Hi, I’m Fred, the Papa here at American Mamacita. I guess that makes me American Papacito, although I’m not very small… so maybe just American Papa. Just like Kim, our boys named me. I had planned to be Dad, the name I call my father, and the name he called his father. But adoption shakes things up, and for me, it brought a new name. I love being a Papa; it sounds more personal to me–not sure why. I’ll have to write more on it in the future.
As you probably already know, we’re in the process of a second adoption, this time from El Salvador. And I’m a bit nervous about it. If you asked my friends for a list of traits that describe me, you’d probably get a bunch. Most of them I’d be proud of, and some of them I’m sure I wouldn’t. But one trait I wouldn’t expect to hear is fearful. It’s usually not me. Yet that’s at least 50% of the emotion I feel when thinking about bringing home our new kids.
When we adopted our first boys, I was a bit nervous. I guess it was fear of the unknown. But I really wanted kids. Kim and I knew there was a chance that things would be difficult, or maybe even really difficult. We had done all of the reading (well, she had). But we didn’t have a complete family yet, so I felt prepared to tackle anything. I could allocate whatever emotional/financial/spiritual/time resources that were necessary to make things work. If God wanted to give us challenging kids, he’d give us the energy and insight we needed to work through their issues.
It’s now three years later, and our kids are wonderful… and not just an ordinary wonderful. They are fun, energetic, exciting, full of joy, and downright fun to hang out with. They are growing in new ways each day. When I come home from work, they make pulling into the driveway joyful in a way I never anticipated. (For instance, most recently I’ve been playing a game with Jose where he calls me a girl, and I tickle him until he admits I’m a boy. He’s insisted on playing every day for the last two weeks.)
Our family isn’t perfect, but it’s perfect for me. What man can ask for more than a good job, good friends, and a great family? I can already see my boys growing up into strong, Christian young men… and there is no greater joy in parenthood for me.
That joy is also the source of my fear.
See, our family is awesome – just the four of us, and just the way it is. I not only feel like my boy’s father; we’re also friends. And when they grow up, I’m confident that God will honor the efforts we put in now, while they’re young. I can see us enjoying holidays with them, watching them start careers, and likely marry (no doubt to upstanding women!)
And these new kids? Well, I just don’t know them. Will they adjust like our boys have? Will they love Kim and I as much as our boys do? Will we love them as much as we love Jose and Bear?
We know that our next children will have their own set of experiences, including potentially very deep hurts that we neither completely know, nor can fix. We know they may experience serious attachment disorders that could make life very hard for us and for our boys. In fact, with an adoption from El Salvador, these risks are ever more real, since adoption-eligible children grow up in orphanages and generally do not form attachment to a single caregiver. We know there’s a chance they will have been abused, and that we’ll deal with all the issues that come with that.
When I think about it, it seems like the odds are stacked against us. How can our next children live up to what our first have already become? Will our family life be much harder when we get them?
Maybe so, I think.
But, as I pray about the next kids, I am reminded: our current kids, and their personalities are a gift from God. While we (especially Kim) have worked hard to raise them well so far, the results are in God’s hands. And so it will be with the next set of kids; the results are still His, along with our whole family’s future.
But, I don’t feel that way yet… I just think it. And perhaps that’s the root of the problem.
Or perhaps the root is my selfish enjoyment of the life we have today, a life that I can seldom imagine to be better. The whole situation reminds me of an analogy C.S. Lewis used to describe those who settle for the pleasures of this world instead of seeking God’s rewards for their lives. They are “like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea.”
Not that my family life is making mud pies in a slum… but you get the idea. Maybe the next kids will bring even more joy than I can imagine?
That would be awesome.