fate would have it, I had close friends, now lifelong friends, that also grew up without their fathers for much of their lives. Despite different stories, the net result was a group of friends amongst whom not having a dad around was normal. I didn’t think much about the absence of a dad since I had never known the presence. Another friend, whose house I visited periodically, had both parents in the home. I remember being fascinated by her father, watching her parents interact with each other, and seeing him care for my friend the way a ‘dad’ does.

While I was curious, I never felt I was missing anything. Nonetheless, my subconscious mind and inner child’s heart felt the loss. I think it was the void in me that fueled both my desire to try to take that away from someone else and my belief that I could fill that hole with love, for them and for me. When a parent leaves, it makes it hard to trust people. It is really about trusting them not to leave. This played out more as I got older than as a child. When I was a kid, I simply wanted to be accepted, like all kids. I was always willing to put myself out there with friends and later when dating. At times, this was to my own detriment as I allowed myself to be treated less than respectfully because I didn’t want people to leave my life. The fear of abandonment runs deep. I went back and forth between latching onto people I barely knew and intentionally choosing people who were not emotionally or otherwise available. I avoided true connection with those who were.

When I met my husband, Vince, something about him engendered my trust, instantly, that he would not leave me. I remember thinking that I could put my heart in a box, give it to him for safekeeping, and that he would guard it with his life. It was comfort and security I had never known, and it drew me to him. Interestingly, he and my father have birthdays only two days apart and some similarities including being large in stature and embodying a balance of seriousness and silliness. Perhaps I had subconsciously picked up on that, having had visits with my father over the years. The difference was I felt I could count on my husband to stay. Consequently, I believed that, if I could learn to trust, certainly Vince and I, together, could help someone else to do the same.

In growing up with my mom and without my father, both her presence and his absence factored into my development, my belief systems, and the filter through which I viewed life. Of course, they still do. I’m just more aware of it now. My father is a good man, and I don’t harbor resentment for the choices either of my parents made when they were so young – before or after ending their marriage. As I grew through various stages of life, I sometimes considered my parents at the same age, and what their life scenario had been at that time. The older I got, the more I could cognitively understand their different perspectives. Nonetheless, the trauma of losing a parent, for any reason, remains. You can heal from it. You can understand the circumstances and reasons behind it, but you can never erase the pain that you felt, even if subconsciously at the time, and the scars left behind. While I don’t dwell on it, a deeper awareness enables me to empathize with others on the topic, at any stage of their journey.

From the time I was in middle school, if not sooner, I have always instinctively considered other people’s feelings. Despite being shy and sensitive, my internal flame often allowed me to push past my fears both for myself and in defense of others. My natural inclination as a defender grew into a desire to provide opportunities whenever possible. There is so much to be said for opportunity. People born into adverse circumstances or who face significant challenges generally don’t want people to feel sorry for them. They want equal opportunities, and they often want things more deeply than those to whom much is given or provided early in life. To dismiss someone based on their background is to underestimate the power and drive of the human spirit and the infinite potential therein. There is no progress in feeling sorry for someone. To make a difference is to act on what you feel. To provide opportunity and encouragement. To believe in someone and do something about it, even if you have never met them. Their humanity makes them worthy of love, belonging, and opportunity. I often say, “You do what you can, when you can.” I wanted to do what I could to make a difference for someone else, who might not otherwise be able to bring their fight to life.

Simply put, adoption is hard, every part of it. From the concept to the paperwork, to waiting, to dealing with transition trauma, and forming a connection, which I struggled with. There are a million reasons to allow your fears to take hold and question whether to begin and then, whether to continue. Every time those feelings arose for me or for Vince, I would ask “If we are not equipped to do this, to push through, then who is?” And we would press on.

People often think of adoption as a Christian thing to do, probably because Christians adopt at a higher rate than non-Christians. While Vince and I are Christian, it is not the sole reason we chose to pursue adoption. There are over two billion Christians worldwide which means, depending which estimates are considered, they outnumber orphans approximately 13 to one globally, and are about one to one in the United States. If you factor in all the kind and loving people with other belief systems, and equally capable of being parents, it certainly compounds the possibility of dramatically reducing the global orphan population, on paper. However, there are many reasons why people, regardless of their belief system, may or may not choose to adopt a child, not the least of which is socioeconomic status, particularly in countries outside of the U.S. As a first-world, wealthy nation, by global standards, the U.S. accounts for almost half of all adoptions worldwide out of the more than 100 countries that are part of the Hague Adoption Convention.

“The Hague Convention on Protection of Children and Co-operation in Respect of Intercountry Adoption (Hague Adoption Convention) is an international treaty that provides important safeguards to protect the best interests of children, birth parents, and adoptive parents in intercountry adoptions.” The full list of countries is available on the U.S. Citizen and Immigration Services website. https://www.uscis.gov/adoption/immigration-through-adoption/hague-process (at the time of printing).

All to say, there are plenty of people who technically could adopt, but don’t. It may not cross their minds, may not be something in which they’re interested, or they may have other responsibilities, such as eldercare, which preclude taking responsibility for an additional person. They may admire it in others, but have no desire to do it, like how I feel about those who run marathons. It’s inspiring and, with my knees, it’s not for me. In terms of adoption, I knew we couldn’t do everything for everyone, but we could do something for someone. As with many things in life, it’s the start that stops most people. When we began the process, we had no idea how we would pay for the adoption process, but I never doubted that we would figure it out. We understood our ‘why,’ and I knew we would find a way.

Another issue mentioned by people who were curious was the idea that “you don’t know what you’re going to get.” At first blush, it is as if people think their own genes are somehow superior to others. Certainly,...