Baby, Write This Down

Baby, write this down, take a little note
To remind you in case you didn't know
Tell yourself I love you and I don't want you to go
Write this down

Take my words, read 'em every day
Keep 'em close by, don't you let 'em fade away
So you'll remember what I forgot to say
Baby, write this down
-George Strait

 As the memories of my second year of adoption weave in and out of this journal, I find myself left with so many unfinished writings, I don't know what to do with them. They're things that want to be blogs, but they're not quite big enough to stand on their own two feet.

The "draft" feature of this column is always astoundingly full of snippets and paragraphs and slices of life that never fully come to fruition...things that seem incredibly important as I write them down, but they never find life as finished essays, which is probably for the best, since they're all so random. Then again, aren't we all.

I think I rarely finish most of these snippets because this experience itself is simply so profound that half the time, my inefficient vocalizations along the way barely do it justice. I'm grateful for your compliments when you tell me you've read this and enjoyed it, but believe me, if I could somehow uncork and record the true magic all this is, I'd be writing you four times a day. Writing about this experience and having this experience is a night and day difference. Like my friend Pratibha used to say, "like holding a candle up to the sun."

I've waited for the things below to gel into something  profound (or at the very least, full-length) because they seemed so important when I scratched them down. But a few months later, here they still are, unfinished ramblings, aging away like fine (or not-so-fine) wine, yours for the sipping. They're not full bottles, but they come from the heart. I put them here for safe keeping. Short and unfinished as they are, I didn't want to lose them.

Enjoy it While You Can

It occurred to me the other day as the new school year begins and we were all in full closet-cleaning mode here on Bonnie Castle Way, Justin's little boyhood is coming to an end. Not his whole boyhood, heavens no, we've got ages to go on that one (I say with a wink), but his little boyhood. 

I was surprised as he helped me clean out his closet, how many of his clothes were not necessarily too small...they were just suddenly deemed too preposterously uncool to wear anymore.

Just like Justice traded in her Hello Kitty comforter for Justin Bieber (and P.S., try staring at that growingly wearisome face every morning on your daughter's bed)...and her Tinkerbell sticker earrings from the dollar store for real-live dangly pierced ones from Claire's at the mall, Justin too is giving up the trappings of his too-short little boyhood.

I've been told Spider-Man has got to go. No shirts with superheroes anymore, period. He'll still gladly play Lego Batman on the Wii, but keep it off his t-shirts, thank you, because it's way too uncool. No more Pixar shirts either. God forbid, Mater from Cars and Buzz Lightyear made him physically shudder when we found them at the bottom of his shirt drawer. He's growing up, and he won't be Toy'ed with.

I thought of that as I was picking his underwear off the floor (again). I smiled sort of wistfully as one retrospectively does when we turn life into literature, and I dropped them in his hamper thinking, "I'm really going to miss this." At a certain point, he won't want to have Superman and Skylanders on his underwear anymore, and that'll be sad, because it'll mark the definite end of his littleness. It won't be the end of his childhood, but it will be the end of his little boyhood, and that time's just as precious.

You Made Me Love You

You made me love you
I didn't want to do it
I didn't want to do it
You made me want you

And all the time you knew it
I guess you always knew it

For lots of gay men, the whole world is a Judy Garland song. Over-the-top and let's put on a show. The wistful one above, "Dear Mr. Gable," is the one that plays most often in the soundtrack of my mind as Justice really does begin to love us with genuine attachment, whether she wants to admit it or not.

She came to us in stages. First, not at all. Then resentfully. Then cautiously. And now, more openly. Fearlessly. Naturally.

And I'm happy for us, of course. But I'm even more happy for her.

Adopted children are world-weary by the time they're seven. The world is an unsure and cynical place. They can love and be loved, but in the background, a message plays.

"I've loved like this, but I've lost it before."

"I wish I could trust this to last."

"It feels good to be loved, but this too could pass."

You and I look at life's difficulties and say, "this too shall pass." Adopted children look at life's beauty and say, "this too could pass."

It's tragic that any child has to feel that. It's beautiful beyond words to try to fix it.

I'm happy for us -- but mostly I'm joyful for Justice -- because a jaded little girl has learned how to love again.

She's rusty, but she's getting good at it.

I Am Here to Learn

Let go, or be dragged. - Zen Proverb

When I let go of what I am, I become what I might be. - Lao Tzu

Way back when we started this journal, I talked about having to let go of the fantasy we had before we adopted. Like most other adoptive parents, we came to the table with a fully-formed fantasy of what our family would be, how our children would act, how we'd efficiently -- not effortlessly, but at least efficiently -- parent them through each difficulty.

Which turned out to be 99% bullshit, of course. Like we could line up the problems in an alphabetical list and tick them off the clipboard. "Delusional" comes into play very heavily before you adopt. After reality kicks you in the nuts four or five hundred times in the first year, you learn to erase the picture and start over.

Your family will be what your family will be. It will set its own course. It will become what its supposed to become.

If your family is a ship with a rudder, you're very lucky. Mine is a paper kite. And the wind comes from an oscillating fan on Red Bull.

Sometimes ridiculously mixed metaphors are the only things that come close to describing it with even a hint of accuracy.

I've had to learn to adjust my expectations for paper kites, especially when it comes to the childrens' anger. There's always plenty of it, seeded deep in their souls in dark places I can't quite get to yet, and when they give it to me, I have to be very careful not to give it back.

If someone behaves negatively towards you, it helps to remember that he or she is a human being like you and to distinguish between an action and the person who does it. If counter measures are needed to prevent someone doing harm, it's always better to do it with a calm rather than an agitated mind. If you act out of anger, the best part of your brain fails to function. Remember, compassion is not a sign of weakness. - The Dalai Lama

Hello, Dalai. I'm turning the facts above into My New Seven Truths, because I need them.

1. Compassion is not a sign of weakness.
2. Not even in parenting.
3. Stop being angry when they are.
4. They're little, you're not. Don't follow their tantrums with one of your own.
5. Let go of what you think your family should be.
6. Just let it happen.
7. Fly more kites.

Through the Long Night With You

I quote Billy Joel a lot because I like him.

I had every album. Then when I started driving, I had every cassette. Then when cassettes went the way of the dinosaurs, I had every CD. And now that CD futures are sketchy at best, Billy Joel lives on in my world in a bunch of sound files. When those go belly-up, I don't know what I'll do. Inject him directly into my veins, I guess.

Here's a Billy Joel song that makes me think of my kids.

I quote song lyrics a lot here, but sometimes there's just no commentary to attach to it. Sometimes it just rings simple and true, all by itself.

The warm tears
The bad dreams
The soft trembling shoulders
The old fears
But I'm here
Through the long night with you
 
No, I didn't start it
You're broken hearted
From a long, long time ago
Oh, the way you hold me
Is all that I need to know

All you past sins
Are sins past
You should be sleeping
And it's so late
But I'll wait
Through the long night with you
 
Take Us Home, George Strait

So ends my unfinished "drafts" pile. My inbox is empty and my work here is done for the day.

You can find a chisel, I can find a stone
Folks will be reading these words, long after were gone
Oh I love you and I don't want you to go
Baby write this down

More half-baked drafts and Sunday morning incompleness is inevitably on the way.

Some days I'm too busy finishing what I started to finish what I started.

"Write This Down" by Dana Hunt & Kent Robbins from the George Strait album "Always Never the Same," c.1999 MCA Nashville. "You Made Me Love You" by Joe McCarthy & James V. Monaco, c.1913, "Dear Mr. Gable" version c.1939 Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer. "Through the Long Night" by Billy Joel, c.1980 Columbia Records