Blessed By A Child

I was involved with an adoptive children's organization for five years before I was ready to adopt myself. As a single parent of African-American heritage, I was looking for a girl of that same background between the ages of 5 and 7. Tisha's picture was the one which attracted me out of all the pictures at the agency. But there was a problem -- she hadn't yet been freed for adoption.

I learned more about her. She had lived with her biological mother until she was 3 1/2. She was in a foster home for the next 2 1/2 years, the same one for the whole time. The foster mother she lived with was taking care of other foster children as well . Tisha had proven to be too much for her. She said Tisha didn't listen. Besides, Tisha had been diagnosed with Attention Deficit Disorder and had a learning disability.

Then Tisha's birthmother died. I was able to meet Tisha for the first time. What a joy! She was the most delightful, bouncy, open child I had ever met! After the meeting, my social worker asked, Is this the right child for you?? I told her honestly, "I don't know, I've never been shopping for a child before." But I was hopeful.

Tisha was placed in my home in early September, ten days before school was to begin. As we were sitting with the other children and parents waiting to be registered on that first school day, I noticed that Tisha was the only one that wasn't sitting still. I asked for an experienced teacher. What we got was a brand - new teacher who proved to be wonderful. Soon I started to get reports from school that Tisha was wetting her panties. I had to stockpile sets of clothing for every different activity during the school day. It turned out that Tisha was so afraid of missing out on something that she wouldn't take time out to go to the bathroom.

Things had gone fine on our first visit with my parents and with my brother and his family. I come from an upper middle - class family. My dad was a physician and my brother has been president of the bar association of a major American city and is a trustee of a major university. Tisha was entering a different would from her birth family.

On that first Christmas things fell apart. My family was going to celebrate Christmas at two different locations. At each home Tisha got lots of presents -- probably more than she had ever had before! Yet her reaction was: "Is that all?" I went ballistic. My family could see the stress I was under and must have talked about it after we left. My nephew called me later to say, "We're not sure you're doing the right thing." He said the family was concerned how the adoption would impact on my sanity. That was one horrible Christmas!

I put Tisha in an after - school program run by my church and she quickly felt right at home! Attending service was trying for me, however, because Tisha wouldn't sit still. Once during the season of Lent, when normal expressions of praise are dropped from the service, Tisha let out with a loud "Hallelujah!" Despite this, the parish seemed to adopt her. They even lowered the age limit so that Tisha could start assisting at the altar earlier.

Because of her learning disability, I took Tisha for extensive testing at a medical center. Afterward they told my that maybe she would have to be content "with a job at Burger King." I chalked that up to racism. As I worked with her on her homework, her writing seemed like gibberish. But I discovered that it made sense if it was decoded. And the decoding was consistent from one piece to the next. I would end up writing down for her what she was trying to say.

This was all new to me. As a child I had been pushed like crazy academically and had attended a prestigious high school! As I advocated for her in the school system, I had some emotional baggage of my own to work through. Tisha needed special education, but the danger for her as an African-American was that she would be placed in a class of students who had behavior problems. I arranged for Tisha's therapist to meet with the school committee, and Tisha was granted the proper status of learning disabled.

Tisha is much more dark-skinned than me. This caused some consternation for my father when he met her for the first time. It also means Tisha has to acknowledge she's adopted. One day I went to her school to straighten out her attendance records without telling her I'd be there. I was talking with her home room teacher in the hallway just as classes were changing. Tisha saw me from behind and came up and kissed me. Her classmate asked her, "Who's that?" "My mother," Tisha answered. "No," her classmate said. "Yes," was Tisha's reply.

When we visit up in Harlem, Tisha will sometimes say how much she likes it up there. Our own affluent block, in another section of the city, has only two black families on it. Tisha will not consider going to the kind of private school which could help her with her learning disabilities because she figures it will be almost all-white. No parent can address every single element in a childs's upbringing.

When my father was in his final illness in the hospital, I asked him if Tisha could come up for a visit. The same man who had expressed some discomfort on first meeting her responded, "Who would have thought I'd be this eager to see this grandchild?" Days later, as the family gathered as he was dying, it was Tisha who asked, "Don't you think we ought to pray for granddad?" And it was she who led off the prayer.