Since posting my submission on “acceptance” I have received a number of Emails and a few comments posted on that particular blog from my friends, Sue Branson and Jeff Carter. At first I thought my posting was a bit too sophomoric, a mere complaint about a family tiff. The overwhelming support from Emails is greatly appreciated, as are the posts on the post itself.

This weekend, it was heavily discussed with Mother and Dena. At one point Mother said she wanted to have a photograph taken of “all five of my grandsons.” Whether Destin, or his wife, will permit their son to share in the image making moment is uncertain, but I would not wish to be either of them if such a moment is opposed. I have a feeling Mother and Dena will allow the hidden tigress to appear.

I think back on all the support I received when I introduced the process, and then Matt’s adoption. Mother and I are very similar in the fact that we seldom shed tears. I am not opposed to such a display of emotion for myself – it is just not something that comes readily. I remember twice in a less than three weeks when I saw my mother cry – when she viewed Matt’s video sent up from Texas and the day she talked to Matt on the telephone when she was visiting for a production of Joseph & The Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat. The video of Matthew, which I showed him on his 16th birthday, was just downright pathetic. The depressed, lifeless little creature, all but having given up being adopted at age 12, presenting a brave front to the world, hoping… just hoping that someone might desire to take him home. It was much like going to a kennel and looking at the little puppies, or worse yet, older dogs, behind the cages, their big eyes imploring you to take them home…

I have never heard, “But you are a single dad, you cannot adopt.” Nor have I ever heard, “The aren’t really yours.” I would probably enter in to a violent moment on the last, as Matthew and Jose are most definitely my sons. There are times when I forget they have not been around all their life and I must remind myself that they have missed out on some moments in our family. Matt is probably more like a son than any biological son could be – he has my focus, my desire to be of help to others, my ability to be alone, and the quiet side of my nature. Jose has my wicked sense of humor, the very gregarious side of me when not desiring to be alone, my zest for living and my need to laugh often. Damn the genes and the DNA, they are my sons, and always shall be.

My friends were all supportive and could not wait for Matthew, and any other son to arrive. The only time I feel obligated to explain our family’s story is when old friends from college contact me and I must bring them up to date.

There was one moment in Kroger which was priceless. The boys were standing with me in a very long line and a couple stood behind us. “The taller boy must be his and the Hispanic boy a friend,” I heard them say quietly. I remembered something we needed and I sent the boys back for the items. As Jose took off he said, “Be right back, Father.” I could see the couple exchange glances and she told her husband, “He must look like his mother.” I turned and said, “They both look like each of their mothers.” And how I wanted to add, “And I have never been married!”

Most people, when learning of our family’s story, comment that what I am doing is “heroic.” There is nothing heroic about being a father. I do not feel as though I have “saved” my sons. I, like millions of other families throughout the world, created my family. Adoption is nothing new. In the Bible, one of the oldest collections of stories, there are a number of stories regarding adoption:
1) Moses was adopted by the pharaoh
2) Jesus was adopted by Joseph
3) Mary, the Mother of Christ, took James as her son at the bidding of Jesus when he was dying on the cross.

I have been reading several books on President Theodore Roosevelt and his eldest daughter, Alice. Princess Alice, as she was known to the world during and after her father’s presidency (1901-1909), was quite a colorful character. When her father told her that she was not permitted to smoke under his roof, she merely crawled out a White House window onto the roof and smoked there – but not under his roof. She jumped fully clothed into a swimming pool and drove her friend’s automobile at a dangerously excessive speed of 30 mph. A cabinet member told President Roosevelt he should exercise more control over his daughter. Roosevelt replied, “I can be president or I can attempt to manage Alice… I simply cannot do both.”

A young Theodore Roosevelt married Alice Lee in 1883 – one of the most beautiful women in America. While Roosevelt was serving in the New York General Assembly, he was summoned home when his wife gave birth on February 14, 1884, to a bouncing baby girl. When he arrived at his home, he was greeted by his brother, Elliott (the father of Eleanor Roosevelt) and told, “Mother is dying and Alice is too.” A few hours later, Theodore’s mother died from typhoid fever, and shortly thereafter, Alice died in his arms from Bright’s Disease. Theodore wrote, “When my beloved Alice died, the light of my life went out forever.” Baby Alice survived and was raised by her aunt, Anna “Bamie” Roosevelt. A few years later, Teddy remarried Edith, an old family friend, and this union produced four sons and a daughter. Although Alice’s step-mother treated her as her own, Alice often was treated shabbily by her half-siblings who sometimes taunted her about not having a mother of her own and having to share theirs with her.

As I read this familiar story last night, I was troubled by the thought that my own sons, unbeknownst to them, as also being taunted like Princess Alice. Their own uncle, the biological brother of their father, is just as heartless and cruel as the young Roosevelt children. I am sure they have had friends make thoughtless comments, and if so they have not been expressed here at home.

One of my favorite stories happened just before Jose came to live with us. Diabetes runs on both sides of my family lines, and the doctor once told Mother than her children had a 100% chance of being diabetic. In August 2004, Mother told me over the telephone one evening that Dad had been diagnosed with diabetes. I promptly said, “Well, my chances have increased even more.” Then it hit both Mother and myself – we sat there laughing. But, my blond moment actually said something more – there was no question in my mind or heart that David Haas had never at any time, not been my dad. A week or so later, Matthew and I were returning to Elwood for a weekend visit, and I told him that Grandpa Haas had been to the doctor and was told he had diabetes. Matthew asked, “Does that mean I will get it too since it is also hitting the men in our family?”

I said earlier in this posting that I seldom cry, but that could have been one of those moments when it would have come so easy. I never mentioned anything to Matthew about the lack of biological connection and simply said, “Well, if you watch your diet, exercise and get your blood checked regularly, you can stay on top of it.”

Acceptance…