Last fall, we learned that Meski — my three-year old adopted daughter — had a little sister who was in Ethiopia’s adoption system, and that we had twelve hours to decide what to do about that.
The answer wasn’t exactly easy, but then, it was never really in doubt, especially once I played out a scene from a decade in the future where I explain to Meski she could have grown up with a sister, but didn’t because I wanted to fish more.
(Want to feel like a jerk? Set yourself in that scene.)
As an older sister, she's a natural (she's bossy).
Math Major
On April 1, we fly to Ethiopia, meet M2 (my clever code name for the new arrival), stand up in front of a court conducted in a language we don’t understand, and then fly home.
A couple months after, we fly back to Ethiopia and bring M2 home to Meski, who is practicing her big sister role by bossing all of us around.
While Meski issues orders, I’m doing the math; I’ll be just short of retirement age when I’m teaching my youngest to drive (which probably won’t kill me) and just a bit older when she heads off to college and starts dating slacker coffeehouse poets (which probably will).
It’s a good thing I’m a writer, and therefore don’t dwell on numbers overmuch.
Learning to Fly
Meski’s learned a lot in her 2.5 years here, like dad’s a pushover for a smile, and the really interesting stuff (like ice cream) is kept on the third shelf of the freezer.
More importantly, she’s learned to trust us.
How, I don’t know.
During her first year of life, one adult after another simply walked away, and in that time she suffered more privation than I have over my entire life.
Today she’s fearless and athletic and climbs anything taller than she is, and without warning, she’ll leap out into space, trusting that her parents will catch her as she tumbles from orbit.
It’s nerve wracking, but it’s a useful lesson for a sometimes-cynical dad, who comes a lot closer to crawling than flying in the “Faith in Humanity” department.
Soon, I’ll have two teachers.
Keep writing, Tom Chandler.
