2: Nurture
I don’t actually remember how I came to live with my adoptive parents. I know I wasn’t born to them. They wouldn’t dare let me forget. I was just their back up in case IVF didn’t work—a little orphan girl who would be eternally grateful even if they failed to learn to love me or even try.
I picture our first meeting from time to time. My adoptive parents have told me enough stories about it that I have a feeling I picture it properly. If they didn’t insist on claiming me as their daughter, I wouldn’t bother calling them mother and father anymore, based on the picture they painted. Yet they insist that since they are raising me I owe them the respect of letting everyone know they are my mother and my father.
For my part, I did my best to impress them with my cuteness and bright mind despite having no idea why I was meeting two more strangers. With my light hair and light eyes, most people thought I looked angelic at that age. The few pictures that I found reveal more of a sad guardian whose ward kept making bad decisions than a smiling cherub. After my mother passed as I entered the world, my father tried his best to care for me. The few mementos that the social worker kept for me show that quite clearly.
But depression proved a cruel and demanding mistress after the death of his wife, so he relinquished his parental rights and allowed the state to make decisions about my future. He wrote a letter to explain this, but I wouldn’t hear anything except that my real family hadn’t wanted me until I turned eighteen.
Sally the social worker carried me to the door and placed me gently on my feet. She liked to let me make a good first impression by toddling into meetings with prospective parents. Curiosity always lead my wavering footsteps toward the new couple waiting to meet their potential daughter. Apparently, the women with blond curls held the highest attraction for me. I’d stumble right into their arms and their hearts, but somehow I passed my first birthday without finding a new home. I imagine the haunted look in my light eyes that every photo captured which lead to my long tenure with the adoption agency.
“This is Opera,” Sally introduced me as I came to clutch at mother’s skirt.
“I wanted a baby with that newborn smell. This one is already walking.”
“Just barely,” the social worker’s already pinched smile tightened even more. “I explained to you how difficult it is to find a newborn to adopt. This little girl could go home with you by the end of the month.” The look she leveled on mother and father reproved them more than any words could have.
Father’s eyes pled with mother as much as his words, “You always wanted a little girl and look how she came right to you.”
“That was rather sweet. And if we can’t have our own…” Bitterness crept in as her words trailed off.
She leaned forward to peer into my eyes. Their soft blue depths seemed to look through me. One slender hand rose slowly, cautiously as one would approach a skittish kitten. Her tentative touch gently pushed fine tendrils of blond hair back from my forehead.
“At least she looks like she could be ours.” She murmured softly. “We could name her after my mother.”
Sally frowned at this, “Once they reach a certain age, we discourage changing the name they go by. They aren’t puppies, after all.”
Mother and father exchanged looks again. Father never spoke much but his eyes had practice in wordlessly reasoning with her. She sighed as I grasped her hand in both of mine and rested my cheek against it.
Apparently, that small act melted her heart enough to win her over. They filled out a million forms and promptly agreed to invasions of privacy that included a rigorous background check and home visits before and after my arrival in their lavish home.
A couple of weeks later, I joined my new family. At first, they fawned over me, elated to finally realize the dream of becoming parents. They showered me with gifts and took turns holding me and reading me stories. They made time for me and listened intently so they could understand my garbled words and fine meaning in them. Then something changed.
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