When my daughter was around three years old, she’d tell people that she was a doctor. “I’m a doctor, my Mom is a doctor, and my Papa is a doctor,” she’d say. I’d clarify for confused friends that she was just mispronouncing the word adopted. “I’m adopted” does sound a little like “I’m a doctor,” after all.
Beaming with a wide smile, it seemed to make my daughter happy to share an important connection with me and her grandfather. And we feel the same way. Together, my father, daughter, and I make up three generations of adoptees. And that link has served as a source of support and comfort to us through the years.
Our Connection
When I take a close look at our individual adoption stories, it makes me smile to think of the links that connect us. My father was adopted and grew up in West Virginia, right over the state line in southwest Virginia. He later left the area when he joined the Army. After marrying my mom, they settled down in Northern Virginia. When they were trying to adopt a baby, it was my dad’s sister-in-law—my wonderful Aunt Joyce—who facilitated the connection that led to my adoption. She and my dad’s brother Joe still lived in the area where my father was raised, so I was born and adopted from that same area.
My dad’s last name (and my maiden name) is Rice. When my husband and I started researching adoption agencies to adopt our own child, we started working with an incredible adoption social worker named Anna. She lived on a street named “Rice Hope Drive.” I cried when I first saw her address. The hope we felt about our future family was overwhelming and all-encompassing and the fact that she lived on a street that held my father’s family name seemed to be a sign of divine grace.
And, certainly, our social worker, Anna, was a gift from God. She was adopted, as well, which made me love her all the more. She expertly guided us on the ins and outs of the adoption process. On the day that we got the call about our daughter, my husband and I immediately knew that we would name our daughter “Anna” in honor of the woman who helped make our family complete.
A Unique Support System
The shared bond of adoption creates a unique support system for me, my dad, and daughter. Growing up, I found immense comfort in knowing that my dad was also adopted. It helped me to understand that a strong family unit can be created through adoption. I witnessed (and still witness to this day) the love he has for his family. I could talk openly about my feelings surrounding my own adoption. Both of my parents were transparent from the start with me about my adoption and I found reassurance in knowing that my dad knew first-hand where I was coming from.
When I was in the second grade, my mother received a phone call from my teacher who accused me of lying. “She’s telling everyone she’s adopted,” my teacher said. My mom patiently explained that I was telling the truth. My teacher was surprised and said, “I would have never thought that she was adopted; I can always tell.”
I’m not exactly sure what she meant by that and I am afraid to take a guess, but in my teacher’s defense, people were not as familiar with adoption then. It did not seem as common and certainly was not discussed as openly as it is now. I grew up in the 1970s and 80s and none of my friends were adopted, or at least I was not aware of any friends who were adopted. The only person I knew who was adopted was my father. He understood what it was like to get mostly well-meaning, but sometimes intrusive questions about adoption. He understood, and because of that I never felt alone or different.
When my daughter was just a baby, my dad and I were both in the room when an acquaintance made a rude joke about adoption. The person didn’t see the harm in joking, but it was hurtful, nonetheless. Neither my father or I called the person out on the joke, because I truly don’t think it was made out of spite. My dad just looked at me knowingly, shook his head, and got up from his chair and left the room. With that small gesture he acknowledged my feelings and once again I found solace in knowing that I wasn’t alone.
I am hopeful that I can provide that same sort of support for my daughter. As she grows, I pray that she will continue to feel comfortable discussing her feelings surrounding her adoption and come to me with questions. Even though all three of our adoption stories, like all adoptees’ stories, are unique and come with our own individual experiences, circumstances, and varied set of emotions, the shared bond of adoption means we’ll never feel alone.
A Shared Joy
With that shared bond also comes a shared joy. As I just mentioned, each individual adoption comes with its own set of circumstances along with complicated, nuanced emotions that shouldn’t be dismissed or diminished. But, as I’ve learned through the years, it’s also important to embrace the joy that accompanies the creation of a family through adoption. That joy deserves to be celebrated.
The night that we received the call about our daughter, for instance, we celebrated by spending over two hours in Babies R Us and close to $900 buying everything we could. Our car was filled to the rim with essential baby items—from diapers and onesies to a car seat and a stroller. I must have told everyone who looked my way that we were adopting a little girl! By the end of the night, the entire store probably knew.
The evening that we brought her home from the hospital, I fell and broke my foot and sprained my ankle. That didn’t stop me, though, from telling everyone in the emergency room that we had just adopted the most precious little child. Those nurses probably haven’t seen a happier patient since!
The number of gifts we received from family and friends in the days following our daughter’s adoption still boggles my mind. The joy each package brought stays with me to this day. We even became friendly with the UPS delivery person who came by our house so often he finally asked why we were receiving so many packages. I gladly told him, of course, about the recent addition to our family.
My parents describe the same joy they felt when they got the news about adopting me. Family and friends shed tears of joy and they were showered with love. One of my favorite pictures is of my Dad feeding me for the first time. My mom likes to tell me how my Dad stopped to buy ice cream for me on the way home the day they adopted me. That story makes me smile and I often think about that whenever we stop to get ice cream.
Recently, I was reading my baby book and in it my Mom wrote, “She’s the most beautiful baby in the whole world.” When I read that, tears came to my eyes because I wrote the same thing when I sent out an announcement about the adoption of our daughter, Anna. She was the most beautiful baby in the whole world. I could truly relate to how my parents must have felt the day they first met me. My husband and I had experienced the same thing.
Celebrating Together
When my daughter was almost a year old, we attended Christmas Eve service at our local church. My husband and I were thrilled to attend with our little girl and I remember the flood of emotions I felt that evening. The blessings of the previous year overwhelmed me and filled me with happiness.
When we got up to greet other parishioners during the sharing of the peace, the little boy sitting behind us shared with me that he and his little sister had just been adopted. He looked at me with such joy in his eyes that it stopped me in my tracks. I bent down and said to him, “That is amazing! I’m so happy for you! Do you know who was also adopted?” I pointed to Anna and I also pointed to myself. I then added, “And my father was adopted, as well.” His eyes opened wide with surprise and he kept saying “Really?!?”
The little boy’s parents, my husband, and I found ourselves marveling at the coincidence that we were sitting together in church on Christmas Eve. It truly felt as if God arranged our seats. They were a beautiful family and I felt the love and hope they had for their future together.
I didn’t realize it then, but I know why I shared with the little boy that my father, Anna, and I were all adopted. Even if it was only for a fleeting moment on Christmas Eve, I wanted him to share a part of that same sense of connection, support, and comfort I have been blessed with my whole life. It has been so special to me, and I wanted to pass that along to him. I truly hope that I did.
Jennifer Rice Henderson is a freelance writer/editor. She lives in the Fredericksburg area with her family.
