Adopting a Stoic Attitude

Anyone who knows me will happily vouch for my life-long struggle with Full Disclosure Syndrome. FDS is a (completely made-up) disease that has robbed me of the ability to hide, subvert or otherwise fake an emotional response to anything from childhood trauma to which riding lawnmower clashes least with my hair. But if parenthood is teaching me anything, it's that sometimes I need to just shut up.

My biggest recurring peeve is unfairness. Yes, yes, I realize that the world did not come with an instruction manual, batteries, or any sort of assurance that things would be equal and balanced for all. But when a person or persons behaves differently (and generally pejoratively) towards myself, my family or my ilk, I tend to get pretty damn pissy. As a gay adoptive parent, this has become even more of an issue.

I recently interviewed actor/writer Johnny O'Callaghan for a preview piece on his one-man-show Who's Your Daddy, a true story account of his journey adopting an AIDS orphan from Uganda. When Johnny describes his friends and family's reaction to his decision, he pretty much nails it on the head: Reactions of dismissal, disbelief, half-hearted indulgence and bemused congratulations abounded when he began his Herculean array of obstacles to overcome -- all of which he did on his own, with little outside help.

It felt very familiar. When the decision was made to pursue adoption, I experienced the same sort of reactions. I think maybe most people didn't take it seriously, or figured it was just some lark that would peter out once things got difficult. Certainly the largess of the work undertaken in fostering and adopting Pre-Schooler N was taken on very much in isolation, with little in the way of help offered or proactive engagement. To this day, we are a very self-sufficient family unit, with relatively sparse involvement in our friends and families' lives. 

I contrast this with the rapturous furor that greets an impending birth. A palpable excitement begins, with countless hours of shared planning, joyous anticipation and oodles of gifts, odds and sods meant to ease the arrival of a new life. Nine months of support and involvement climax in an orgy of congratulations and doting, as the newly-enlarged family gratefully accepts what is surely their due.

Eat that cupcake Liz!

Despite my diagnosis of the hitherto-stated FDS (or FUDS, as I like to call it) I'm actually a fairly private person. Asking for help is anathema to me, so unless it's offered I generally find my own way in things. In some ways this is a blessing. I haven't had to deal with interference from well-meaning know-it-alls, or expend energy in being tactful when it comes to some hideous hand-knitted atrocity that some well-meaning sartorial neanderthal has decided would look just darling on my unsuspecting son. 

It's also meant that I've kept a strong degree of self-sufficiency -- an important holdover from the days when I lived on dry pasta and cheddar cheese powder. And I love that my son feels that we're a close family, and that we take care of each other.  Our little indomitable group of plucky adventurers.

But it's a shame so many of our friends and family don't really know him. We're lucky that First Cousins A and H attend the same daycare, and Sister-In-Law #2 welcomes play-dates, so it's not like he has zero extra-familial contact. Professor D's parents seem to like him, and see him every month or two.

I've been estranged from most of my own family since I leapt out of the closet so many years ago, but Sister T and her daughter are affectionate when we meet once or twice a year. Aside from these and a couple of stalwart friends, there's definitely a sense of island-hood.

Perhaps our rocky start as foster parents (perennial exhaustion and uncertainty that we were doing the right thing) set the tone for the lack of involvement. We had to hit the ground running with a 13 month old baby, and zero help or supplies. It was overwhelming, and we almost called it quits during the first week.

Or maybe we're annoying parents, keeping our kid from misbehaving even if it means those around us having to listen to too many Please Put That Down's or You Need To Do Better Listening's. But then again, if I let my energetic toddler roar around with abandon, I'm quite sure outside reaction would be anything but contented. My own loathing of parents who allow their children to mouth off, break shit and basically act like savages is certainly warrant against letting things slide with Pre-Schooler N. Surely they'd rather vigilance than tantrums, right?

Or maybe it's that we're such a different iteration of family. Gay parents, First-Nation kid, etc. Maybe we just don't seem 'real,' somehow. I honestly have no idea... maybe it's all of the above, with a few extra reasons tossed in that I'm not even aware of.

To be honest, I don't think it's worth trying to find out.

I mean, sure, I want my son to grow up surrounded by people who love and support him - and even a tiny amount of free babysitting would have been a freakin' godsend - but I can't coerce anyone to want to be part of his life, or our lives. Almost certainly, it's not a conversation in which anyone wants to take part. Which brings us back to the shutting up part.

But I'm just not good at shutting up. I stink at avoiding conversations that point out the disparity between the treatment of us as a gay adoptive family and the natural fecundity of hetero breeding. I may not list all the ways we could have desperately used any sort of help or involvement, or demand payback for my own previous efforts and aid, but it has forever impacted the way I feel about some of the people in my life.

So yeah, I'm a little bitter. But I'm also pretty fatalistic about this stuff. If they don't feel it, then nothing can be done. I can muster understanding, and focus on the miraculous turn of events that brought this priceless treasure of a child into my life

But I sure as hell know that the next time someone tells me where they're registered for baby-shower gifts, I'm going to cheerfully promise that I'll be giving them the exact same thing they so helpfully sent along during that exhausting, stress-filled period when my son arrived:

Polite congratulations and a big ol' box of nuthin'  :)