For the last few days, I have been reading an absolutely amazing book called “Baby, We Were Meant For Each Other: In Praise of Adoption”  by long-time NPR anchor Scott Simon.  In it,  he recounts the moving story of how he and his wife Caroline adopted two beautiful baby girls from China.  Beyond that,  he weaves in the stories of other people who have either adopted children or were themselves adopted,  and the result is an exceptionally vivid portrait of what Simon refers to more than once as The Miracle of Adoption.   But this book also offers all kinds of wonderful insights into parenthood itself and what it means to be a family.

One thing I especially appreciate about this book is that it doesn’t shy away from the darker edges of this story. For instance,  Simon is willing to talk very openly and frankly about the situation in China which resulted in so many baby girls being offered up for adoption.   “It is impossible – it is irresponsible- to forget that our daughters are blessings that began with a crime when frightened mothers gave up the babies they loved because of Chinese policies that cause young girls to be cast away. . . My wife and I didn’t adopt daughters from China to make any kind of point.  But the two people we cherish most are survivors of China’s mass crime.  That obliges us to speak out.”

<<To further ponder the sad fate of so many baby girls in China,  I suggest that you turn back to my blog entry on April 27, 2008 . . . an entry titled “Found Forsaken” . . . which features an absolutely haunting photograph that everyone needs to see.>>

There is also a touching story that speaks so directly and powerfully to what parenthood means at its most essential level:

When Elise was about two, Caroline and I put her into bed between us on a winter’s night in Chicago. At some point, she stirred and shivered.  The sheet and blankets had slipped off her as she squirmed, and she called out to Caroline – or perhaps to the world? – “Cowd, Mama, Cowd!”

Caroline hiked the blankets back up around her chin. We both hugged her.  Our baby, huddled and shivering, calling out for her mother’s touch. Trusting that all she had to do was call and her mother would be there.

Elise had no memory of that moment the next day. But since then, she’s heard the story plenty. It’s become a comedy routine between us.  When we cross a windy Michigan Avenue or Broadway corner, she shouts “Cowd, Baba, Cowd!” to me, even though she now pronounced her L’s as precisely as a member of the Royal Shakespeare Company.  “Cowd, Mama, Cowd!”

But one night a few years later as Caroline tucked her into bed,  Elise asked about how her mother had left her in front of the factory in China.  She was wrapped in a blanket, Caroline, told her.  All clean, the tiny little blanket pulled up to her chin.

 

“”Was I cold?”  Elise asked.     Caroline took a breath.

 

“No, darling. Your mother loved you.  She watched to make certain that you were found and were all right.  She made sure you had clothing and a blanket.  You were not cold.”

I’m not sure there’s anything more basic for a parent than to keep their child warm. . . and come to think of it, that goes for being a loving spouse or sibling or friend as well.

I had an incredibly moving experience with this book that was also quite unexpected.   Over the weekend, I learned about a maddening situation involving someone we know who is in very serious trouble due to drugs – again – despite all that his family has done to try and bring him back from this darkness.  From the moment I learned about this situation,  I found myself growing more and more angry with this person for causing such grief to the ones who love them the most.  Then literally minutes later, I found myself reading the following remarkable words from Scott Simon about an adoptee who had struggled with various deadly addictions.   These words describe the plight of the typical addict more clearly than anything I’ve ever read before:   People who have never had to subdue that kind of beast clawing from inside may find it hard to grasp the fortitude it takes, hour by hour,  to stay sober for a lifetime.

I read those words and suddenly had a new appreciation for what this young person is facing.  It in no way excuses him for the sorrow and grief he has caused his family, and it does not render any less foolish his initial choice to head down this road to ruin. . . but I found my frustration and anger with him tempered by some sympathy where before there was basically none at all.   I would like to think that there is nothing more essential to being alive than to gain understanding of something which had been utterly incomprehensible.  I am not always open to that; there is something comforting and effortless about calcifying your own impressions and opinions into immovable, unyielding stone tablets and I do that too often.   And while there probably isn’t terrible harm done when we’re talking about something as relatively inconsequential as whether or not to like a particular T.V. show, singer, or football team,  it is scary when we cast our opinions and impressions of the people in our lives into blocks of solid granite.  I’m thankful for this powerful reminder of how good it feels to find one’s self “moved” in this sense.

Anyway,  the end of the story is that this morning, I got to do a phone interview with Scott Simon. . . and while it’s always a thrill to interview an NPR big wig, it’s also frightening because their anchors express themselves so beautifully.  So I spent most of the interview trying to make certain that I didn’t split any infinitives or dangle any participles.  And it went well.  We touched on a great deal of what is in this rich, rewarding book-  and there was even a moment when Scott Simon was on the verge of losing his composure (I believe it was as he told the story of “cowd, mama, cowd.”)  I’m not crowing about that as though making a guest almost cry is some sort of accomplishment about which I should be pleased or proud.  (I’m convinced that Barbara Walters and James Lipton carve little notches on their belt every time they make one of their guests tear up.)   Rather it’s to acknowledge that this book is an incredibly personal project for Simon, and it remains so even after weeks of interviews.  And yes,  I guess I have to admit that there is something a bit amazing about the thought that I posed a question to an NPR anchor that touched him so deeply and powerfully.   But mostly it’s a testimony to the profoundly deep and primeval need we have to love and be loved….  whether we are loving our own flesh and blood or loving someone from halfway around the world whom we have chosen to take into our hearts and homes.   And when we fail ourselves and those most dear to us,  love hurts.   And yet, in ways that are nothing short of miraculous,  love is what ultimately makes us whole again.

*Note-  My interview with Scott Simon will air on Tuesday, Oct. 19th,  8:11 a.m. on WGTD FM 91.1 or wgtd.org.