The Good Parent

As  a parent we want to do the best for our children. We want to make sure they are well suited for dealing with the world, that they are good people, happy, well-adjusted, follow the rules, care for others, that they will contribute to society...essentially we want them to go out and prove that we did a good job parenting them!

And yet what is good parenting? How do you learn to be a good parent? Go into any book store and you will find shelves filled with parenting manuals. Here are some actual titles:  The Happiest Baby on the Block (no pressure there!), 1-2-3 Magic: Effective Discipline for Children (Hmmm, what happens when you reach 4 and they still aren't listening?) and my personal favorite, Toilet Training in Less Than a Day (bwa-ha-ha!!!). These books seem to promise that there are easy, natural solutions to parenting that you're just too dumb to figure out on your own. 

But it is oh so tempting to believe that this is the case; that the issue you are currently working on with your child has an answer.  Find it and all will be well. 

The problem is that every child is different. So what works for one will be horribly ineffective with another. Then there are also other factors to take into account such as the time of day, how much sleep the child has had (or even more important, how much YOU have had) and not to forget where the child lies on the sugar rush continuum. Truth is, never have I felt more unskilled in life as I have at being a parent. I'm not saying that I think I'm bad at it... it's just that my sense of how good I am at it is as stable as Taylor Swift's latest relationship. 

Being a psychologist doesn't help either. In fact, I think it makes things worse! I was always second guessing myself and imagining my grown child maligning me to their therapist that I was a horrible dad cause x, y or z. I remember a story from my family (I won't name names, but you know who you are) where a cousin had to write a biography of her childhood for an education class. She wrote about how she hated the ice skating lessons her mother sent her to. She dreaded them and was glad when they were done. Cue in Mom reading this years later having thought she was doing something wonderful for her daughter only to realize that her loving gesture was setting her daughter up for a peptic ulcer.

I've now come to terms that no matter what I do, no matter how many books I read, how many Nanny 911 episodes I watch, that I will still screw up. It's inevitable. As a therapist I see client after client talking about their parents. Too authoritarian and they rebel and feel unloved. Too loving (yes, that's possible) and no limits, the client feels insecure in how to be in the world. Yes we can aim for that golden mean, but we will still do something that will scar a child for life. I myself have flashbacks to the time my father pushed my face into a bowl of chocolate pudding for a laugh. So even the most innocuous gesture will have an impact, be it skating lessons or three stooges humor. (I am happy to say that I am over my pudding-phobia. It was very short lived.)

So what do we do as parents? Knowing we are going to screw up doesn't give us carte blanche or let us off the ropes of our responsibility. What we do is understand that we do our best. We get over ourselves and our need to prove how good we are to other parents ("No, I have the happiest baby on the block!!") and we work to give our children what they truly need. I'm currently doing a training in an approach to therapy that focuses quite a bit on our early childhood experiences and how they shape us. Developmentally there are certain messages and experiences we need as children to feel safe and good about ourselves. These have become my guiding principles and they are in fact what we as parents need for ourselves too. (Being a good parent means also being a good parent to yourself , but that's a different post).

So from a book called Body, Self and Soul here are the "good mom" and "good dad" messages. The great thing is that anyone can give these to a child so they are simply "Good Parent" messages.

• I want you.
• I love you
• I'll take care of you.
• You can trust me.
• I'll be there for you
• It's not what you do, but who you are that I love.
• You are special to me.
• I love you, and I give you permission to be different from me.
• Sometimes I will tell you "no" and that's because I love you.
• My love will make you well.
• I see you and hear you.
• You can trust your inner voice.
• You don't have to be afraid anymore.
• I have confidence in you. I am sure you can do it.
• I will set limits and I will enforce them.
• If you fall down, I will pick you up.
• You are special to me, I am proud of you.
• You are beautiful and I give you permission to be a sexual being.And you get to choose who you love.
• I give you permission to be the same as I am AND the permission to be more than I am AND the permission to be less than I am.

Patience

Patience 

N. just celebrated his fourth birthday. Already he has been part of our family for two years and it's incredible the changes we have seen in him. In fact seeing him today and comparing him to two years ago it is like looking at two completely different boys. N. today is bright, intelligent, playful, meticulous, affectionate and his eyes shine with life. When he first came to us he was withdrawn, angry, isolated and you could sense that he wasn't behind his eyes. He had locked himself somewhere deep inside. He went through the motions of a hug, but you felt the ragdoll arms just going along with what you requested of him. Today he squeezes the breath out of me.

So... a lot changes with time. And this is where patience comes in. And hope. And love. And hard work. And commitment. But what we don't often hear about is the other side we don't want to admit. The doubt. And despair. And fear. Yes, these two years were filled with a lot of emotion to bring us to where we are now. 

Chosing to adopt a child through youth protection, you have very little illusions of what might await you. In fact, the social workers drum this into you before you even sign the foster parent agreement. And if you are at all like me, you've also read everything you can get your hands on about adopting children and all about THE word in the adoption field: Attachment. So based on what you have read, you are prepared to hold on for 6 months to a year for attachment to work its magic. You know the "tricks" that will help it along. But what you aren't ready for is how hard it can be as you wait. And how much you actually do while you wait. And how much you forget to be patient.

With our first son, K, he came from a very loving foster family experience. The house was filled with kids who adored him so we worked through the loss of his foster family as he transitioned, but he was very well primed for attachment. N., on the other hand spent a year in foster care where he was under-stimulated. His basic needs were met, but the "extra" was missing. 

As we worked to engage with him the first few months, we noticed things that troubled us. The first was that he didn't grieve his foster family. Or at least, not in the way K. had done. There were no tears, tantrums or any signs of upset at all. The first night he slept over (which we were primed for after K.'s hysterics) he just said, "good night" and rolled over. No tears, no asking for foster family. At bath time he wouldn't sit in the water. He stood up with his arms raised as if ready for just a quick scrub. At the park, I needed to show him what to do. As for hugs, the rag doll was what we got. 

We knew we were dealing with a child who hadn't been sufficiently stimulated, but as time went on we wondered what else might be going on. Knowing a bit of his mother's past there was a suspicion of fetal alcohol syndrome, though he didn't exhibit any physical signs at birth. As time went on and there were no real improvements, a continued lack of empathy, no improvement in his speech, continued aggression, we wondered if he might be autistic. Every little sign and symptom was read into. He walked on his tip toes, he didn't like to be held, physical stimulation bothered him, he displayed rigid, compulsive behaviours. 

As we brought these up to the social workers, new information about him and his development was discussed with us that confirmed our worries. We felt that this had been held back from us so that he would be placed. Our trust in our workers was shattered and they weren't able to give us any concrete help. 

N. was violent at times with K. Hitting, spitting and biting. He wouldn't answer when we called him. He would be sullen and withdrawn. At the dinner table it felt like there was the three of us and him.

We wondered if we had made a mistake.

This was really hard to admit and also part of the reason why I didn't write much about his transition to our family. I couldn't light-heartedly joke and write about what was happening. I just felt a sense of dread and fear of what our family was to become. 

Given that we didn't feel our social workers were much help, we reached out other ways. We spoke to our pediatrician. I got a session booked with a psychologist to look at what might be going on. We fought to have N. assessed for autism or other developmental delays. What came up was a severe lack of stimulation and significant speech delay. But in the light of little development despite our attempts, we still wondered what to do.

Truth be told, I had to do a lot of work on myself to be a good dad to him in this time. I had to work on the hurt of giving as much love as I could only to be rejected and having it thrown back in my face. I was starting to lose my empathy for him and this scared me. We were almost a year in the process and though we were still moving towards adoption, we had second thoughts: maybe we weren't the right family for him.

In one critical therapy session I actually got to the point where I verbalized this clearly and took in the implications of what this meant. I had to get over the guilt and shame of feeling this to actually have this truth out in the open. And having said it, I saw what I would need to do. I felt horrible, but at peace in a strange way. I finally had admitted to myself that I was not able to love this child the way I thought he needed. I was ready to let the workers know that we would work to find a better fit for him. But as I left the therapist's office and started my way home, I imagined what the house would be like without him. And I couldn't.  

The brief relief of thinking he would be in a better family was replaced with a sense of loss. And a better understanding of the pain he had been through. The reason why it was dangerous for him to love, and why he needed to reject my love to stay safe. I saw how I was imposing my love on him and working hard to get him to conform to my idea of family. In the hopes of forcing attachment, I wasn't letting him be. 

So I shifted. Internally, a new place formed where I could accept who he was and what he was living with. My love for him changed to no longer work to compensate what he lacked, but to just be present with him and to wait. I resolved to be patient. 

That very day as I walked in the door was the first time he ran into my arms to greet me.

From that day on, he would approach me. I quietly let him get to know me. His fingers would tentatively stroke my face, he'd look into my eyes with questioning. I simply would remain with him. I no longer tried to force the attachment by doing things for him and have him learn to depend on me. I let him try things on his own until he got frustrated and he'd ask me for help. I simply stopped trying so hard and let things unfold.

It seemed to work... today I can say it worked wonderfully.

He is now a secure little boy, filled with wonder at the world and quick to laugh and smile. He sings the alphabet and counts the steps on the way to daycare. He hugs his friends (when they don't try to take away his toys) and is loving. He trusts adults again and feels safe to be in the world.

So yes, hard work and time made this happen. And yes, we did fall into the "time delay" I had read about in those attachment books. But I had lost hope and patience. And a year to work on attachment is one thing to read, but when filled with endless minutes of heartache is difficult to bear. So I write this for other adoptive parents who might be feeling lost and overwhelmed and afraid to admit this to themselves. On the other side of all that pain, dread and hopelessness is family. Hold on, be patient, and get support. There is a child in there that will astonish you.

Courage

 Something I’ve heard often when I’ve shared with people that I’ve adopted children through youth protection services is how “courageous” I am. To be honest, it’s something that doesn’t sit well with me. I don’t take it as a compliment, though they mean it as one. I’ll tell them that it’s not courage that led me to adopt a child. In fact, as a gay man, adopting with youth protection is the only option available to me unless I’m willing to lie in order to adopt internationally or spend thousands of dollars on a surrogate (Elton John or NPH I am not) . So not much courage there, just a loss of other avenues. 

But they’ll go on and insist that I am indeed courageous. That it must not be easy to love someone else’s child, that the fear of losing them if their parents came back would be too much for them, etc. At this point I’ll mumble an uncomfortable thanks just to end the conversation. 

I’ve turned this over in my head many times as I keep hearing this word to describe my choice to adopt and the same malaise comes over me. Why? What could be so wrong with hearing that my choice to adopt is seen as a courageous one? Why can’t I swallow the compliment?

One day it finally came to me. The reason why people think it’s courageous to adopt is because they are afraid to open their hearts and homes to a child from youth protection, but why? Having done so myself (twice) I don’t see the fear involved. I see the joy that comes from building a family. Yes, the difficulties that come with working on attachment are there, but they’ll be there for any family. So why this situation in particular? 

The problem, I finally realized, is that people are afraid of the children themselves. And this is what is hurtful to me when I hear them talk about courage. What I hear is how afraid they are of the children I have taken into my life. How they would never be able to do so themselves and my mind goes to how many children the system will continue to fail and not place into permanent, loving homes due to this fear. And this is all based on ignorance and misinformation.

Of course, there’s tons of misinformation about adoption in general out there. When I tell people my two sons are adopted they ask what country they are from. I tell them they are from Montreal. They are incredulous. “I didn’t know you can adopt from here.” They kind of light up as they say this, thinking of themselves or other couples they know looking to adopt. “Yes,” I say, “through youth protection”. “Oh.” And that light in their eyes diminishes. 

In Dan Savage’s book “The Kid” which recounts he and his partner’s ordeals in becoming gay fathers he explains how he opted out of adopting from youth protection as he termed these children as “damaged goods”. 

Damaged goods. Good God, these are children we are referring to who have been failed by parents unwilling or unable to step in and take responsibility for providing a safe, nurturing home for them. Children who long for someone to care for them and are hurt and hurting and wounded. Children who continue to hope and yes, eventually lose that hope after too many adults have failed them. But what is truly damaged here? 

And in this mindset of damaged goods children who are somehow too tarnished to love, beliefs are created about how damaging, violent, aggressive, etc. they are. These beliefs create the need for courage in order to adopt them. These beliefs fuel the questions to me such as “if it doesn’t work out, can you send him back?”

“Shit, no, I lost the receipt.” 

And so it hurts me to hear that my choice to love my children is courageous. What I hear is your ignorance and inability to see beyond your limited belief. I hear you say things like how lucky I am that it worked out. That my children are lucky to have me. I’m seen as some form of saint. 

I’m not. I’m just a gay man who wants a family. And maybe because I had to overcome negative beliefs about being homosexual I’m more practiced at seeing through how hurtful and how false negative beliefs can be. I’m willing to challenge them.

What I am working up to here is a call to greater awareness. A call to overcome fear in order to respond to the needs of children living here, right here in our community who need homes. Maybe believing these children to be monsters helps the guilt for failing them? That it’s too late anyway?

Don’t let it be.