Talk for Brian
Almost 39 years ago Brian was born, Boy, we have been lucky for so many years. Two years later he was in an orphanage and soon a foster family, Later when we got Brian home and would tell his story; some people would say, "It's too bad that he couldn't have stayed with that family." Boy; were they dumb. Many have told us that he was lucky to have us. They never understood that we were the lucky ones. You all know what I mean because all of us have been blessed by Brian. And we need to remember that we were all so blessed to have him, even for such a short time.
In a BYU devotional in the late sixties, I heard that we should have lots of children for all the precious spirits waiting to be born. My thoughts were oppositional-as they always are. "What about all the abandoned children being born in Africa, China, or Korea?" I was unconvinced that a white Mormon child with BYU matriculating parents was any more important or loved by God than any other child born in the world.
I did not know it at the time, but my husband-to-be, who had served a mission in Korea, was reacting the same way to that Church-wide message. Thus, it came to pass, that after we were married, we started the adoption process for a child from Korea. We worked with Holt Adoption Agency, which is a terrific agency. We also worked with Illinois Social Services, which left everything to be desired. The social worker asked us, "Do you realize that this child will not be born by you?" "Really? Then children are not found in cabbage patches?" we almost said. "Do you realize that this child probably came from an illegitimate affair?" "Yes, and as soon as we can, we will tattoo a big red A on his forehead," (Bite tongues. Don't say anything that would label us as unfit parents.) Brian got some great tattoos for himself when he was older.
As soon the Holt adoption agency sent us his picture, I knew he was my son from ages past-even with a face covered with dark chicken pox marks and a very bad haircut. Getting Brian home from Korea was delayed because Vietnam had fallen and those children needed to be evacuated first. I selfishly grieved.
The first Sunday we had him home, he hugged and kissed my husband all through the church meeting. Brian was inquisitive, happy, and social, and three years old. (I have
always wanted to thank his birth mother and foster mother for the gift they gave. I was never able to do that. Brian didn't care to find his birth parents. "You are my real mom," he said.) He was using complete English sentences within weeks of coming home. One day, Brian was telling Keith that he was a daddy. Keith said, "Brian, you are not a daddy. You are a son." Brian said, "you're a moon." He loved to play word games. A month later I would ten him, "you are my son," and he would reply, "you are my moon and stars."
We would play word rhyme games until I would give up in exhaustion. I had no idea one could rhyme "glue" so many ways. We would play a game of saying "you're a cow" and he would answer, "you're a goat." This exchange went on and on with the nouns changing.
It took him several months before he must have felt like he was home. Before that he had never spilled or made a mess and was hiding food for fear of not having enough to eat. For six months he climbed out of his bed and slept on the floor covering himself with a throw rug. It must have scared the little tyke to sleep high off the safe floor.
It took him a nanosecond to act superior to his 18-month-old sister that he got in the family package, and it took less time than that for him to realize that maleness in our house was not correlated to superior-ness, From then on, he was his sister's protector. Brian's cousin, Eric, wrote to me that he remembered Brian nearly beating a neighborhood kid senseless because that kid had made fun of Layna on her bike. Brian could be a little intense. All of us have felt that intense protection.
One day I came home frustrated because I had to pay extra money for wide shoes for Brian. Keith wondered out loud, why Brian would need wide shoes saying, "How come he needs wide shoes? Both of us have such narrow feet."
Life was so new for all of us. Brian had never tasted 7-Up, He must have thought it was water and he took a big gulp of it. As the carbonation burned, his eyes widen and his little hands opened and shook. He swallowed, gave us a big grin, and we laughed.
Brian has always been social, helpful, and giving. Christmas presents, given to him would find their way to friends with greater needs-much to the dismay of Santa Claus who had worked very hard to obtain a few items. On his mission in cold Chicago, Illinois, I was told, he gave someone in need his coat.
