On August 13, 1981, I finalized the adoption of my first legal son, Gilbert. I was 30. Yesterday, I finalized the adoption of my last (?), Thi. Did I have any right to do that at my age? Thi is 19, soon to be 20. I am 75, soon to be 76. How many more good years do I have? I even have grandchildren in their 30s. I have great-grandchildren. Was it fair to this 19-year-old to give him such an old father?
Obviously, my answer – and his – was yes. When I went to the store to look for an adoption card (good luck with that) for Thi, one card immediately grabbed my eye. The front of the card said, “I believe in you.” Yes. Yes. Yes. For people who have had loving parents it is very hard to understand the experience of someone who not only didn’t have loving parents, but no real parents at all. Thi went into foster care at 5. He bounced around for years, until he signed himself out of care at 18.
My mother was dead when I was 15; my father wouldn’t have understood “I believe in you” even if it was pounded into his head. But my experience (after that time with my parents) of Aunt Rita and Msgr. Huntington taught me what it means to believe in someone: they gave me, me. And that’s a loving parent’s primary job as far as I am concerned. Each of them is gone for over 25 years now. But I still have what they gave me when I was only just 17: me.
Even if I were to die tomorrow, Thi will have had a parent in his life one time and the impact will be forevermore. A parent who loves him, who trusts his wholeness, who is proud of him, who believes in him.
That is why I did it. A gift for Thi, of course. But what a gift for me – at my age especially. I read a quote yesterday – yesterday, of all days – that I have seen before from St. Francis of Assisi: “For it is in giving, that we receive.” Yep. What a gift I received yesterday. I am the luckiest man I have ever met, bar none.