How to Adopt a Child without Signing Papers

Because there are several of you who have asked, ‘What’s the story behind your kid who doesn’t look anything like the rest of you?’ I made a phone call, asked permission, and am now laying it ALL out there.

The short answer to the question, “How To Adopt a Child Without Going to Court" is by omission: when the birth parent doesn’t give a shit.

Simple enough?

Okay- short story long:

Growing up, our kids had many friends. We had the kind of home where all the kids congregated – plenty of food, plenty of room, always something going on, adults who were interested in them, etc.

Ben and I knew all of them, some better than others. It didn’t matter. A friend was a friend was a friend blahblahblah, unless I caught you smoking pot- and then you were out.

One day our son Chase came through the door with a young man I knew, bashful and polite, but he wasn’t one of the ‘regulars’. They were both stunned and dazed.

He sent his friend upstairs with a, “I’ll meet you up there in a minute.” Then he turned to me and said, ”Mom, we have a problem.”

Oh Jesus. My favorite sentence.

“What?”

“Tyler’s sister has just committed suicide. She was found hanging from her bathroom door and his parents are out of town. He doesn’t know what to do.”

“Where is she?”

“I don’t know? Maybe at a hospital?”

“Okay. I’m going up to talk to him.”

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“Tyler? May I come in?”

A small, “yes.”

“What’s happened? Can you tell me?”

“My sister’s killed herself.”

“What have you been told? Who called you? Where are your parents?”

“I just saw my stepbrother. He told me. He found her just a little while ago. I was with Chase at the gas station. I can’t breath.”

“Where are your parents?”

“In Utah. “They’re picking up my other step sister from an Outward Bound program where they sent her because she was in their way.”

What!?!?

“When are they expected home?”

“I don’t know. They never told me.”

“Who’s taking care of you and all the other kids? Who’s the adult at the house?”

“We have a full-time housekeeper. She’s there. She cooks too. And drives us to school.”

“Why don’t you stay here, with us, until this all settles out. Okay?”

“Yes.”

And so I found out that Tyler was part of a blended family- except the blender had very dull blades.

His birth-mother died of an accidental drug overdose when he was just shy of eight, and his stepmother’s first husband died of something that she sued over and won a wrongful death claim leaving her a very rich woman. Tyler’s stepmother came to the marriage with three young kids (two girls and a boy) controlling the purse strings, and his father with three young boys- and the backbone of a slug.

All through that week, we both waited for a call from his parents. Nothing. I chalked it up to shock, but still… Several days later, Tyler told us that his stepsister’s funeral was scheduled for the coming Saturday.

“Did your Dad finally call?” I asked.

“No. I found out at school from some kids.”

Wow.

I called his family house and was told (by the housekeeper?) that neither parent was taking calls. I told her I had Tyler with me. She said, “that’s nice.” then hung up.

Ben, I, and our two children, took Tyler, standing with him, to the wake. His stepmother was so drugged she could barely speak. Tyler told me that was the way she always was — stoned on prescription meds. His father just bobbed his head up and down, with a stupid grin on his face (was he high too?) when I introduced myself and told him that Tyler had been with us, and asked if he would call me to discuss ‘matters’.

I never received that phone call- ever.

Little by little Tyler, a senior in High School, told me what is was like to live in his home. I’ll just say, here, that it was not a happy home and I’m being g-e-n-e-r-o-u-s.

Over the next several weeks, with no contact from his family, I was encouraged, by my friends and family, to call Tyler’s father and stepmother. But I decided not to: I wanted to see just how long, and to what degree, they were willing to abandon him. And they were VERY willing (several months of ‘willing’).

With High School graduation upon him, I decided it was time for a showdown conversation with his father.

“Hello. Mr. Smith? My name is Cheryl. You’re son has been living with my family for the past several months. I think it’s time we talk.”

“Oh. Sorry, I’ve been really busy lately. Could we talk tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow? I’m sorry I thought you said ‘tomorrow’. No. We will talk today at 4pm, here, at my house, and if you don’t show-up I will be at your home, pounding on the door and roasting weenies in your driveway, so it’s going to be today, Mr. Smith. Am I clear?”

“I’ll be there.”

“I have a big mouth, Mr. Smith. You don’t want me using it in our small town. Start being smart.”

Next up: the fam… I told them all, including my husband, to stay away that day so I could have my chat with Mr. Smith. Ben doesn’t like conflict and I thought it best he not be there to witness what was about to go down.

He showed up, Tyler’s father, and we had a talk, or maybe I should say ‘_I_ had a talk’.

He attempted to garner my sympathy by telling me he had recently been diagnosed with cancer. I said I didn’t give a shit. I really did.

“I don’t give a rat’s ass about your health. We are only talking about the son you have failed to contact for over five months. The one who not only lost his mother, but has now lost his beloved stepsister. The son you and your wife have on all sorts of unnecessary medication. The kid who can’t get up in the morning without his pill, and can’t go to sleep at night without ‘his helper’. We are not talking about you. We are not talking about me. We are talking about him. And if you think because you have a ‘law’ degree you can manipulate this conversation you will find yourself sadly underestimating me.”

What I did give a SHIT about was: 1) his son’s stability, 2) his son’s collage education, and 3) him having anything more whatsoever to do with his son because he was a sniveling tripe of a little man with no business being a father and didn’t deserve any of his children, but I could only save one.

We agreed on a financial arrangement for Tyler’s college fund (no other monetary compensation was offered or requested), and he was on his way- never to be heard from again.

Never. To be. Heard from. Again.

That was 12 years ago. Our entire family has taken him in as one of their own – all the weddings, the picnics, the holidays. The whole kaboodle.

Tyler graduated from college, did a ‘find myself’ moment in Colorado, and later found his way to New Orleans, after Ben and I relocated here. He now lives down the street.

There have been ups-n-downs, like any young man finding his way. But he will find himself. And he can always come home. Because WE are the blended family now… and I keep my small appliances in tiptop shape.

Cheryl chronicles life at Royal Balls, wearing really expensive ruby slippers, while trotting the globe, and gardening naked at midnight- because she can. Join her at A Pleasant House to celebrate the elegance of decay at Midlife! You can also find her on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, or Instagram.