What's the hardest part of adopting an older child?

I guess I should start by noting that the answer is NOT the older child. In fact, the answer has nothing to do with either the adoptive parent or the adopted child. I say this gently, but honestly: if there is anything that makes it hard, it's everyone else.

Because adopting an older child is not the "norm", we are obviously going to be the weirdos in the crowd (which I likely was already...well before I adopted my sons). That said, do people have to look at us like we're the freaks? Can they at least pretend that we look like everyone else? Please, no more questions regarding who the real parents are or if I'm ever going to have my own kids. First, I'm as real as it gets, baby! Second, I already have my own kids--Mychael and Malcolm, thank you very much.

Look, I'm not asking for a baby shower or anything, but I would appreciate it if people viewed my adopting children as celebratory in nature as they view birthing them. Instead of questions like, "Why would you do that?" or "Can you not have your own?", how about "Congratulations!". And if they can't muster the pat on the back, how about at least toning down the look of suspicion and disapproval. Humor me with your game face.

I'm going to let you in on a secret. My kids and I (okay, mostly me) actually think we're better than the biological families. We're certainly a lot tougher, and we've had to work a whole lot harder for respect. I liken the scenario to two teams running a race. One team opts to run the route in 30 degree weather. That route has hills and lots of traffic. The other team runs in 65 degree weather and has nothing but obstruction free, flat terrain from start to finish. Both teams reach the finish line at the same time. Which team won? Which team is tougher?

I guess I don't fault people who stare and ask unintentionally insensitive questions. At least they're talking about the obvious. Most people don't even want to engage in a conversation about children in foster care. Even the word is taboo. For the longest time, I thought this was because people truly viewed these children as "other people's trash" (as my son likes to put it). However, since having the kids, I have begun to think the avoidance is more about guilt than anything else.

People always change the subject when I start talking about the need for foster parents or adoptive parents. If they are brave enough to move forward with the conversation,they'll inevitably have some excuse about why they just can't do it: too young, too old, too tired, already have too many kids, maybe sometime in the future, husband/wife doesn't want to, etc.

I believe that the decision to either change the subject or make excuses is reflective of their feeling guilty. And please believe me, I get that. I've been there. Why do you think I adopted my kids in the first place? Sure, now I love my kids more than anything in the world, but at first, mostly I just felt guilty. I mean come on, we're not talking about scarfing down half the chocolate cake. We're talking about leaving an abandoned child in an unstable, unpredictable environment where they will be forced to face their futures alone. We should feel guilty!

Guilt gets a bad rap; sometimes it's a good thing--it's our conscious telling us what's right and wrong. Listen closely. We could have been that child, though for whatever reason, we got lucky. That child didn't have any more control over the life that she/he was born into than we did being born into ours. Had you been the kid dealt the unlucky hand, would you want someone to feel guilty? I say, feel the guilt, become the guilt and then do something about it. It's the right thing to do and sometimes, that's all that matters.

I know it's a hard concept to grasp for people who aren't adoptive parents, but all the perceived challenges of adoption really aren't that significant once you've adopted--at least no more so than having a biological child (so I've observed). You think it's going to be so challenging to deal with the child's biological family or that adopting an older child means a whirlwind of drama thanks to the child's tumultuous past. However, it just doesn't play out like that.

The reality is that you love your children and therefore, you actually learn to love, value in the least, their biological family. You appreciate that your children share a biological heritage with another Mom and Dad and perhaps siblings. Thus, in order for them to feel whole, they must be allowed (encouraged) to embrace both their past and their present. This isn't that different than families who deal with divorce or the death of a parent.

I've experienced this first hand, as my own parents are divorced and re-hitched. I expect both sets of my parents to value the presence of the other in my life. I also expect both step-parents to recognize that they are not the rival of my same sex biological parent. If they are unwilling to appreciate this, then I feel resentful and ultimately, even more protective of my biological parent. If the step-parent is like my Mom's perma-friend Paul, who attends family functions at my Dad's Mom's and refers to her as "Grandma T.", then I'm going to love you because you make me feel unconditionally accepted; you don't force me to choose sides.

As the adoptive parent, you have to accept that you came second. However, you also have to remember that at this point, despite arriving late, your role in your child's life is more important than that of the biological parent. You're the one who will help the child to resolve the hurts. You'll be the parent in whom the child seeks to be unconditionally loved and accepted. I know it seems complicated when you're looking at it from the outside, but trust me, the learning curve is short. What do you say when people ask if you love one of your children more than the other? "No," hopefully. But why not? Because the relationship you share with each child is unique and different. There is no competition. You have room in your life for everyone. By the way, I'd be lying if I didn't admit that I love Paul as much as I do my biological father. Blood isn't everything. It's commitment.

After we moved to Indiana, we lost touch with my kids' Mom (whom the kids only spoke to occasionally prior to moving). I could have made a better effort to keep track of her, but I didn't. I felt the kids needed a break, a fresh start. I knew they felt guilty for moving forward in their lives and believed that they would benefit from a change of scenery. After a couple years, I decided it was time to find their Mom again. I wanted to make sure that they had the option of contacting her should they desire to do so. Not to mention, I didn't want to be cited as the reason why they couldn't talk to her, as I didn't want to give them any reason not to trust that I love them unconditionally--two Moms and all.

I contacted the old adoptions social worker and she sent a letter to Mom providing our address and phone number. About a month later, Mom sent back a letter providing her address and phone number. I told Malcolm about the letter upon picking him up from lacrosse practice, and on the way home, I had a long talk with him about it. I shared that I felt it would probably be best to slowly re-establish contact with Mom since she was going through her own challenges at the time. I reminded him that she had only been clean (a major feat for a Mother with a drug addiction who subsequently lost all her children) for a couple years and that we didn't want to do anything that would make her feel bad or guilty, as that could potentially put her sobriety in jeopardy.

I suggested that he first write her a letter and then go from there. Malcolm listened, but didn't say a word. Perhaps to be expected, as soon as we got home, he made a bee line for the phone and called his Mom. What happened? Thankfully she didn't relapse, but Malcolm felt pretty disappointed. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and I'm sure the reality of their conversation was much different than the one he'd imagined they'd have. I didn't press him for details and waited until he was ready to talk about it. In the end, our relationship was stronger because I reached out to Mom, not in spite of it.

It wasn't always easy "sharing" my sons. However, when you truly love someone, particularly a child, your love for them is unrelated to their relationship with you...at least it should be. Unconditional love means unconditional of me. I'm the parent and I'm supposed to be the better person. It's in the job description. Not to mention, how can I love Malcolm and Mychael and not simultaneously care about the person who gave birth to them?

The ultimate goal is for my children to find resolution and be allowed to move forward guilt-free. The issue should never be about me. I'm the person who chose to be the parent. They are the children who, despite being at the mercy of everyone else, have spent their entire lives trying to survive enormous emotional challenges. In fact, we expect them to find a way to overcome regardless of whether or not they did anything to bring about the adversity. How selfish would it be for me to allow my own insecurity to further burden them?

Just like I expected my sons to find a way to forgive their Mom and move forward, I had to put my own insecurities to rest. And I did. The bottom line is that I chose to be in this position, just like my parents chose to get a divorce and get re-hitched. Each of us has the important responsibility of not allowing our children to get caught in the cross fire of our decisions.

I mentioned before that I've gone through some significant personal growth and become a much better person since adopting my sons. Any challenge faced as the result of adopting an older child (to wit: my sons) has been part and parcel to that process. That's why today, when given the option, Team Thompson still chooses to run in 30 degree temps, up hills and through traffic. It's no longer about being like everyone else. It's about being better.