| I had not grown up until, at the age of thirty-nine, I adopted a child. This is not an easy statement to explain, and therefore, up to now, I have made it only to those who I felt would not ask me to. |
| From the time I attended the initial orientation meeting to the moment, two years later, when I was offered a little boy in Russia by an adoption agency, I kept things to myself. The false leads, the frustrations, the close calls, the agency's home visit, the interviews... all of these experiences belong to the subculture of adoption in the United States. I told almost no one what I was doing. I felt as if I had an alternate life, like a Mason. The only things missing were the secret handshake and the invocations. |
| To a greater or lesser extent, the momentous undertakings in our lives are colored and influenced by others, even if they are only onlookers. One's first car, choice of college, a decision to travel abroad, marriage all of these things represent change; and like all change they are bound to have an effect on those family members and friends who share moments with us on our personal journeys. In a sense, I have a duty to both inform them and to allow them to participate in my plans. So why did I choose to do otherwise when it came to adoption? Why did I decide to forego as much encouragement and support as possible during a process that would be filled with a great deal of stress and frustration? (My caseworker asked me on more than one occasion, "Do you want to give up?") |
| I did not entirely go without. My parents and siblings knew from the start what I was up to, as did the three referents who wrote letters on my behalf. This provided both the support I needed and a degree of unsolicited advice that I could live with. But by otherwise carrying on so surreptitiously, I was operating under the conviction that adopting a child had to be all me because, for the most part, taking care of that child would be all me. In other words, I felt I had to do it alone if I was going to be able to do it alone. |
| I took the first solitary step on March 14, 1991, when I filled out the adoption application sent to me by my agency. I knew that, in one respect at least, I was operating from a position of strength. As a college professor, I had a decent income, a flexible schedule, and vacations in common with the grammar schools, not to mention a glorious four-month summer break during which I imagined wonderful possibilities for me and my future son. For an unmarried |
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