Blue Collar Adoption

Imagine you’re about to check out of the store after buying all the tedious groceries and household items. At the end of the isle you see that super expensive, organic, fair trade, self sustained farm grown chocolate. Several different varieties with beautiful pictures on recycled paper. In that moment you can’t decide. Do I buy it? Do I indulge?

Later that night after loading the dishwasher, getting the baby to sleep, changing over the laundry and chasing the teenager to bed, you finally take that moment. You get a cup of tea/coffee/wine; grab your favorite magazine/book and unearth your little indulgence from its hiding place.

You turn most of the lights out and get into the cozy chair with the soft, old blanket. As you sip your drink and bring that first piece of chocolate to your mouth there is sudden confusion- What the…?!? Its carob- not chocolate at all, not even close. Simply a bland and disappointing substitute that barely meets the very basic requirements of desert.

That’s what dial up is like.
Bland and consistently disappointing.

We moved to a new home rental in January and the only thing I have to complain about is my computer access and subsequent lack thereof. Blogging is especially frustrating via dial-up. It is nearly impossible to see any video clips and loading photos takes a very long time.
There is no Verizon or Comcast high speed, no clear access shot for satellite internet. I am told by local folks that most everyone has to use dial up and they are hoping any time now Verizon will add this area to its coverage. Put me on the Cant Wait list. However I love the new home, I love all the nature and privacy, all the space for the kids to enjoy outside. I love having a door to my bedroom and big windows with lots of light.
It’s only when I’m reading friends blogs or looking at posts that I am reminded of the chocolate & carob scenario.

Gheesh, if that’s all I have to complain about, I must be doing pretty well.

I read an article this morning about the blue collar experience in its rawest form. Perhaps the term blue collar is outdated- no longer relevant. If you are reading this I don’t have to tell you that there is hardly such a thing as middle class. Or lower middle class anymore. The American way has simply become a means of survival in your local economic climate. Most people I know in my daily life are trying to pay their bills, keep their jobs and somehow manage to be good parents and decent people.
But I digress.
The piece I read this morning is called “After All This Is Over” by Doug Crandell. It is in the June 2010 issue of The Sun (magazine). I received the June issue the other day in the mail, but have not allowed myself to read it until I had the time to at least get through one piece without being interrupted. So this morning when my daughter and her friend asked if they could watch Toy Story 2 I hesitated. Normally I would say no- it’s beautiful outside! Perfect jeans and sweatshirt weather and the bugs are not too bad yet. But I remembered that my Sun magazine lay untouched on my highest book shelf, and I relented.
You seasoned parents will read between the lines in the prior paragraph and realize that by allowing the 13 year old to spend this gorgeous morning in front of the tube I have also insured myself completely occupied time for the 2 and a half year old. Just the complete attention of his older sister and her friend would have been quite enough. Now add a movie, and in the day light- well, I knew I might even be able to get through the whole magazine.
So why am I sitting here writing? The piece I read moved me. It was one boys refection of his families forced bankruptcy and subsequent loss of his family’s farm in the 1980’s. But there was a deeper element to the recollection. A fellow student, a bully, who seemingly revels in the plight of this boy’s suffering. This boy knows that the bully has his own story of sadness, and he can’t seem to bring himself to retaliate.
It made me think about the depth of family interactions, in the shaping and molding of children. The child that sunk into himself in embarrassment as he watched his parents’ marriage crumble in the face of poverty. The child who lives through physical abuse at the hands of his father only to become the abuser himself.
I think about all the children growing up in foster care, trying to navigate their own complicated circumstances. Wondering how they can over trust again. I think about all the children living in Ethiopia whose thoughts are clouded by the inescapable feeling of hunger, of thirst. Wondering if they can ever feel anything else.

I think I am one of these people that feel a bit too deeply. Sometimes I can stay up very late just reading articles about trans racial adoption or the catastrophic ramifications of the newest oil spill or the abuse of adolescents in “correction” facilities in Mississippi. I take hear t in the fact that the stories are being reported- discussed, looked into. And yet when the under lying cause of the situation so often come down to human greed, I become disheartened all over again. What is it about human nature that causes us to feel so inadequate without material wealth?
The truth about material gain and wealth in general is that it is all relative. I am constantly trying to recognize the difference between what we want and what we need. Truthfully we have everything we need to survive, and yet what would we be doing if we weren’t striving to improve our day to day life.
Heres the thing. I have more than Joe down the street, who has more than Jan across town, who has more than Jack across the country, who has more than June on the other side of the world. But I forget this and simply focus on Jim, who has more than I do, and he can’t stop thinking about Jenn that seems to have far more than everyone combined. It is a curse that can only lead to constant dissatisfaction. And yet most of us do it every day. Pay attention. Everyone seems to be feeling a need to explain just how much they themselves are struggling. I can’t help but be surprised when a doctor feels the need to tell me how much they pay in student loan payments every month, or a lawyer offering up her tales of pro bono cases when she sees me eyeing her BMW. Is it guilt? Why? Is this not what they wanted, to work towards a goal of financial freedom? And yet if we delve deeper the background information gets even murkier. Maybe her wealth was handed down from her parents, who never let her forget it. Who never allowed her to feel any sense of personal accomplishment? Maybe he grew up having to use food stamps, seeing his father work, his mother work just to scrape by. Now he can’t seem to shake the feelings of survivor’s guilt, he struggled and fought to get out of poverty, but how many did he leave behind? How is it possible to ever give back enough?

What I’m truly getting at, is that I face a conundrum with my blog. On one hand it is a reflection of the process, the journey of transformative time that allows us to hopefully, grow. Those tend to be the blogs I read, the ones that have been around since 2006, 2007. Those that have learned as we have, that adoption is rife with emotional questions of such depth, of such intensity; it will bring you to your knees. There is no room for naivety, for ignorance, for impartiality. One is constantly looking for the silver lining amongst all the grey areas. There is no such thing as transparency in adoptions. No way to be clearly, unequivocally ethical. No one can absolutely agree on what constitutes an ethical adoption. Somewhere along the way money will be involved. And where there is money, there is human nature. The desire to do what is in one’s own best interest. The birth mother that is able to “choose” her child’s adoptive parents, perhaps ask for medical reimbursement. Does she not look for financial stability for that child? A woman in a developing country that gives up a sick child for adoption so that she has more financial stability to feed the remaining healthier children? What is more acceptable, more ethical? It is hard to know.
And so I read what other people have to say. Some far wiser than me, some that I definitely disagree with. But I have come to feel that International adoption is nearly impossible for an American, mid-income family. Unless you have some help, some connection, it is just un-affordable. Can it be done? Yes- you can re mortgage your house, get a loan, fund raise or have an incredible ability to save. But all of these methods take considerable consideration. Something I didn’t think quite enough about when I experienced fund raising.
I started my blog as a vehicle for fund raising for the adoption. A few months after I started there were reports that the Ethiopian Government was frowning on families using the suffering of children in Ethiopia as a tool to fund raise for an adoption. I couldn’t take the chance of pissing someone important off, so I made the blog into a way for me to navigate the waiting process. I had no idea how the act of fund raising would so change my feelings towards people. On one hand I was blown away by the generosity of some friends and family. Even some strangers chipped in. They believed in this vision, this dream simply because we did. How can I ever re pay such kindness? Perhaps by letting go of the confusion I felt when those that experienced our losses and tribulations along side of us, failed to offer any support. I can’t help but take it personally that I couldn’t convey the difference their support would have made. And I am too chicken shit to bring it up now. What good would it do besides relieving me of my own frustration or curiosity? Doesn’t sitting in judgment of those that didn’t feel compelled to contribute completely go against the whole point of fundraising anyway? I simply can’t do it again, the fundraising. I am no good at it. I was often too nervous of rejection to call. Of people telling me their own stories of financial woe, of the cousin they knew who adopted. I didn’t have the energy to explain, yet again, why we weren’t adopting from the US, specifically foster care. Why we wanted to adopt from Ethiopia- why/when/how????? I relied instead on lots of mailings, which may have seemed too impersonal, I don’t know. I’m just grateful there were enough people in the end that cared, so much, that we were able to be together and bring Kai Misikir home.
Sometimes people ask me if we are going to adopt again. My answer isn’t given lightly. Yes, we would like to adopt again from Ethiopia, but we cannot afford it. Well, we can, but we cannot afford the fees part of it. The travel part of it. There is this big twenty thousand dollar wall that feels too impenetrable. And in the end, it’s about money and access to money. Who has it, who doesn’t. Who has a way to get it? I guess I’m just not clever enough to figure it all out. I just want things to be simple when they are not. There is a need? Here is a way to meet it.
We can only supply the simple things. Clean water, food, education, love, family and comfort. I’ve been blessed with the access and opportunity to parent two amazing kids with these tools. Thankfully that position will be life long, as being a parent never actually ends. I know there are both positive and negative aspects of different sized families, of having siblings or not.
And yet….
When I read in the local paper a group that is requesting twenty five thousand dollars for a dog park, or read about a politician that spent seventy five thousand dollars on advertising for an election, I can’t help but silently calculate how many adoptions that would pay for. How many orphans might find forever families? What is the cost of a child’s life?
I can’t help but think of all the families that sat with us on our first ever foster parenting class we took before we were even married. There were quite a few couples looking to have a family through adoption. I wonder where they are now. Did they succeed? Did they get discouraged and give up? I know not everyone finished the course with us, where did they go? A secretary and a line worker. A teacher and a restaurant manager. A carpenter and a stay at home mom. Did they navigate the complexities of working for the state? Did they persevere and adopt through the state? Did they turn towards international adoption? Were they discouraged by the cost and now, when they see the Sandra Bullocks, the Dr. Runs House, the Rosie O’Donnell’s, Meg Ryans or Sharon Stones of the world do they wonder at the advantages of having that money – that access to having a family?
And why don’t insurance companies pay for adoption in the same way they pay for infertility treatments? If your ability to have a child through labor sort of works, we’ll help you out. But if it’s not working at all, f you?

So maybe I will try to tweak the blog, mess with it, simplify. Maybe I’ll try to write about some of the hard stuff. I usually only feel like writing when I’m frustrated anyway. Or maybe I should go private, remove the photos, simplify. I don’t know. So much to think about.