22Ted
02-14-2005, 05:02 PM
Seven years ago on February 13th, we got "the call". After nearly two years
we finally rec'd word that we were parents. The agency described her as
adorable, with the face the shape of a pumpkin.
The next day was, of course, Valentine's day and at 10:30 a.m. Fed Ex
arrived with a small square envelope. In it was a one page history and a
tiny photograph, no bigger than a passport photo, of our daughter. It
fluttered to the floor and landed face down. Like two idiots we looked at
it, at each other, than back at it. Neither of us brave enough to pick it
up, so excited we smacked heads going for it. And there she was. Lying on
a red pillow, bundled in the way of Chinese children was the little person
we had only seen in our imaginations.
"Well?", asked my husband. "Well?" I replied. Then we sat on the floor,
next to each other holding this tiny photo of this little baby. Speechless
for many minutes. Finally beginning to laugh. "She is perfect", we agreed.
And so it was in the eventful moment, eventful to us at least, did we agree
and promise to love, nuture, and treat as our own this little soul who now
waited for us 15,000 miles and 17 time zones away. With nothing but a
blanket to wrap her in, she was found in front of a hospital in the southern
city of Guandu town, close to Zhanjiang, on the south China sea at a day
old. A girl child abandoned. One of thousands left every day in a bus
station, by a police station, in the market, the front of a hospital.
Months later when we finally met in person, she took one serious look at us
both and when handed to me, pushed me away. Didn't smell right. Didn't
look right, didn't talk right. Cheerios were thrown to the floor as was
Burt from Sesame Street. Screamed bloody blue murder the first night after
she realized she wasn't going back to the place she knew for her short 11
months.
But by the next day her screams were only when I left the room. Or put her
down. Or let someone besides my husband hold her. She learned to crawl in
that hotel room, desparate to chase me when I left her sight to go to the
bathroom. She was in less than 24 my baby. My little girl.
Today she reminded me that last year I gave her a bear and chocolates to
celebrate this special day. That and six white roses. One for each year.
This year a rose was added to make seven years. A small stuffed cat with a
bag of chocolate hearts. Three books and two pair of socks imprinted with
horses, her favorite living animal.
As a watched her today at her riding lesson, learning the finer points of a
trot and canter, I couldn't help but think what a long way it was from
Southern China, and what a long way we had come as a family.
Yesterday as I co mc'd our annual Chinese School New Year Program,
cheerfully multiating the language in front of several hundred native
speakers, it was with a mother's pride and joy that I recounted this story I
share with you now. And sang a song dedicated to her from her dad and I.
How that little face, still like a pumpkin, beamed back sitting there among
her beautiful little sisters. All dark of hair and almond shaped of eye.
And while you couldn't tell her apart from twenty other little girls in her
dance troupe, you surely could tell the aging, graying, and heavy white
Westerner who all those years ago promised to love her as my own. Certainly
speaking for her dad and I, we wouldn't know it any other way.
If you have made the read this far, thank you for taking time to do it.
Though I only know you by your on-line handles, or the histories of your
stories, in many ways I consider you family.
fondly to all,
ducks
we finally rec'd word that we were parents. The agency described her as
adorable, with the face the shape of a pumpkin.
The next day was, of course, Valentine's day and at 10:30 a.m. Fed Ex
arrived with a small square envelope. In it was a one page history and a
tiny photograph, no bigger than a passport photo, of our daughter. It
fluttered to the floor and landed face down. Like two idiots we looked at
it, at each other, than back at it. Neither of us brave enough to pick it
up, so excited we smacked heads going for it. And there she was. Lying on
a red pillow, bundled in the way of Chinese children was the little person
we had only seen in our imaginations.
"Well?", asked my husband. "Well?" I replied. Then we sat on the floor,
next to each other holding this tiny photo of this little baby. Speechless
for many minutes. Finally beginning to laugh. "She is perfect", we agreed.
And so it was in the eventful moment, eventful to us at least, did we agree
and promise to love, nuture, and treat as our own this little soul who now
waited for us 15,000 miles and 17 time zones away. With nothing but a
blanket to wrap her in, she was found in front of a hospital in the southern
city of Guandu town, close to Zhanjiang, on the south China sea at a day
old. A girl child abandoned. One of thousands left every day in a bus
station, by a police station, in the market, the front of a hospital.
Months later when we finally met in person, she took one serious look at us
both and when handed to me, pushed me away. Didn't smell right. Didn't
look right, didn't talk right. Cheerios were thrown to the floor as was
Burt from Sesame Street. Screamed bloody blue murder the first night after
she realized she wasn't going back to the place she knew for her short 11
months.
But by the next day her screams were only when I left the room. Or put her
down. Or let someone besides my husband hold her. She learned to crawl in
that hotel room, desparate to chase me when I left her sight to go to the
bathroom. She was in less than 24 my baby. My little girl.
Today she reminded me that last year I gave her a bear and chocolates to
celebrate this special day. That and six white roses. One for each year.
This year a rose was added to make seven years. A small stuffed cat with a
bag of chocolate hearts. Three books and two pair of socks imprinted with
horses, her favorite living animal.
As a watched her today at her riding lesson, learning the finer points of a
trot and canter, I couldn't help but think what a long way it was from
Southern China, and what a long way we had come as a family.
Yesterday as I co mc'd our annual Chinese School New Year Program,
cheerfully multiating the language in front of several hundred native
speakers, it was with a mother's pride and joy that I recounted this story I
share with you now. And sang a song dedicated to her from her dad and I.
How that little face, still like a pumpkin, beamed back sitting there among
her beautiful little sisters. All dark of hair and almond shaped of eye.
And while you couldn't tell her apart from twenty other little girls in her
dance troupe, you surely could tell the aging, graying, and heavy white
Westerner who all those years ago promised to love her as my own. Certainly
speaking for her dad and I, we wouldn't know it any other way.
If you have made the read this far, thank you for taking time to do it.
Though I only know you by your on-line handles, or the histories of your
stories, in many ways I consider you family.
fondly to all,
ducks
