When I was four, I remember walking into the bathroom where Mom was doing her hair. I was excited and ready to leave to my swimming lesson at the local pool. As I stood there wearing only my little swimming trunks, Mom turned to me… 
 
“What’s that on your chest?” Mom wondered. 
 
“I don’t know,” I said, scratching the little bumps with my fingernails. 
  
“You have the chicken pox!” she realized. “You can’t go to swimming lessons if you have chicken pox.” 
 
I was sad. I enjoyed the water and I was always excited for my lesson. After my chicken pox had run their course, I was transferred to a different aquatic class. 
 
“So,” Mom said after my class was done. “How was your first day back?” 
 
“We practiced jumping in the deep end,” I answered. 
 
“The deep end already?” Mom asked nervously. “You guys are a little young for the deep end.” 
 
“I was with the older kids,” I said proudly. “Some of them were scared, but I wasn’t scared.” 
 
I had never been in the deep end before. I spent some time in my regular class splashing around and kicking my feet, but jumping in the deep end with kids more than twice my age was a whole new experience. That’s where Jammie and I found ourselves with our adoption. 
 
Brianna had a trip planned to come see us in our home. Sure, she had lived with us for a few months before she gave birth to our little boy, but we hadn’t seen her face-to-face since our son was two weeks old. Jammie and I had spent the last eleven months getting our feet wet in the open adoption world with pictures, phone calls, etc., but having her come to our home again felt like we were jumping into the deep end. 
 
Brianna was awesome (so was her sister, who came with her).
“Let’s go see what Mom is doing,” Brianna said once, while holding our little boy. 
 
It was the little things like that, her calling Jammie the “Mom,” and referring to me as the “Dad.” She said lots of things to make sure we knew that she approved of the way we were raising our little boy. Hearing her say those things meant the world to us. It helped us feel relaxed and instead of feeling the jealousy that would have been natural for a situation like that, we were able to enjoy watching her play on the floor with our little boy. 
 
That visit was the best thing that we could have had for our relationship. Knowing that she approved helped us relax while she was in our home, and helped us to love and embrace our roles and relationship even more. Not only that, but it paved the way for the openness of our second adoption also. It’s not for everyone. Having birthparents into your own home is a common place to draw a line. A lot of people recommended against it, saying that their relationship is very open but their home is something that they keep for themselves. I repeat, it’s not for everyone, but it sure is wonderful for us.

A lot of people think we’re crazy for having our adoptions as open as we do. I suppose a better word than “think” would be “know”. They know we’re crazy. But if I know I’m acting crazy, then I must not be insane. Right? Right? Come one, I’m looking for some reassurance here. Either way, we’re not going to change the way we do things.

With our first adoption, we found ourselves wrestling with a bunch of legal issues. So, in order to make it work, the only thing we could think of doing was to have Brianna (our wonderful birthmom) fly out to Idaho where we live. Giving birth in Idaho made it so we were subject to the adoption-friendly Idaho laws instead of the adoption-difficult laws of Mississippi. She lived with us for the last two months of her pregnancy. That’s right. She lived with us for two months. We had a pregnant teenager in our home- we didn’t know her before- she had no local friends- no school to go to or anything else to do. Ya know what, though? It was great! It was crazy, no doubt, but it was great. We knew at the time that it was crazy but we also knew that it was a good idea.

When our second adoption came along, I remember chatting with our caseworker:
“Yeah,” I smirked. “There’s no way we’d do that again. Imagine all of the things that could have gone wrong.”

“Oh, I bet you would,” He laughed. “If you were impressed to do it again, I bet you would.”

“You’re probably right,” I said after a pause. “Let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that again.”

With our second adoption, we didn’t do anything unusual. Well, nothing too unusual to open adoption. Still, many people would, and do, think we’re loco. Cookoo or not, though, it’s what is right for our family. Sara (our wonderful birthmom) lives just a few miles away and used to come to our home two or three times a month. That’s the life we live and that’s the life we love. Nobody is making us do anything. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t something that just came natural with either adoption. That’s why it’s crazy. That natural feeling is jealousy. That’s what’s natural, and believe me when I say that we felt our fair share of jealousy, but we have come to terms with our roles. Maybe “come to terms” isn’t the right way to say it. We’ve come to embrace the fact that we are adoptive parents. We love having a unique extended family. We love it. Crazy, yes, but not insane.

Adoption is different now than it used to be…
One of my closest friends lived in Charleston when he was a kid. He moved out to the west and hadn’t been back there since he was in first grade. Then one day, a pair of decades later, he found himself out in that neck of the woods with his wife and their kids. They swung on over to his old stomping grounds and took pictures of things that he remembered- the huge old oak tree in front of his grade school, the swimming pool he used to splash around in, and of course, his old house. While out in front of it, snapping a few photos, the young adult neighbor came out to see what they were doing. They chatted and talked about who still lived in the neighborhood and who moved away, etc. Suddenly my friend realized who he was…

“I remember you,” my friend said. “I remember when your parents adopted you.”

“I’m not adopted,” the young man corrected him. “ You must be thinking of someone else.”

“Oh, well,” my friend said, “it must have been the people who lived there before you.”

“No,” the young man insisted. “My parents have lived here for a long long time.”

“Then it must be you,” my friend continued, not realizing that his wife was trying to nudge him into shutting up. “Yeah, it had to be you. I remember when they brought you home and we all went over to see you, and and and…”

He realized why his wife was trying to get him to stop talking and he changed the subject, “Oh, you’re probably right. I must be thinking of someone else.”

He wasn’t thinking of someone else, though. When he got home later on that day, he called up his parents and they were certain that he was adopted, that he was the same boy.

Then there was that kid in my biology class. We talked about blood types and we all took our blood types there in class. When the guy realized that his blood type didn’t match the possibilities handed down from his parents, the can of worms was open. He was in high school before he even found out he was adopted.
What’s the big secret about? I’m not adopted, but I have adopted both of my children. And guess what? I couldn’t possibly be more proud of the fact! I love my two little miracles more that I could have possibly imagined, and I couldn’t possible love them more if they were a genetic mixture of my wife and me. They’re my kids and I love them more than I love life.

So why the big secret? Why keep it from them? Times change, that’s why. My adoptions were both pretty recent (both of my kids are younger than 2). I don’t know what it was like to adopt a kid in the 80s, but I do know that “open” adoptions were almost unheard of until recently. And before anyone writes me to tell me that not all adoptions were secrets in the past- I know I know I know. I’m just saying. I love how adoption is easily talked about in a lot of circles now.

Adoption is something that I celebrate every morning when I wipe my little boy’s poopy butt. Adoption is something that I cherish every time my little girl spits up on my slacks during church. Having children didn’t “just happen” for my wife and me, so we embrace every little thing about having kids. And that may never have happened if it weren’t for some wonderful people who placed our little miracles into our arms. It is my life goal to help my kids embrace and cherish and love adoption as much as my wife and I do. It won’t be a secret. They won’t discover one day that their blood type doesn’t match ours. We celebrate the crazy and winding road that got us here! Halelujah!