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Archive for the ‘Entitled to opinions’ Category

I had so many comments … both on the blog and privately … on yesterday’s post that I reckon some addressing is due.

First, I’d like to thank everyone who has voiced the opinion that my voice is still valid in the adoption world. That is tremendously encouraging. The fact that even Coco lent encouragement is huge for me … thank you, Coco … and I’ll tell you why.

The online adoption community is notoriously fractious, and in my years of writing on the subject I have made no few enemies … some who have taken their level of vitriol so far beyond the realm of polite reason that mud blobs with my name on them stuck to the net will outlive me.

So much of this has felt counterproductive from the early days of my writing on the subject, and I refuse to pussyfoot my POV, as healthy debate has always seemed a good way to forge links that might eventually provide foundations for bridge building.

A conversation with Gershom, an adoptee who wrote what for all intents and purposes … and title … was anti-adoption, ended up in a dialog that encouraged everyone involved to participate in supporting the right of adoptees to their identity, and I’m pleased to say that she and I have developed respect for each other … a friendship, even

Coco and I also have had issues, but although we differ greatly in attitude, we have found the common ground and mutual respect that will eventually provide the only means to true reform that will protect those needing protection without cutting children needing families out of the equation completely.

Both of these relationships forged in fire where the inspiration behind the formation of Adoption Under One Roof, the community I helped found … then felt unworthy of continuing to contribute toward (although I hope and plan to reenter soon) … that was based on the idea of bringing all notes in the adoption triad together to learn to sing harmoniously, rather than harp on discord … or dis”chord”, as I think of it in these terms, “triad” also meaning a group of three notes on a chord, not simply opposing positions of those whose lives have been touched by adoption.

Of course, I also thank the adoptive moms that formed the backbone of my readership years back and continue to grow in numbers that form a protective circle around me as they close ranks and ‘get my back’.

And I’m pleased as anything to find new readers like Peter … an amazingly talented musician and writer with no adoption affiliation, as far as I know … adding his related experience to the mountain of support I find myself clinging to these days as I lurch my way up and out and toward the light that leads from the depths to the heights.

Thank you all.

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This post began as a reply to a comment from Gershom on yesterday’s post.

I didn’t mean to accuse Gershom of ignoring the suffering of children, but to point out this as one of the reasons for my strong advocacy.

Of course families can be “adopted”, and if everyone who could supported just one other than their own the world would be a better place. Millions of dollars are spent daily by organizations and governments who have been charged with the duty to care for the people they cover, and some actually do spend a portion of that money helping, yet every year the orphan numbers increase.

Adoption “as we know it today” is a very big umbrella, and to oppose everything under that umbrella seems simplistic and short-sighted to me … rather like that “throwing the baby out with the bath water” thing, especially with so many “babies” in the “bath”.

Changes to the various systems, reform, providing other options in addition … all are necessary and some are happening, albeit too slowly in many opinions. It seems arrogant, however, to demand immediate changes by developing nations when the foster system in the US is a train wreck that is ignored year after year. It’s real people lost in the lurch when programs close, and although some might consider them collateral damage, rest assured those taking the hits don’t look at it so cavalierly.

I also must add that not all bio families should be preserved, that biology does not a good parent guarantee, and that many more children than do would benefit from adoptive families. And contrary to some thought, not everyone who conceives wants to parent, and those that don’t deserve options.

I know this will rub many the wrong way, but in my view a world with more adoption, not less, would be a better world than the one we have now. If every child beaten, abused or neglected, every child victim orphaned by war, by AIDS, by famine or abandoned by need or greed could be placed in a safe and loving family … in my mind, the closer we get to this idea, the closer we are as a species to showing our worth.

Given the huge numbers of children in the circumstances described, however, reaching any more than a tiny fraction isn’t possible. It’s that tiny fraction I hold out hope for and argue in favor of.

World peace, an end to global hunger and grinding poverty, wiping out corruption and discouraging cupidity are all noble goals, and I support any and all efforts toward accomplishing these and more. Once again, however, holding out hope that any of this happens on a grand scale in my time rather disputes the lessons of history and ignores too much of the base nature of humans.

So, while striving to create a world that is fair and bountiful and loving, more than 200 million children suffer, and if a few thousand of those can be adopted by families who adore them hope lives and a few more resources are freed for others.

Adoption is so often an apples/oranges discussion … while I’m picturing five-year-old Cambodian sex slaves someone else has in mind a 20-something American woman being coerced into relinquishing. My favoring more adoption so fewer children are sniffing glue to keep warm under Romanian streets is interpreted as an encouragement to grab babies from loving mothers in crisis.

Conversely, when someone demands family preservation, what comes to my mind are children ending up dead because a bio family was given one more chance too many. Insistence that reform means governments take control of adoptions has me thinking of deeply imbedded corruption that has and will continue to blithely sacrifice children in favor of political milage and blatant greed.

Calls to end the option of adoption for the children of the world rarely come from the uninvolved, and usually sound very much as if they issue from those with an axe to grind. When such calls come from adoptees, and especially strident calls that sometimes go as far as to claim anyone is better off dead than adopted … this is not an unknown claim, although certainly not universal, as Gershom shows … it can appear as an attempt to capture some sort of higher ground that others aren’t entitled to. When it’s birth mothers making demands to end adoption, sour grapes are the most likely flavor suspected. The contingent of adoptive parents rallying forces to end adoption seem to many to be wandering around in those hair shirts I wrote about not long ago.

Although everyone is assuredly entitled to their opinions, attempts to impose those opinions on everyone else should not come under any perceived mandate, and a ban on adoption is one fell swoop of an imposition.

Those of us advocating for adoption would never presume to insist that everyone adopt a child or hint than any family who has yet to do so is intrinsically evil or stupid or selfish. We will never insist that every orphaned, abandoned or neglected child in the world be adopted, and that the failure to make this happen is a criminal act of global proportions, and it is difficult for us to understand the vociferousness of those for whom the opposite is a strong enough urge to create the sort of venom that is so often injected into what should be reasonable discussions about the welfare of children.

Once more, the apples/oranges conflict comes into play, and a conversation that begins in one mind as a levelheaded approach to serious social issues translates to an attack on all that is sacred in the American family.

It seems that the key to many of the closed doors that separate the adoption community from itself should be the children. Sounds simple enough, but when one take has it that the corrupt practice that tainted their adoption experience is reason enough to halt all adoptions while others point their focus toward the huge numbers of children for whom adoption has been or could be wonderful, the conversation tends to break down. Add voices of those considering themselves permanently damaged and others longing more than anything for a child to love and the resulting cacophony puts the kibosh on any but the loudest and least equitable confabulation.

So, where does all this leave us?

Unfortunately, for as long as we are here we’re stuck with the world we have; a world in which war and poverty and hunger and cruelty are facts of life for many, rather than few, where my view gets preeminence on my blog just as Gershom’s does on hers, because we are humans and humans are a contentious species that more often than not self-focuses to the exclusion of anything not within personal apertures.

At least those of us popping in and out of discussions on adoption are coming to the table … even when it all ends in messy food fights, still something has been exchanged … although I am as convinced of my rightness as others are of theirs, as conflicting as those may be.

Since this is the first day of a new year, I find myself wondering how 2008 will unfold regarding adoption. I’ll admit to being less than starry-eyed with optimism … after all, the 6th anniversary of the suspension on Cambodian adoption passed just a bit over a week ago … but concern for the present and future of children in the world will continue to bring me to this table. Preserving the option of adoption is one of my passions, as putting an end to it is for others.

As long as we continue to spin … and I’m talking about the planet here, not attempts to control information … some people will disagree with other people; some will take those disagreements far enough strap explosives to their bodies and blow themselves and anyone unlucky enough to be within shrapnel range to smithereens, or drop bombs, or commit genocide.

When all that is taken into account, the name-calling and snideness on adoption blogs seems pretty tame, and when the irrevelant, the fringe, the just-plain-nasty, is ignored … on those occasions where real dialogue does take place … hints of consensus do present. If that will ever lead to triad-wide warm fuzzies, I doubt, but that isn’t really the goal, is it?

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Funny how things work out. At the beginning of this month when I started the whole NaBloPoMo thing, I would not have suspected November would end up with an obscenity of the XXX variety, but it has.

It seems that budget constraints and an abrupt shift in editorial policy, or something, has prompted Adoption.com, one of my employers over the past couple of years, to terminate the contract of their highest paid and most uncompromising blogger: me.

I have not been provided with any official explanation; in fact, there has been no explanation at all no matter how many times one is asked for by me or other bloggers confounded by my sudden departure. A change in editors in October did signal changes in the wind, however, and the handwriting began to appear on the wall when I decided to discontinue the assistant editor role I had stepped up for.

Is it a money issue? (They did bounce paychecks recently.) Has my advocacy for adoption been more than the site is willing to support?

It most certainly can’t be my lack of dedication, as I have been the most prolific of all writers having posted hundreds of well-researched blogs over the past two years.

It can’t be a lack of talent, because I can put words together well and keep to topic.

It can’t be for lack of readers, because before Adoptionblogs.com began hemorrhaging bloggers and listing dead blogs by the dozen I was topping out at more than 100,000 hits per month.

Yes, I did manage to piss off a few people along the way. The looney fringe of the adoption community whipped themselves into a frenzy over some of my posts … and, yes, I can hear them jumping up and down, elated over my temporary departure from the adoption blogging world. (Enjoy it while you can, ladies. Oh! and those three guys.)

Should I mention that the new “editor”, someone who freely admits on her personal blog that she can’t write … Whose bright idea was it to put someone like this in an editorial position? … is a birth mother? Should I read anything into this? (I don’t want to. I really don’t want to. But so many of the personal attacks, the truly hideous assults I have suffered over the years, have come from that angle of the triad and I can’t ignore the connection.)

Since she removed my access to the blogs before I had an opportunity to adios my wonderful readers there, I’ll just invite you all to continue to join me here.

I’m rather sick of the adoption world for the moment, however … rampant abuse and nastiness tends to do that, and XXX feels as bad as it looks and leaves one sore … but, as always, I’m happy to help out when I can.

It is a bit strange that after writing so much about abuse in the world, I find myself the victim of those who provided the platform. I’m still trying to figure out what that says about them, but I’m sure it isn’t pretty.

I do know the real world, however … I’ve seen first-hand how cruel, how base, how downright evil people can be … so I should not be surprised by bad people doing wrong things.

No matter how old I get, though, I’m still side-swiped by petty meanness and a tendency to behave badly. I simply expect better of people.

I’m happy about that part of me.

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Anyone who reads my pro blogs with any regularity … avec their morning dose of prune juice, for example … has sensed that I am not terribly keen on the United Nations.

My International Adoption blog features an entire category dedicated to taking the UNavailing organization to task and encouraging folks to look forward to a time when it is defUNct.

Most recently, the issue was Burma and the idiotic take the UN’s “special envoy” … and just exactly what does make these people so special? … was spouting.

I didn’t see the press conference, but I have to assume that it was conducted upside down, as there is no way that praise for changes in Burma could come from anywhere other than someone’s ass.

Now, Ibrahim Gambari, the UN butt talker, is playing tag in Cambodia with Burma’s prime minister in what can only be another typically UNsavory move to run up the travel budget while appearing to have some concerns over the jUNta.

If you have interest in this issue, which at it’s foundation is the bones and blood of human rights … the supposed mandate of the UN … take a look at this report from The Heritage Foundation which carefully points out the relationship between the UN and the brutal jUNta that rules in Burma.

Here’s a taste:

The United Nations was founded in 1945 to maintain international peace and security and undertake collective measures to remove threats to peace; to promote equal rights and self-determination of peoples; to help solve problems of an economic, social, cultural, or humanitarian character; and to encourage “social progress and better standards of life in larger freedom.” In the Charter, member states pledge “to reaffirm faith in fundamental human rights, in the dignity and worth of the human person, in the equal rights of men and women.”[1] U.N. treaties and conventions, such as the Universal Declaration on Human Rights, which the General Assembly passed in 1948, form the core of international standards for human rights.

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The power has been out almost all day here today, so I’ve been racing to get my pro blogs written and posted while I can and hoping something would slosh over to this one so my NaBloPoMo thing gets done.

I could write about our Thanksgiving that wasn’t or the fact that it’s Friday again already and how spooky this flying time thing is becoming. Or I could post photos of the puppies that are now two weeks old, HUGE, cute as anything and opening their eyes.

Nah.

Oh! Here’s something to sink my teeth into!

The UN is calling for a ‘joint climate control effort” and Ban Ki-moon is demanding action.

Pardon my language, but give me a fucking break.

Okay, okay … yes, I detest the United Nations and see the organization as a money-sucking job justification for a whole bunch of people who should be forced to find some honest work. And Ban Ki-moon, the new guy with the new suits and the massive travel budget has not impressed one little bit, even though it should have been damned easy to after Kofi Annan.

Ban in Darfur talking about how “shocked” he was gave the perfect indication of how limited progress during his tenure will be, and now he is challenging governments to action on climate change. Sounds like global warming is as much of a surprise to him as starvation and death in Darfur.

You see, the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change, the IPCC, a UN branch of the WMO arm of UNEP for anyone impressed by the ability to make alphabet soup, has reported that climate change is real.

Duh.

And Ban comes to the table from somewhere in the UNmosphere that is just getting around to hearing about this.

“I come to you humbled after seeing some of the most precious treasures of our planet threatened by humanity’s own hand,” he said.

“All humanity must assume responsibility for these treasures.”

Can we hear another “Duh”, please?

IPCC is on its fourth go-round in 20 years and is just now getting around to grinding out some numbers that put the true picture of what the planet is up against out there for the UN to take a gander at.

Too little and too late, and they’re not really going to do anything, anyway.

They’re in Bali next month to do some yacking about what we’re up against, and it’s certain that yacking will be all that’s done … well, in addition to schmoozing and preparing some really expensive, but oh-so-official-looking reports.

Here’s a link to the IPCC report in pdf. Read it and know more than the Secretary General of the UN ever will. Add the info to what you already know, and know more than anyone at the UN ever will.

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My house sits on some of the oldest dirt on the planet.

Yep.

I’m not talking about the grit behind my fridge; although that has been there a while, it’s nothing compared to the soil, pebbles and boulders that make up the island of Mahé and the 39 or so other inner islands of Seychelles.

Mahé, Praslin, LaDigue, and other smaller lumps are the oldest ocean islands in the world, and our dirt here is so old that we don’t even have fossils. Can’t, because at the time what is now our little country formed there was nothing living anywhere — no plants or animals, no single-celled pre-living thing. Nothing. There was sky. There was sea. There was here. That was it.

Unlike islands people think of when tropical beaches come to mind, this island and her close neighbors have never seen a volcano. Our ground is granite … ancient, strong and lovely granite, the only mid-ocean granite islands in the world … and to geologists, granite means nothing less than continent.

There’s not much left to see now … Mahé is, after all, only 17 miles long and 4 miles wide … but where I sit writing this blog is the vestigial remains of Pangea, the super-continent of all super-continents, the one that started it all.

The soil in my garden was here before Gondwanaland decided to be its own chunk, and that was about 520 million years ago. Before dinosaurs roamed, before the places dinosaurs roamed were even places, the rocks I train my alamanda to grow over were warming in the sun and shedding rain.

These are rocks worth celebrating, wouldn’t you say? As ancient as the planet itself, slowly decomposing as granite does over the millennia, tiny residual land masses sinking a fraction of an inch every 1000 years, what else could signify Earth as well as these islands?

Apparently, the answer to that question would be: Well, a whole bunch of trendy hotels that are guaranteed to be out-of-date white elephants within little more than a decade should do the trick.

As I mentioned in yesterday’s blog, these islands are being hacked and hewn at a rate that provides a horrifying example of the destruction humans worship.

Our rocks? Blown to bits by dynamite over and over again, as my house shakes with each blast and I jump out of my skin as the booms sneak up and bite another piece of beautiful granite and reduce it to rubble. And now the hotel construction devils … proudly making the way for environmentally sensitive tourists to stroll manicured gardens and swim in temperature-controlled pools … are employing a silent destroyer of venerable rock — a chemical that gets poured down a jackhammered hole, expands overnight, and cracks and splits what has for millions of years held its form.

Yesterday I was mad as hell. Today, I’m still mad, and totally sick about it.

Sam on rock

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I must be seriously out of my ever-lovin’ mind, but I’m thinking about starting up another blog once this whole NaBloPoMo business is finished for the year. This one is good for a lot of release and stuff of interest (to me), but doesn’t focus, and my pro blogs are all about adoption, a topic that has my passion, but is restricting, nonetheless.

There’s not a day that goes by that something arising from my trawl for blog fodder, my perusal of newsal, doesn’t have me bursting at the seams with too much to say about events in the real world.

From this isolated little perch here in the Indian Ocean, a great deal of the stuff of life beyond these shores looks darned silly, menacing, imprudent, overindulgent or worse, and it seems a glance from a perspective that’s not marinated in the au jus du jour just might be interesting … perhaps, again, to me alone, but personal blogs are, after all, the journalistic equivalent of singing in the shower.

From my old hometown newspaper to the Times times at least three (New York, London, L.A.), to the WaPo and the WSJ, I read what’s fit to print, and it might be nice for me to be able to print what gives me fits.

We’ll see how it goes, but January could see yet another place where my opinionated blather goes public. Another year, another blog?

Speaking of …

On the women-over-50 group at NaBloPoMo it was mentioned that this demographic … women over 50 … is the fastest growing in blogs and web design on the Net. Apparently, we all have something to say. (I’m guessing our husbands already know.)

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There was a boat bopping around Isle Therese the other day … I watched it for a while from my veranda … a big, white, sleek thing with a helicopter pad on the back complete with helicopter.

Now, thought I, isn’t that exactly what everyone needs? A big white mutha of a well-slung vessel complete with chopper? What better to hug the shoreline of Mahé in, heh? Never know when one might need to hop quickly the four miles over to the other side of the island for … what?… some SupaSave youghurt, which by the way is going up to 14 rupees a tub next week.

I eventually mention said boat-of-superior-boaty-stuff, avec helicopter, to my well-informed spousal unit only to learn from him that during this given week it’s nothing but a trifle. Over on the Victoria side of things, there’s a big, white, sleek boat with TWO helicopters on the back helideck.

I’m guessing the one-chopper floater came over this side to avoid comparison and subsequent embarrassment — helipad envy.

Really! What could be worse than showing up in your big-ass-hangin’ bazillion dollar watercraft with sparkly chopper pleasingly perched aft at an island 1000 miles away from anywhere else only to find your parking space, or whatever is boatish for such a thing, is right down the way from a BIGGER one with TWO choppers?

Don’t know who the double-birdie boatie belongs to, but Radio Bamboo has it that the single-padder is the frippery of the owner of Tata, the huge Indian company that make cars, busses, and other carbon-producing mechanical clanky things, and that the big white mutha of well-slung vessel was tooling around Therese because Mr. Tata Boat Guy just bought it.

Great. This is what’s happening to my neighborhood: Bill Gates is carving a big honkin’ hotel to my left, with the addition of 20-some “executive villas” hewn into the scene; a Taiwanese company (Sofetel) is planning a big honkin’ hotel to my immediate right, also with 20-some executive villas; some Qataris are getting ready to plonk another huge hotel … WITH a dredged-up bit of bay attached as a ‘marina’ … and 20-some executive villas, just around the bend in Anse a la Mouche, and now the little wild island that makes up a bit of my lovely view is headed toward becoming something else.

Executive villas are going for $6 to 10 million to the sort of folks who hanker for big boats with helipads and toys of equal ostentatiousness, and although I’m sure some of them are right nice people, I don’t see them fitting into the Creole culture, shopping at SMB or working to level the Pearl S. Buck-type playing field that can only have the poor feeling even poorer in the face of so much bright and shiny loot.

I know we’re going to be looking a bit shabby in comparison with our simple wooden house, Mark’s desk-sized pirogue and our obvious lack of sycophants and hangers-on.

Progress, smogress, and ‘sustainable development’ is an oxymoron.

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As regular readers know, my adored husband is a half-Brit, which is not the same as a half-wit, but not totally unrelated.

Yes, that’s extremely unkind and so veddy-veddy not PC, but Hey!, some things just must be said.

Mark was born in England and passed some of his childhood there, but most of his growing was done on this small, tropical island instead of that large chilly one … a factor that factors in greatly in the fact that he and I ended up together.

I lived in England for a couple of years, and as Mark so Britishly puts it, life there “didn’t suit me.” It may have been an easier adjustment if we’d lived in London … truly one of my favorite cities, and as much a city as a city must be to be interestingly livable … but we were in Bournemouth, which isn’t.

One good thing, however, about having lived in the UK for a spell is that it prepared me for life on a tiny rock in the middle of nowhere better than anything could have. I learned what education and medical care look like in developing nations, how poor service is no matter to anyone, how to cope with small mindedness as the order of the day, and what the world looks like from a vantage point that relies on shoulder chips and wannabes.

By comparison, Seychelles seemed progressive, lavish and open-minded … but there’s not all that we-used-to-be-an-Empire thing going on here.

Lest anyone think I went into English life prepared to rebel — until I moved there I was as Anglophilic as most Americans. All my impressions had come from encounters with the original Potter (Beatrix), Beatlemania, and London vacations that had me shopping at Harrods and hanging at Stringfellow’s.

I was convinced that life there was bound to be a combination of quaint and literary, with overtones of historic significance … and no little romance, of course, since I’d relocated to be with the love of my life.

Well, the romance was certainly no letdown, but the rest of it … ?

What I encountered was a rude population of cold fish with thought patterns I assumed had been left far behind in Western cultures. Racism, homophobia, religious intolerance, sexism, were all alive and well in Southern England in 1994.

One need only look at television programs like “Father Ted” to get an idea of how easily the British ‘take the mickey’ out of their Irish neighbors, and although the show cracked me up I was always aware of how offensive it must have been to Catholics.

If you’re wondering why I’m on this jag this morning, I’ll point you toward an article from the Telegraph that reminds me today of the backwardness of the UK that drove me up a wall while I was there. (This, in conjunction with summer day after summer day that saw the weather in Moscow 20 degrees warmer than the drizzly, damp and dreary days in Bournemouth.)

“How to … be a girl: 10 Things Every Girl Should Know” is the title of the piece that begs the question, “What year is this?”

Apparently a review for “The Great Big Glorious Book for Girls”, it’s all sugar and spice and everything vomit-inducing.

Some of the ten things?
1. How To Deal With Boys
2. How To Have A Best Friend
3. How To Cope When Your Best Friend Gets A New Best Friend
6. How To Keep A Secret
7. How To Tell If An Egg Is Fresh
8. How To Sulk

And some of the advice?

The main difference between boys and girls is that boys like doing things – driving cars, playing football, throwing stuff, eating, farting – and girls like feeling things, such as love, friendship, happiness and excitement.

Boys are very physical; girls are very emotional.

Boys are often spoilt by their mothers, so they have a tendency to think girls should do all the boring things in life, such as cleaning, cooking and ironing their T-shirts, while they do all the exciting things: jet-skiing, playing in rock bands, being spies.

The best approach is to put on a smiling public face. Be charming, be polite. Soon the horrible feelings of rejection will pass and you will be able to look back with gratitude that you behaved with dignity.

Excellent elements of sulking are the Black Look, the Deep Sigh and the No One Ever Understands a Single Thing I’m Going Through Shrug.

A sulk should be short and intense.

Thankfully, I’m raising my daughter on this island, not that one.

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An article in the LA Times about Christian groups launching a “massive adoption campaign” is getting buzz, and because the report features a fifty-four year-old who’s now feeling as though he is “supposed” to bring kids into his family even though he’s feeling old and gray, I tried to get away with posting this on my Older Parent Blog, but that didn’t work out. Seems discussing anything to do with the Christian Right, no matter how fair-handed or restrained, is playing with fire.

Oh, well. That’s what personal blogs are for.

My gut reaction to the story’s subhead, “Thousands of churches will urge members to find homes with ‘a mommy and a daddy’ for the nation’s 115,000 orphans”, was a bit of a stomach lurch.

Adoption was portrayed as a tool for evangelism.

Urging families to adopt? Hmmm.

Much like China’s ‘One Child Policy”, or pressuring single woman to relinquish their children to two-parent families, or denying the option of adoption on the basis of weight or height or favorite Mexican dish … whatever … , actively encouraging across-the-board adoption because, “It’s time for the church to stop debating the Bible and start doing it,” could be stepping all over the toes of families deciding what is right for them.

Over the next six months, Christian media will be saturated with stories and ads touting adoption and foster care as a scriptural imperative, an order direct from God.

Yikes! And God says: Thou shalt adopt? Oh, that makes me very uncomfortable on so many levels.

First, I suppose, would have to be the idea that adopting is benevolence personified. No one should adopt a child because it’s the right thing to do, to chalk up Brownie points, to assuage a conscience or atone for sins. Doing so is a recipe for disaster. There is only one reason to build a family through adoption and that is a loving longing to raise a child.

Good deeds can include volunteering time and effort for the good of others or sponsoring someone else’s time and effort or contributing resources, but adoption is no more a good deed than is getting pregnant. Yes, of course it’s a good thing, but it is NOT a good deed.

With Shirley Temple no longer considered the accurate representation of the typical American orphan, the idea that adopting a child is a happily-ever-after-ending-in-the-making complete with a medley of cheerful tunes and a snappy shuffle-hop-step hit the skids long ago. Any advertising campaign designed to promote mass adoption is almost guaranteed to paint that picture. It wasn’t true in the bad old days of adoption and it’s not true now. Even though, “Tens of thousands of pastors will be urged to preach about the issue, set up support groups for couples considering taking in troubled kids … “, the overwhelming message is bound to smack of love conquers all, which many will attest is simply not true.

Efforts to convince people that they should adopt … “Many of these parents had not thought about coming forward to take children from the child-welfare system,” said Sharen Ford, a supervisor with the Colorado Division of Child Welfare Services. “It was the furthest thing from their minds,” until their pastors started preaching on the topic and inviting state caseworkers to visit with photo albums full of children waiting for homes, she said” … carry more than a hint of begging, possibly even pandering, and are very worrying.

I’ve written before about how unsettling I find it when adoption and abortion are packaged together, and I worry that this new ‘adoption campaign’ may carry a big chunk of that agenda under its umbrella.

Abortion and what constitutes ‘family’ can both be as much issues of politics as of faith, and tangling adoption into those webs scares the crap out of me. It’s enough a political hot potato without fanning the flames, and in our world the topics of abortion and gay families are lighter fluid.

As anyone who reads me at all either here or on my pro blogs at Adoption.com knows, I am a big fan of adoption. I am vociferous in my support of adoptive families and feel that age, location, wealth, ethnicity, choice of ice cream topping … whatever … do not limit a family’s ability to love and raise a child not born to them.

But, and here’s my big but again, this does not in any way mean everyone should do it. Most certainly there are many who should not be allowed, and many who should not be encouraged. We’re not talking puppies, here, but a life-long commitment to children who come complete with hearts and minds and personalities, and issues and traumas and very difficult problems.

This campaign may very well bring some wonderful people to the adoption table, introduce them to the idea and hold hands while decisions are reached. It might be that many children who would not have found families will through the efforts of the churches involved.

Then again, with the death of Viktor Matthy in the news again recently as his strictly religious parents are sentenced to four years in prison, it has to be said that the designation of “devoutly Christian couple” doesn’t guarantee squat.

The conversation may be a good one, but I sincerely hope the campaign will be tempered with a great deal of caution.

For hours of interesting reading on how not everyone is cut out for adoption and why this broad attempt at a mandate may not be a good idea, check out the following categories, posts and blogs:

Parenting Special Kids : Trauma
Parenting Special Kids: Disorders
RAD Blog: Disruption
Older Child Adoption
Foster Adoption

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