I realized the other day that I never really explained here how S
and I came to consider foster/adoption.
I don't recall S and I ever
discussing in depth before we got married what our future family would
look like. Or possibly even mentioning it all. Perhaps because we'd sort of
been friends for quite a while, we skipped over a lot of those important
conversations and kind of jumped right off the precipice without looking. We
did this a lot with big decisions and yet somehow we always found a soft - or
soft enough - landing. This was no different.
As it turned out, we both felt that there
were already an awful lot of people cluttering up the world, and so the voluntary human extinction movement seemed to make sense. It fit with
our crunchy granola tendency to tree-hug, and after all, there are
hundreds of millions of orphans out there needing families. We reasoned that
when and if we wanted to raise a family, we would adopt a little girl from China.
We’re an interracial couple anyway, so my lily-white ass would be the only odd
one out. That was plan A, and it seemed perfect until we realized how
much it cost. What can I say- we were young(ish) and naive. And broke. So much
for China.
We'd mentioned our plan to a few friends
and family members,most notably a relative who had worked in social services.
She assumed we meant to adopt domestically. She'd witnessed the struggles her
colleagues had been through with their adopted kids, and she regaled me with
every horror story she could dredge up. It worked; I was inexperienced and
childless, and parenting is murky water anyway. I was convinced I couldn't
handle it. With foreign adoption a lottery win away and the perils of domestic
adoption fresh in our minds, it was time to develop plan B. (Of course, now I realize that all adoption is rooted in loss, domestic and international, and that is a traumatic event for every child...but that is a whole other post.)
Several years later, Plan B arrived,
followed shortly after by Plan B Mark II. We thought we were done until the
kidlets got much older, when we planned to foster. Then last year, I learned
about foster adoption in our province. I read everything I could about the
program. I haunted message boards, did some deep thinking and some obsessive
googling. I realized that I still wanted this -really wanted this- and that
the relative who had warned me from this path years ago is someone who not only
hates to be inconvenienced, but isn't actually all that fond of children. Of
course that person would advise against it! Now I was excited. The murky
parenting waters had cleared a bit. I mentioned it to S, who was cautiously on
board and agreed to attend an info session with me. The information presented
in that session made it clear to us both that this was probably the right thing
to do for our family, but it was probably not the right time to do it.
We think the right time is now, or coming
soon. Tomorrow we attend the second info session. This is a sort of joint
evaluation, I think - they are looking at us looking at them. If we all agree
that we like what we see, then they ask us on a second date -they invite us to
begin the application process. I’ve been told that is a mountain of paperwork
(it can make friends with Mt. Laundry ) and
can take up to a year for approval once the application is in. Then we wait for
placement.
We know this won't be easy, but we believe
it'll be worth it. We know it’s a hard, long process –and I am not the best at
waiting. I find I handle it a lot better if I can plan and research, so I've
read anything and everything I can find that is related to adoption,
attachment, trauma, and fostering. I am still looking for more. I find it's
reawakening my old punk self, tempered now with more common sense but still
passionate about advocacy for the overlooked and disenfranchised, the poor and
the disdained. My husband’s passion (other than art-making) is in the conversation around the treatment
of Canada's First Nations and the residential schools truth and reconciliation. It
is all part of the same whole to us. I think we may have found our thing.
In my opinion, if you really want to know,
half the nastiness in the
world is stirred up by people who
aren't using their true egos.
Take your Professor Tupper…. I'd lay
almost any odds that
this thing he’s using, the thing you think
is his ego, isn’t his ego
at all but some other, much dirtier, much
less basic faculty….
Scratch an incompetent schoolteacher — or,
for that matter,
college professor — and half the time you
find a displaced
first-class automobile mechanic or a
goddam stonemason....
Nobody who’s really using his ego, his
real ego, has any time
for any goddam hobbies.
I’m not incompetent at my job, but we want
a life where we don’t have time for hobbies. This is one step toward that meaningfulness in our daily lives. Wish
us luck.
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