Wise words

‘Since in sober truth things are so ordered that children can only have their being and their lives at the expense of our being and our lives, we ought not to undertake to be fathers if that frightens us.’

‘I condemn all violence in the education of tender minds which are being trained for honour and freedom. In rigour and constraint there is always something servile, and I hold that you will never achieve by force what you cannot achieve by reason, intelligence and skill.’

Michel de Montaigne. ‘On the affection of fathers for their children’. c1580-1590

Ready steady go

On the way back from G-’s family [S-'s grandparents], my chest infection was really getting the better of me. I couldn’t help coughing every 5 minutes or so.

In the back of the car S- was absorbed in pulling off her socks and shoes and studying her feet. ‘Cough cough,’ she said, ruminatively.

A little later she perked up a bit. ‘Daddy?’

‘Yes, S-’.

‘-eay.’

It took me a little while to get it but eventually I cottoned on.

‘Ready,’ she’d say.

‘Steady,’ I’d add.

And ‘Go!’ she’d say.

And then I’d have to cough, which made her chuckle.

And so we went on, down the motorway, for about an hour.

For the best?

I posted a question thread about Contact on the message boards at Adoption UK and among other responses got this list of the potential benefits of children meeting their birth parents:

• The child will know the birth parents care
• There will be a direct link for information if something important happens in the birth family or if there’s a need to know more about, for example, appropriate medical history
• The child will have no illusions about their birth parents
• The child will know that adoption and their birth parents are not taboo subjects and that their origins are accepted, at least by their adoptive parents

[UPDATE 14.07.08] After meeting X- and Y-, G- and I have decided not to go ahead with plans for direct contact between S- and her birth parents as it would be in nobody’s interests, least of all S-’s.

This was partly our own decision but also based on advice from social workers. X- and Y- have just not accepted the fact of S-’s adoption, and it’s unlikely that they ever will. We feel terrible for them as they feel – with perhaps some justification – that they’ve been badly treated by social services, but we really can’t afford to get involved with their problems: it’s S- we’ve got to think about now.

Having said all that, we’re glad to have met the people who brought S- into the world. Now we can at least tell S- a little bit about them and try to give her a clearer idea of why they couldn’t look after her, despite the fact that they loved her with all their hearts.

We’ve promised to write to X- and Y- a letter saying how pleased we were to meet them, and we have also committed to writing to them once a year with news [and, possibly, photos] of S [so called indirect contact]. Will we hear back from them? Who knows? At the moment that hardly seems the point.

As so many people have said, the theory of direct contact is all well and good but in practice things always seem so much more complex and difficult.

Bottom line

Perhaps it’s the re-emergence of X- and Y- that’s making me question things a little more than usual. Out at a restaurant last night S- and two girls of around 4 and 5 years had a riot, running around a table, shrieking and laughing and hugging each other while we waited for our banoffee pie.

Was it my imagination or could I see the question in the girls’ parents’ eyes? Were they looking at S- and comparing her big blue eyes and light features with my own green eyes and G-’s brown hair?

To be different in some way is to feel exposed, at least sometimes. It’s how you deal with it that’s important. When S- evaded the excited 5-year-old’s grip and hightailed it for the open front door, I was up and out of my seat and legging it after her as quick as any biological dad.

Letting go

I know how I would feel if S- was to suddenly disappear from my life, but I’m not sure I could explain it here. Our children are more important than words.

This last sentence explains I think why I’m happy that S-’s birth parents, X- and Y-, have recently contacted social services and seem to be keen to start making contact with us, with an eventual view to seeing S- in the flesh.

In-flight entertainment

We’re usually pretty strict on S-’s diet, especially when it comes to snacks and in-between meals. But after an hour or so on the flight back from Menorca, when her wriggling was on the verge of tipping into thrashing, we decided to ditch our principles.

The moral principle

Generally, I’m not one for the big issues: I prefer to test my philosophy and my psychological strategies in the humdrum of daily life. But it is easy to have big, clear thoughts when you’re on holiday and away from all this.

On our previous trip abroad, in Sicily, G- and I had spent time discussing Happiness, the book by Richard Layard which I believe I’ve mentioned before on this blog.

Happiness is the coming thing – there is a whole new science developing, apparently. It’s key principles seem rational enough and for a while I was something of a convert. However, in hindsight, there was always something nagging away at me about it.

Doing our bit?

We recently returned from our first holiday as a family abroad. We went to Menorca, to a resort called Calla Galdana, and had a fantastic, lazy time. Everything there is so easy: swings and play equipment outside restaurants, entertainment provided in the evenings, friendly locals. G- and I both had the bizarre notion that it was almost as though a whole island was on standby waiting to look after the kids!

A few years ago, when we were slightly younger and definitely more energetic, we’d have found Menorca a bit tame. I’m not saying we’d rather have spent our time queuing for nightclubs in Ibiza, but we’d have had a few later, some [moderately] wilder nights – and probably would have tried to take in a bit of culture, too.

We made a point of offsetting our flights to Menorca. Yes, I know all the arguments against it: the ducking of responsibility, the fact that it’s a scam, and so on. And I know that a few years ago I would have been on your case had you talked to me about offsetting.

But a life of grand gestures can be a pretty empty one. While we are doing our best to reduce our carbon emissions to the 3 tonnes per person that will save the world, there are times where we need some fun.

We bought our credits from eforests. I like this site because it seems low on the bullshit factor. You can see exactly what your credits are going to get you, and it seems to provide local benefits.

It has other advantages. I gifted my Mum and Dad 5 wild pear trees, which have now been planted near to Dad’s birthplace in Devon – and my parents were chuffed to bits. There’s also a carbon calculator that’s pretty simple to use and doesn’t seem to take ages to chew it’s way through the figures.

But even here, even with the best will in the world, it’s not entirely clear that this is the right thing to do. Is the calculation eforests came up with [£15, or 3 trees] the best, most accurate one, or will using another [eg those provided by the airline companies themselves] provide more bang for your buck.

You just have to take it on trust, I guess. And that can seem difficult when you read stories such as the headline article in The Guardian today.

Sunshine of your love

So stay-at-home dad is standing in the wood holding the pushchair, while the dog runs around under the oak trees. S- has stopped about 10 feet away and is looking at me, waiting.

She’s so tiny and cute, and stubborn – but I’m not actually thinking about that. I’m actually thinking about what H-, one of our friends, said recently in a similar situation: ‘Of course, the idea of a path only comes a lot later.’

I hadn’t seen it in that way before, but now it seems blindingly obvious. S- doesn’t know that we’re following a path. She doesn’t understand, and nor does she care, that we’ve actually decided to go in this direction.

The world these days has reference points that she recognises: the ’svings’, the moooos, the car, and so on. But beyond that she doesn’t yet think in straight lines – she’s an explorer, not a traveller – and it’s simply puzzling to be asked, with increasing sharpness, to ‘hurry up’ or ‘come this way’. [Not to mention amusing to run off in the other direction and to have daddy come chasing after her!] She needs to be guided, not force-marched.

I crouch and hide behind the pushchair. ‘Boo,’ I say, reappearing from the other side. ‘Boo,’ I say again, and then I wait a minute. Then I say, ”Hello S-’, and I wave. Her face breaks into a big, joyous smile, and she lurches off her heels and comes tumbling towards me.

Saving all my love for you

S- was calling from her bedroom. ‘Da da, Da da, DA DA.’ It was 4 in the afternoon and she’d woken up from her nap bang on time.

I was at the computer, typing. I had nearly finished what I was doing. Soooo nearly.

The thing was, I knew that with another 5 minutes I could get what I was doing completed and then go into S- and not have to think about the essay again …

It’s amazing how 5 minutes can turn into 20 right under your nose!

When I started writing this blog it was suposed to be just a diary of my time, and I was very concerned that it didn’t interfere with family life or my burgeoning relationship with my daughter.

Later, when friends and other people started commenting on the blog I began to think of it differently.

‘It’s for S-,’ I’d say. And in a way that’s true. I hope that when she’s older she does have the opportunity to read it and understand a little of what this unprecedented time was like.

But in a sense it was an evasion, too. I may have been writing for her, but the writing was beginning to take up more and more not only of my time but also of my mental energy. I was getting shorter and more impatient with S-, regretting my reaction, apologising and then starting to think about how I could include the whole exchange in the blog.

The so-called ‘diary’ was taking over our time together.

I’ve written before about the difficulty of remaining selfless when you are a stay-at-home dad [or mum] with a toddler. I had planned to say more. But I think this sums it up.