Two Brave Hearts

An Adoption Story

By Sabrina Glidden

We were to leave in just two weeks. Progressing through each day in stitches, with chewed fingernails and a severe lack of sleep, I kept my eyes on the prize I had waited for since childhood. The stress of meeting demands of perfection in paperwork and interviews to satisfy the Ukrainian Adoption Committee, while studying full time at a local college, took its toll on me. Earning enough funds for the adoption process during our eight-month waiting period had leveraged the senses of my otherwise healthy, active husband, Tom. On Valentine's Day in 2002 we boarded the plane to find and bring home two children whom we had never known.

We had crossed the world to fulfill our dream, and the moment was now upon us. We were driven down a bumpy road with dark buildings and skinny stray dogs that nipped at your fingers as you walked along the beaten path. As our interpreter, Oksana, knocked on the door of one of the small "baby houses," I saw a sadly endearing sight through the window. A skinny-legged boy stood, pulling his shorts up to his ribs, licking his hands before running them over his hair to slick it back. He gave a smile that revealed a lost front tooth. The orphanage worker who was his audience nodded her approval, and he stood behind a door that he was waiting to be opened. When we entered, out he came with another little boy behind him.

The two boys recited a poem in Russian. The worker explained to our interpreter that, though the boys had not been formally educated, they were extremely bright. They have caught on to American life and family belonging rapidly. Due to the neglect and abuse they had endured in their first seven years of life, some skills you and I take for granted had been delayed.

One of the most heartbreaking matters that we have faced is the bad-boy syndrome. This, of course, is not a clinical, but more of a maternal term. My boys have had difficulty in America's soft environment. Here it is considered bad to hit, kick or bite. We applaud equality. In the orphanage, however, domination was the key to survival. Whether it is a toy to play with or more food that you wanted, the winner is the biggest, meanest kid in the place. That was my Thomas.

He often seemed to be playing a game with us, like he wasn't really a good boy, just that he was expected to be. It took him some time to learn that he didn't need to fight anyone for more food, that we freely gave it. At first, he had a hard time comprehending that no matter how much food James ate, Thomas could still have more. He didn't understand that because one of us was eating, it did not mean less food for another.

As we were leaving a shopping center, with bundles of new clothes for them, we saw some toys that seemed just perfect. Tom snuck off to the purchase counter with one for each of them, while we waited on a bench. When their daddy presented the packages to them, James clung to his bag of clothes and looked at the floor.

"No, thank you," he said in broken English. "I keep clothes."

After longing for parents their entire lives, they have learned not to assume anything. When we met them, James stated that he was "ready to work." Thomas had been unable to make eye contact with us, and they were both unsure of how much they could eat from the supper table. At first these incidents seemed unrelated. But we soon learned that they were connected at a deep emotional level.

Want to see more?

• A Happy Ending: Our Adoption Experience
• Praying for Snow, Aunt Eleonore and a Healthy Son: A Religious Perspective on Adoption
• International Adoptions: A Healthy Leap of Faith
• Talk about it!