Why You (An open letter to my son) (Dateline April, 2004)

Have you ever noticed that having trouble sleeping is a great way to sort out and right the wrongs of the world? Ever notice how many problemsyou can solve by gnawing on them endlessly at 2 in the morning? If I sleep through my 2 a.m. worry sessions I don’t feel like I’ve done enough to contribute to the betterment of society. If I have to put a happy face on my insomnia, what better thing to worry about than my kids? Asall of my kids are alive and well (and I don’t ask for much more than that), I worry about adopting you, a child with special needs.

Why does any parent willingly adopt a special needs child? What reasons do they give for taking on such a responsibility? How do they explain the why’s and wherefores of their decision in the bright, harsh light of day, without any romantic notions of “saving” a child from a life of deprivation? How do parents know they can manufacture the required stamina, money, knowledge, and perseverance that will be needed to raise and prosper a physically challenged child?

How do they conquer a fear of the dark? A fear of the unknown?

I knew you were out there - I had seen your picture on the agency website. I had seen a video of an earlier you provided by the agency. I saw you struggle as a small child to hold up your head and bring the cookie to your mouth. But like most parents when confronted with something I wasn’t sure about, I said we were looking for a “healthy” child.

When your dad traveled to Taiwan the first time it was ostensibly to meet other Veterans taking a tour of the island. He was also going to take the time, at my urging, to meet our new five year old son - the lucky one who shared a February birthday with his new dad and sister. God must have had his thumb on Dave that day, because the child he noticed most, other than his new son, was you. You, the boy propped up against the doorjamb so you wouldn’t fall over. You, the child who couldn’t walk over and look at the older man sitting on the floor playing with the other kids. You, who could only stare and smile, and watch the world go buy. The more Dave noticed you the closer he came, until finally you were tucked under his right arm and his new son under his left.

I have pictures of your first meeting with your dad: Dave sitting there with a goofy look on his face surrounded by small children, Hui Hui sitting in his lap, you on Dave’s right side with that beatific smile on your face, happy to be part of the action, happy to get attention, just plain happy to have company in your corner.

I’ve often heard the phrase “God works in mysterious ways” when someone tries to explain their motivation for doing certain things. In mycase, I find God usually starts out with a gentle nudge (like a psychic itch) pointing me in certain directions. By the time He gets my attention it’s usually turned into something a bit more a forceful, something akin to someone yelling in your ear – Hey stupid! I’m talking to you here! (Picture God with a Long Island accent.)

By the time Dave came home and showed me the pictures from his trip to Taiwan, I knew God wasn’t going to let me off the hook. I knewfrom the way Dave continued to mention you, how he didn’t shy away when I said I had a video of you, that God was getting ready to grab my attention again (that Long Island accent was getting kind of loud).

So, God, Dave, and the bank willing, we are bringing you home.

The agency didn’t need explanations when I told them we were thinking of adding a 2nd son so quickly. Bonnie told me the first time she saw your picture she knew you were special - there was magic in your smile. Your smile was so big, that given the laws of physics, it wouldn’t be contained in that small corner much longer. We made you part of our family, not because I have any strong belief that I understand your needs, but because to turn my back on you and walk away as if you don't exist was not something I was going to be able to do. Were we “saving you? Were we “rescuing” you? Were we pitying you? I don’t have any answers. The end of the story has yet to be written. But come what may we’ll continue the journey together.

Welcome home.