Although we cleared the first hurdle without incident, I had legitimate cause for concern. A good friend, whom I will call Jane, was not as fortunate. Like me, she is totally blind, and like me, she has a sighted spouse to help raise her children. Unlike me, she already had two boys who were thriving under her care. In fact, she stayed home and assumed the role of primary caregiver while her husband worked outside the home. There should have been no question, but when Jane first met her assigned case worker he could not control his laughter. "You're not a fit parent." he chuckled. "How would you handle an emergency?" Needless to say, Jane was taken aback. "I have a mouth you know." she replied. "I'm quite capable of dialing 911." After a brief and unproductive dialog Jane realized that neither sweet reason nor her proven track record as a parent would alter his position, which was based on an irrational prejudice. Jane did not have the resources or the temperament to take legal action. She simply declared it "karma", and focussed her energies on her two birth children. If she were childless, she might have pressed the issue.
How can we reconcile these radically different anecdotes? Jane applied several years before I did; perhaps the adoption industry acquired maturity and wisdom during that time. Or perhaps it was forced to change its position by court order. Or perhaps disabilities are tolerated in a father, but not a mother, who is still viewed as the primary caregiver. Personally, I think a systemic explanation is unlikely. Rather, the difference is probably due to the distinct mindsets of our two case workers, as individuals. If Jane had approached another agency, or even another case worker within that agency, she might have received her home study in short order, as I did. We'll never know.
When our birth daughter was three, we moved to Michigan, where we had to start the adoption process all over again. Once again my disability was not an issue, and soon we were sending our information to birth mothers and social workers across the country. At that time we were willing to adopt an infant or an older child, casting our nets into both ponds. Within two months a birth mother called and asked us to take her beautiful new-born son. In her mind, my blindness was neutral -- a non-issue. Of course there were several birth mothers who read our profile and didn't select us. My handicap may have played a role in these decisions, or it could have been the color of my hair, or my religious beliefs; we'll never know. Birth mothers and social workers are individuals, hence there are no universal answers to the questions posed at the start of this article. However, as the new millennium dawns, I believe most birth mothers and social workers can accept a wide range of disabilities, and that's good news for everyone.
Sitting in the hospital room, we held Steven in our arms for a short time, then gently placed him back in his bed next to his birth mother. We slowly left the premises, carrying an empty car seat. Under intense pressure from her relatives, she changed her mind at the last minute. Prospective parents must be prepared for this scenario, which is reenacted time and time again in hospital rooms across America. "We have no way to predict which mothers will follow through with the adoption." remarked my case worker, who has been in the business for 30 years.
In retrospect, I'm glad she kept her baby. Several months later we took an infant into our home as a foster placement, and confirmed what we had begun to suspect; we really didn't want a baby after all. Our birth daughter was almost five, and would have nothing in common with a new-born. We wanted an older child, and it was time we made that commitment to ourselves and to our agency.
We trolled the Internet in search of waiting children, and sent our information to various case workers all over the country. Some agents were reluctant to place their children with a blind father, and others rejected us on the basis of race, in defiance of federal law. Yet I believe these biases are rare. Most agents rejected us because we were in another state, and the interstate paperwork represents a daunting challenge that most overworked and underpaid case workers would rather avoid. I have a drawer full of rejection letters urging me to "Please consult an adoption agency within your home state." Sometimes my letter of inquiry was sent back unopened; the return address was enough to disqualify me. This is a serious problem that plagues the industry, but it is orthogonal to my disability, which is the focus of this article.
To my surprise, one agent, whom I will call Tina, viewed my disability in a positive light. Since I had already accomplished a great deal, despite a significant handicap, Tina felt I possessed the emotional characteristics needed to parent a troubled child. Furthermore, my experiences might provide insight and understanding, allowing me to sympathize, without mollycoddling. Thus my disability was one of many factors that encouraged Tina to place a brother and sister in our care.
Having raised these kids for a year, I find Tina's logic inescapable. Both children have, on separate occasions, told me that their lot in life (i.e. disability and/or troubled past) was "unfair". I held them close and agreed with their assessment. Life had indeed dealt them several bad cards. But I reminded them that my situation was also "unfair". I haven't walked precisely in their shoes, but my shoes don't fit right either. Somehow we must keep walking. I set the example, and they are compelled to follow.
When you write a profile for birth mothers, state your disability as a matter of course, then move on. If you view it as neutral, they will too. However, if you are looking for an older child, who is almost certainly disabled, your disability might be viewed as an asset. Spend a couple sentences talking about it. The insights you have gained will help you raise a child who has been dealt a less than perfect hand. Don't be afraid to blow your own horn, albeit softly. Those who adopt aren't rich, or powerful, or ideal physical specimens; they are merely persistent.