“I’m not adoptable,” he stated flatly.  “What?”, I replied, surprised by his comment.  “I’m.  Not.  Adoptable.”  He repeated it louder, as if perhaps he thought I was hard of hearing.  He was sitting on my exam table, and I had just been looking in his ears and asking him about school and friends.  Then the conversation turned to family and why he was in foster care.  His parents had been involved with drugs for many years.  His dad was now in prison, mom was nowhere to be found – he wondered if she might be dead.  He had been in DHS custody since the age of 5 – he was now 15. 

“I went to this adoption party, and I overheard some people say that I’m not adoptable because I am too old.”   At that, tears welled up in his eyes and began to spill down his face.  I grabbed him, held on to him.  Not exactly what we are trained to do in medical school, but it was a reflex- I couldn’t help it.  He took a few breaths and went on.  “I met some people who wanted to adopt a son. They talked to me for a little while but then moved on to meet other children, and I overheard them saying that I was too old, that no one would want to adopt someone my age.”  His eyes were dry now but sad.  “All I used to want was to be adopted.  I am a good kid – I am not the smartest, but I do OK in school.  I know how to take care of myself.  I don’t get in any trouble.  I don’t understand why no one wants me.” 

My mind was spinning, quickly assessing my own family situation.  A toddler at home and another baby on the way, in a three bedroom house that was quickly becoming decorated in “toy.”   Both my husband and I working full time, and me taking night classes in health administration on top of that.  Did I want to add a 15 year old boy with 10 years of foster care and a lifetime of baggage to that? 

No.

I told him that I thought he was perfectly adoptable, and that I was sure someone would come along who wanted him.  It sounded lame even to me. 

“Do YOU want me?  Would YOU ever adopt me?” 

I was frozen.  Of course I wanted him to have a family, I just didn’t want the effort of being it.  He could sense my struggle, and his face changed again, this time looking reserved and emotionless.  “It’s OK,” he said.  “My case worker says I need to spend the next couple of years learning how to take care of myself anyway.”  Head down, I left the room and went on to the rest of my day, but I never forgot him.  And I didn’t sleep for a week.  And I felt like a fraud.  And I have always wondered if he should have been MY son. 

“If I speak in the tongues of men and angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or clanging cymbal.” – 1  Corinthians 13:1 (NIV)