As I reflect on adopting, I realize that I had a lot of ideas—and questions and worries and concerns. I had lots of stories in my head.

The idea to adopt first came to me when I was seven. I had a plan to adopt. And no, this was not an example of special powers of manifestation. My other plan to have twins named Denise and Dennis at age 27 did not happen. As a child I used to wonder if I was adopted.  I suspect that much of my early thinking about adoptions was inspired by the after school specials I watched on my TV babysitter.  

As an adult, when I was ready to have a family, I came back to the idea of adopting. I learned that that would be the first of many decisions to be made. Public or private? Domestic or International? Age? Race?  Open or Closed adoption?

I decided to adopt from the US and through the child welfare system. Thinking of all the children here in the US who need caring families and homes made me want to do a public adoption.  I later learned that black children are over-represented in the child welfare system as a result of racism and bias. The expense of private adoption was also daunting.  I was disturbed to find out that black children cost less to adopt.  Who knew? Many families may look to adopt babies and young children, but I wanted to adopt a black boy or girl who was 4-6 years old.  As a single, older mom, I didn’t want to go through the diaper stage alone.  I was willing to do an open adoption where we kept in contact with the first parents.

Some of my ideas about adoption were questions and worries.  For over two years, I went back and forth, worried about what my family would think.  I could hear my mother’s voice telling me to have my own when I was younger. When I finally got up the courage to tell, my family was excited. My dad just insisted on a full battery of psychological testing.  (Bless his heart as they say!) Even after my son came home, I wondered what my mother would have thought if she were alive. (I finally had a dream with a vision of her being pleased. Phew!)  One worry off the list. 

To be continued in Part II.

Bea Hopewell