In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

90 Chapter Fourteen Sweet Sixteen The taxi brought us to our house on Ridgedale Drive. Finally, we were home again. Stephanie’s hugs and kisses almost made us forget our worries. Steven had wisely chosen to leave, hours earlier, and had taken refuge with my mother. Stephanie must have sensed the tensions we had with Steven. She must have wondered about his sudden absence, but she never mentioned him, neither did she ask any questions. Not like in the plane when she worried, “Won’t Uncle Bud be my uncle anymore?” None of this turmoil that affected Marvin and me so very much seemed to have any effect on her. I was afraid she’d suffer a seizure , but she stayed seizure free. I was concerned about Steven and went to see him at my mother’s home, but he kept his eyes to the floor and would not answer any of my questions. It was as if I were talking to a deaf-mute. He had been withdrawn at times before, but now he had erected a wall around himself, a wall that I could not scale. I thought of the summer when Steven was four and a half years old, and he returned from a trip to his grandparents’ house in Chattanooga. He had grown very pensive, and that night he called me to his room. Then he asked in a whisper , “Was I adopted, Mom?” He looked as if he might cry. Then he said, “What does adopted mean, anyway?” I shook my head in bewilderment when he surprised me with that question. He continued in his little voice, “Scott said I am adopted, like he and Tracy are.” I had tried to familiarize him with the word adopted early on, weaving the word into terms of endearment, calling him my sweet adopted Schnooky-poo, or my very own adopted Sweetie -pie. Now, I was suddenly wordless. Marvin and I had talked about the right words to use when the time came. “Let me get Dad and we will both talk to you about ‘adopted.’” I ran downstairs to ask Marvin to come and help me explain the adoption issue to Steven. When I neared the den, I heard his voice shout at the Monday night football game he was watching, “Goddammit, kill the bastard, stop him, stop him, Sweet Sixteen 91 oh noooooo—” I heard him throw his balled-up newspaper at the television. I hesitated. I knew he’d had one too many beers (the only drink that appealed to him when he was watching football), and probably he had made too large a wager with his bookie, and at this stage in the second half of the game it looked as if he would lose the bet. I hated it when he was in this condition, which luckily did not occur very often. I squared my shoulders and confronted the raging bull—or lion, since he was a Leo. Our son was more important than his damn ballgame. Karin, get yourself together—I talked to myself—don’t you start swearing too. Stay calm. This is an important time in our child’s life and we should both be there to answer his question. “Marvin, please come upstairs and help explain to Steven what adoption means. Scott told him that he is adopted, and Stephanie is not.” Marvin hardly looked up from the ball game as he shushed me away, hurling more obscenities at the television and shouted, “Damn that smart-alecky Scott. Go up. Go. . .go. You’re a smart woman, you handle it.” I ran upstairs again, full of momentary anger, and full of love for our son, while trying to come up with an honest and caring answer. When I returned to Steven’s bedside, he had another question for me. “And Mom, what does it to mean to be a chosen child? Scott said we are special, we were chosen.” “Chosen, Stevie? Is that what Scott said? Like going into a bakery and choosing from an assortment of small cakes?” I was going lightheaded, imagining cupcakes with faces like baby girls or baby boys all lined up in frilly paper doilies in the shape of cribs and couples walking past them to “choose” one or the other. I now got angry at Scott too. “Steven, to adopt a child is an important decision parents make. Babies are not chosen like going to a store and choosing a pair of shoes...

Share