|
International Adoption: Making our world a little smaller Once your life has been touched by international adoption, you can't help but feel more connected to another part of the world. Parents, grandparents, siblings and friends alike now look at a globe and see more than the small area that contains their home state. Their eyes will now wander to a country far from their own, sometimes on the other side of the planet. They will feel a link to the people there. And feeling a connection to people from an entirely different culture than your own is one step towards understanding, towards peace on earth perhaps, as we recognize that humankind in its vast variety shares a lot of common ground. My own adoption journey took me to Vietnam. I had followed the teachings of Vietnamese Buddhist monk Thich Nhat Hanh for several years prior to my decision to adopt as a single parent. I didn't feel the need to bring another child into this world, but I did want to be a mother. Vietnam was my natural choice as I already could help my child experience the spiritual part of her culture while growing up without having to add anything new to my life. After a mere four months of handling paperwork, I found myself on a plane bound for Seoul, Korea, and then on the Hanoi. On the one hand, I felt connected to this country: I was familiar with some of its religious practices, and I belonged to a group at home that supported several social projects benefiting children in Hue, Vietnam. On the other hand, I felt great apprehension: the connection that I felt through our country's involvement in a war three decades ago still carried strong sentiment. I was too young to remember much other than what I had seen in movies, but the name 'Vietnam' elicits very strong reactions still in some people—most I would hazard to say. And what would the people of Vietnam think of me? As I did an independent (non-agency) adoption, once I hit the streets of Hanoi, I was really on my own...there was no agency rep, group or guide with me to act as a buffer between myself and the people that I passed. What I found out first and foremost was that I was an absolute curiosity. Forget my desire to 'blend-in' like I do when I travel elsewhere. Here, like in Latin countries, if your hair isn't black, then you're considered blond, even though my hair is reddish-brown. Not to mention my freckles and the fact that I am the height of most men here. "AMERICA!" people would exclaim to me after I answered their question. "I have a cousin in California!" My fear of being treated with animosity or glared at with suspicion quickly vanished. What I found instead was curiosity, even enthusiasm at my visiting their country. And when I spoke of my purpose for traveling so far—to adopt a little girl—wonder and wistfulness: any person I spoke with would have given their eye-teeth for a chance to come to America. "Luck baby...lucky baby..." followed me like an echo, at first when I was alone, and then later as I pushed my daughter ahead of me in a stroller. Lucky baby. As I walked and walked (and walked) through the streets of Hanoi, and later Hue and Saigon, visiting markets, restaurants, cafes and shops, I observed and listened. I watched children coming home from school, teasing each other and swinging their backpacks. Grandparents sat on short plastic stools along the sidewalks making tea, hot soup or café, greeting the young ones as they arrived. The rush of traffic (some cars, but mostly motorbikes) as people hurried (just like us) to get from one place to another. And, one night on a cyclo* ride, where I could sit back and be anonymous as my driver pedaled me through rain-moistened streets, I watched families coming together at the end of the day. The smell of wet pavement mingled with the aroma of cooking vegetables, noodles and fish sauce. Motorbike horns were beeping, and the rubber tires of the cyclo splashed through tiny puddles. The rhythm of my driver's feet pedaled me forward causing the cyclo canopy to shake and sway gently. The chopped musical sound of the Vietnamese language from people that we passed blended with it all into a city medley. Apart from the exotic trappings, like the omnipresent non la, the conical hat made out of rice straw that keeps away the blazing sun, people went about their business pretty much the way they do everywhere. We all hope for the same things. We all laugh. We all revel in companionship. And we all love our children. Even though my travels have taken me to over a dozen other countries, Vietnam was the most different from my own culture. But once visited, how can we help not to walk away with the realization that despite our differences, we are still so alike. And in the case of international adoption, we wake to see a reminder of this each day in our own family. The presence of our children brings us oh so close to the birthfamilies that they come from. Whether our child was anonymously left at an orphanage door or hospital, or was relinquished to the State later on when the birthmother decided for whatever reason that she was unable to care for her child, we are forever intimately connected to these people so far away. My own mind frequently strays to the other side of the world. It is disconcerting that my own happiness came at the expense of great sadness to another person. Children are relinquished for adoption for various reasons: perhaps an unwed mother in a country where such a thing would ostracize her; or (as in China as well as other countries) the hope for a boy to help support the parents in their old age; or perhaps the child was born into such poverty that the mother or parents were unable to care for them. I am unable to tackle all of the thoughts that my mind tries to wrap itself around. Children are born in this country who for some of the same reasons are placed for adoption…it is impractical to think that through some enhanced social system, unwanted or unplanned pregnancies would be abolished. On the other hand, quality health care, birth-control, family planning education and abortion are not readily available everywhere. How fair is it that we, the rich western countries, can satisfy our 'demand' (economically speaking) for children from countries less fortunate than we are? How unfortunate would it be for children living in orphanages in those countries not to have the opportunity to find their way into a family, instead to grow into adulthood, only to possibly suffer (statistics show**) poverty, drug abuse and suicide? People sometimes remark to me that I 'saved' my daughter and that she will have a much better life. She was saved, perhaps, in that she will have food, shelter, shoes and schooling. However, lost forever will be most of the lifestyle, culture and heritage of her ancestors no matter how hard I try to educate her. I don't necessarily subscribe to the notion that life here in the western world, with its pace, violence, pressure and Prozac is 'better' than a simpler life elsewhere. Then there are cultural, political and economic forces in play beyond what I even have an inkling of...and neither do these children. But as difficult as it is to come to terms with these issues (and it will get harder as my daughter, now four, grows and has questions of her own to be answered), I am thankful for the broadening of my horizons that has come with it. A woman far away across the world once made a decision, a selfless decision that caused her great pain. It sorrows me that she had that decision to make. In a twist of fate, her circumstance has brought great joy into my life. I think about that often. And I trust that someday in the greater scheme of things, sorrow, joy, fairness, love and destiny will all make sense. * Cyclo- (pronounced "sick-low") a three-wheeled vehicle, basically a bike with a seated cab in front to carry passengers. |