Adoptions are like an alternative universe where everything moves slowly, even you. Pretend you’re jumping on one of those movable conveyor belt walkways at the airport, only this moving belt goes in slow motion.
Adoption is kind of like that.
The state sets up a time to review, a time to analyze and a time to postpone. Our foster child, April, had been with us since she was a day old. It wasn’t until she was two and a half years old that an adoption date was given to us. San Meradino County had so many adoptions that they found it necessary to have a ceremony in a huge convention center where parents could adopt en masse.
The day was approaching, and five days before the event I got summoned for jury duty, a domestic violence case. The defendant in this case was using the She was trying to attack me, and I was just defending myself defense. He was six foot two, and his girlfriend was five foot one.
They were just selecting the jury that morning. I raised my hand and explained how we would have an adoption on the eleventh. The judge smiled and promised that the trial wouldn’t interfere. He added that there was one truly cheerful event in a judge’s career, and that was an adoption.
The lawyers had lots of interesting questions for us. I was asked, “What if a battered woman does not want to prosecute her husband or boyfriend. What right does society have to intervene?” I gave my best freshman civics answer: Anyone who commits a crime commits it, not only against the victim but against the rules that holds society together. The defense attorney requested that I be excused from the case.
Adoption day! A nice November day in southern California, the temperature was pleasant, warm but with a cool breeze. Ahhhh. We had been coaching April. She was supposed to say her adoptive name—announce her new identity to the world. “I’m April Rose Zollner!” My wife, Mary, had her say it over and over.
Inside the convention center, the circus atmosphere was brewing at a slow boil. April got to hover back and forth with lots of friends and relatives. Although she couldn’t have explained or understood why, she knew she was somehow the focus of this circus. Sure—there could have been lion tamers, trained seals, bears and monkeys doing tricks, etc., but the spotlight was on her. Every so often Mary would whisper, “Say, I’m April Rose Zollner,” and April would dutifully repeat.
We walked down halls and followed signs and people until we reached a huge auditorium where there were lots of tables and lots of activities for the kids—good thing too, because we had lots of time and some kids have attention spans shorter than mine. Mary snuck up through the crowd and grasped my arm. “Neesa’s here.”
Neesa was a former foster child of ours. I must have looked at my wife as if she had said Martians are landing and demanding to be taken to Earth Capital. She pointed to the table where Neesa and her new family were sitting. They were adopting today and were a part of the adoption ceremony too.
“I’ll watch April,” said Mary. “Go see her. It’s okay.”
April switched my hand for Mary’s hand, and I stumbled forward. I stood there a moment as I saw little Neesa. She was no longer skinny and no longer looked timid. She wore a nice white dress and her hair was longer, almost shoulder length. She noticed me before the aunt did.
We once hoped to adopt Neesa as well as April, but Neesa’s aunt was granted custody. It had been months since we had seen her, and I figured there was no way a toddler who was just learning to talk would remember me after all this time. She did stare at me for a prolonged moment with a curious look in her eyes. I figured she didn’t really recognize me, but some kind of toggle switch in her memory had been electrified.
I said hello to Neesa and shook her hand and tried to make small talk. I couldn’t exactly say, Hey kid, you lived with us twice, and we thought God put you into our lives to become our daughter, but we were wrong. Instead I said a few meaningless things about her pretty dress, and how I knew her when she was little. I don’t remember her speaking to me but she maintained an intense, amused eye contact.
I shook her hand again and walked away. She stared at me with an enigmatic Mona Lisa half smile as I walked away. She was happy, and I was too.
We found a table big enough for our extended family, and then April and I got up and started walking around to some of the activity booths. For some reason she had a hard time deciding which craft activity to pick. That was fine. There was something unhurried about the day. I was participating in temporality and eternity at the same moment.
April took my hand and led me forward through the crowd. I reflected on all the changes we had been through since this journey began, and I was so glad that my daughter had taken me outside of myself and into a better world. I remembered my younger self, my nineteen-year-old self, lurking in the shadows, grim and cynical, not really a participant in life. Those days were gone.
And it was back to our table, to our extended family. April sat in several different laps before she took my hand again.
The crowd broke into little herds that ventured forth toward smaller rooms that had been converted into mini-courtrooms, like little chapels within a larger church. A smiling judge was in charge, and I could see from the excited look on her face the truth of what the trial judge had told me: Adoptions are the best day in a judge’s professional life. More cheerful than a domestic violence case anyway.
I saw Neesa’s family in the back of the courtroom, but we were first. I heard Mary whispering, “I’m April Rose Zollner.” April whispered the litany back to her. All was well. The judge said some nice words, and my eyes teared up in a way that made me feel good all the way down to my bones. She asked Mary and I if we would agree to the responsibilities of being a parent and we cheerfully agreed. The judge smiled at April, and April smiled back. She can be very charming.
It was time for our daughter to say the magic words, “I’m April Rose Zollner!”
All eyes were upon her—lots of smiling faces, all encouraging, all expectant. April made her exuberant announcement to the crowd and the world, but she didn’t follow the script. Instead she shouted with a smile, “I’m growing big like Mommy!” And everybody snickered. Then she shouted, “I’m growing big like Daddy too,” and the crowd laughed even louder. She finally whispered, "I'm April Rose Zollner!" Only Mary and I could hear, but that was enough.
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