Am I the only one who feels like I'm getting more and more sentimental as I get older? I suppose it's better than getting more and more crotchety. (I do think I'd like to be crotchety someday, but I know I'm too young to get away with that now.)
In November we celebrated our seventh wedding anniversary. According to the list of traditional anniversary gifts, seven is the year associated with copper. So my thoughtful and creative husband gave me a copper tea kettle that belonged to his great-grandmother.
Nearly every time I use the kettle (at least once a day), I find myself thinking about this woman I never met, who came to the United States from Portugal to start a new life. She lived to age 103, so she got to watch some of her legacy play out in her kids, grandkids, great-grandkids and even a couple great-great-grandkids! And now here I am, three generations later, touched by her life and wishing I could boil water for tea and have a long chat with her.
Since moving to Philadelphia, I've enjoyed the opportunity to have some long chats with my PopPop, who lives just across the river in New Jersey. My normal strategy is to get him telling stories. For one thing, he is 86 and has a ton of them. Also, he doesn't hear well so it works out much better if he talks and I listen.
On my most recent visit we sat in rocking chairs on the porch, and he told me the story of how he met my Nana, who passed away 18 years ago. The poor guy asked her out three times before she agreed. Her first excuse was that she had to grade papers! Some things are timeless.
It made me sad for them. It also refreshed my desire to draw them into our family.
David and I often struggle with the idea of adopting older kids and wonder if it really is the best thing for them. We're going to pull them out of a loving environment where they have dozens of "brothers and sisters," and plunk them down into a foreign culture where everything will be new—even their new "parents." When we were still in Peru I expressed these doubts to the orphanage director and asked his opinion.
He didn't hesitate for a second. "They all want a mom and a dad. They want a family of their own."
This is what motivates me more than anything to continue moving forward with the adoption process. People sometimes say things like, "They'll have so much more opportunity here than they would in Peru." Honestly, that doesn't mean a lot to me. I suppose it could be true. Certainly there are more opportunities to succeed here, but maybe there are also more opportunities to screw up. The average dropout rate in Philadelphia's public schools is 33%. In some districts it's as high as 50%. Let's not pretend America is the promised land for kids' success.
It's been exactly a year since we got back from Peru, and some of the urgency and emotion driving us to adopt has faded. But almost every day I think about what the orphanage director said. "They all want a family of their own." We can't guarantee their success, but we can at least give them a family.
Yesterday we sent in the last piece of paperwork and payment to the home study agency, which means we should be able to get started with the in-person interviews early next month.
In November we celebrated our seventh wedding anniversary. According to the list of traditional anniversary gifts, seven is the year associated with copper. So my thoughtful and creative husband gave me a copper tea kettle that belonged to his great-grandmother.
Nearly every time I use the kettle (at least once a day), I find myself thinking about this woman I never met, who came to the United States from Portugal to start a new life. She lived to age 103, so she got to watch some of her legacy play out in her kids, grandkids, great-grandkids and even a couple great-great-grandkids! And now here I am, three generations later, touched by her life and wishing I could boil water for tea and have a long chat with her.
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| David's Great Grandmother, the owner of the copper tea kettle. Classy lady! |
Since moving to Philadelphia, I've enjoyed the opportunity to have some long chats with my PopPop, who lives just across the river in New Jersey. My normal strategy is to get him telling stories. For one thing, he is 86 and has a ton of them. Also, he doesn't hear well so it works out much better if he talks and I listen.
 |
| PopPop |
On my most recent visit we sat in rocking chairs on the porch, and he told me the story of how he met my Nana, who passed away 18 years ago. The poor guy asked her out three times before she agreed. Her first excuse was that she had to grade papers! Some things are timeless.
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| My Nana was one of the kindest people I've ever known. She never even made fun of my pink-rimmed goggles even once! |
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| I got to hang out with my Grandmom last weekend at my brother's wedding. She told me the beautiful necklace she was wearing belonged to her mother, who raised her kids in Philadelphia in parts of the city I "wouldn't want to go," according to Grandmom. |
Recently, in my sentimental and reflective state, I was thinking about the kids from the orphanage, and it occurred to me how much they're missing by not having a family. So much of who I am is my family. I'm defined by my siblings, parents, in-laws, grandparents—and even generations further back. Our family stories bind us together and kind of give me a sense of belonging. Knowing my family's story fills out my own story. These kids don't have that. They most likely won't ever receive a gift from a great-grandmother or enjoy a long chat with a grandfather or hear the story of how their parents met.
It made me sad for them. It also refreshed my desire to draw them into our family.
David and I often struggle with the idea of adopting older kids and wonder if it really is the best thing for them. We're going to pull them out of a loving environment where they have dozens of "brothers and sisters," and plunk them down into a foreign culture where everything will be new—even their new "parents." When we were still in Peru I expressed these doubts to the orphanage director and asked his opinion.
He didn't hesitate for a second. "They all want a mom and a dad. They want a family of their own."
This is what motivates me more than anything to continue moving forward with the adoption process. People sometimes say things like, "They'll have so much more opportunity here than they would in Peru." Honestly, that doesn't mean a lot to me. I suppose it could be true. Certainly there are more opportunities to succeed here, but maybe there are also more opportunities to screw up. The average dropout rate in Philadelphia's public schools is 33%. In some districts it's as high as 50%. Let's not pretend America is the promised land for kids' success.
It's been exactly a year since we got back from Peru, and some of the urgency and emotion driving us to adopt has faded. But almost every day I think about what the orphanage director said. "They all want a family of their own." We can't guarantee their success, but we can at least give them a family.
Yesterday we sent in the last piece of paperwork and payment to the home study agency, which means we should be able to get started with the in-person interviews early next month.
5 comments:
First - I miss you guys a lot! Second, I'm so excited to hear about your journey. I know the two of you are going to be awesome parents and you both have so much love to give!
xo
Oh my word. How much I love you in seven years offers more support for the "pro adoption of older kids' camp. I love that we're family - I'm sure they'll feel the same way.
(Loved hearing you talking about Great Grandma and am so glad you have the teapot.)
Of course I cried. Cried because I do miss my grandma and as you talked of having a cup of tea with her and talking it brought back so many memories for me. Thank you. Then so blessed to have you as a daughter in law and part of our family. I thank God for you and all you are to us. FAMILY, God's design....no wonder it is so wonderful.
Love reading your blogs. Cant wait to hear more updates on the adoption!
Thanks, guys!
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