Tag Archives: Inter-Country Adoption

the photo of my birth mother

I finally framed the picture of my birth mother, which was given to me by my sisters in Taiwan. It was one of the first things they gave me at the airport once I arrived in Taipei. It’s a 5×7 black and white photo. My sisters laminated the picture to prevent any damage.

I used to think that my birth mother looked so solemn. She’s wearing a black mandarin collared jacket or shirt. Her hair is short and neat in the style of older women. Her eyes are a little downturned at the outer corners. I thought upon first seeing the picture that she appeared sad. She is not quite smiling, and I often wonder what my birth mother was thinking when the photo was taken. Oddly enough, I never asked my sisters how old she was at the time. I think that I was so overwhelmed with joy to have her picture and to see what she looked like that the thought didn’t cross my mind. My guess would be that she was somewhere in her fifties. My sisters told me that I look very much like our mother in her younger years. Unfortunately, there are no photos left of her when she was a young woman.

It’s a really odd feeling knowing that I was born to two people who I will never have an opportunity to meet. The story of why and how I was placed for adoption is a very sad one. Yet my sisters believe that my adoptive parents were angels and are very happy and thankful that I had the opportunity to be raised in a more affluent, stable environment. I understand why it happened the way it did. There are many privileges that I have received because I grew up in the U.S. in a middle class white family. My adoptive parents loved me very much, but there were many challenges, especially when I was a teenager. My parents were ill-prepared to parent an adoptee with identity issues.

I am happy that my sisters and family wanted to reunify. They have very big and generous hearts. The picture of my birth mother is now sitting in a place where I see it every morning. Framed, she appears happier, if only in my imagination, and it makes me smile.

at the heart of adoption

Heart_ExtraSmallI’ve been interning since August at an adoption and foster care agency that specializes in placing children who have been abused, neglected or abandoned with foster and adoptive families. It’s been interesting. I think what I’m gaining the most at this time is a broadening perspective on adoption. In the past, I’ve been primarily concerned with inter-country and transracial adoption, especially adoption from Asian countries. At the agency, I’m learning about the foster care system and families who want to either foster or adopt children under the care of child protective services (CPS), otherwise known as the foster care system. It’s a very different institution than that of international adoption in many ways. However, in other ways, it’s similar. The similarities between international adoption and the adoption of a child  through CPS are primarily that children have been traumatized and need permanency and adoptive parents need education and support.

It’s been interesting, too, at the agency to encounter different views on adoption. For instance, some have difficulty comprehending why people would adopt outside of the U.S. when there are so many children here in foster care who need loving families. I don’t share that same attitude, however, the number of children in foster care in the U.S. is tragically high. In Arizona alone, one of the highest-ranking states of children in foster care, there are approximately 15,000 children in out-of-home care. On the other hand, it was estimated in 2005 by  UNICEF that there were over 132,000,000 children identified as orphans, children who had lost one or both parents, globally (sub-Saharan Africa, Asia, Latin America and the Caribbean). UNICEF statistics do not include abandonment or sold and/or trafficked children, and I’m sure that number has increased over the years. According to data released in 2003, an estimated 8,000,000 boys and girls worldwide lived in institutionalized care (http://www.orphanhopeintl.org/facts-statistics/). Alternately, according to the latest available figures from the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services (HHS), there are about 123,000 orphans in America (http://www.orphancoalition.org/new/foster-care.php). The U.S. population is around 317,023,906 (U.S. Census Bureau). Any way you shake it, the number of orphans and children in out-of-home care world-wide is staggering. It’s an enormous issue of social and political concern.

Within child welfare circles, we often hear the phraseology, “in the best interest of the child.” But what does that mean exactly? Essentially it means that the health and safety of the child physically, emotionally and psychologically come first and foremost. I say that because I think that there are misconceptions about adoption. It is a way to expand families and is an option for couples who have experienced infertility, but, more than anything else, adoption should be for the child, not the adoptive parents. In other words, the motivation for those seeking to adopt should be to care for a child who has, through no fault of his or her own, come into adoption due to the circumstances of abandonment, relinquishment or maltreatment. That is and should be at the heart of adoption.

Adoption is often an exciting endeavor for families, yet there are many risk factors to consider beforehand. Most adopted children have experienced trauma and may have difficulties with bonding and attachment and/or problems with behavior and emotions. It’s a fact. As an adoptive parent, are you prepared to handle such challenges long-term? Are you willing to go above and beyond BEFORE the adoption to educate yourself on issues of race and culture if your adopted child is of a different race and ethnicity? How will you handle rejection, bonding and attachment difficulties, caring for a child with a physical and/or psychological disability? What tools and strategies will you equip yourself with  to help your adopted child face racism and discrimination, and how will you as a family respond? What opportunities will you seek to help your adopted child stay connected to his or her birth culture, and how will you respond to your adopted child’s curiosity about his or her birth family? How will you foster open communication with your child so that he or she feels comfortable approaching you about such issues? Most adoptive parents I talk with are unprepared for the task of raising a child adopted internationally, or taken by surprise by some of the challenges they’ve experienced, and some parents I’ve spoken to who have adopted children through CPS express similar sentiments. Parenting in and of itself is obviously a difficult task, but parenting an adopted child has special challenges. Proactive is always better than reactive.

November is National Adoption Month. Adoption provides permanency, love and stability for children who have been orphaned, relinquished or abused. But, what is disturbing is the naivete surrounding adoption and the lack of substantial support for adoptive parents post-adoption, at least for those families who have adopted children internationally. I’m happy that stricter policies have been put into place for inter-country adoption to ensure ethical practices by adoption agencies. But so much more could and should be done to educate adoptive families pre-adoption and support families post-adoption. It is my hope that positive changes will continue to be made legislatively for international adoption and that adoptive parents will proactively seek education and support both pre- and post- adoption.

an interview with author, mridula koshy

koshy authorIn my last post, I reviewed Mridula Koshy’s debut novel, Not Only the Things That Have Happened. I was so intrigued with the book that I asked Mridula if she would be open to an interview, and she graciously said yes. I hope that you will read the interview below in its entirety. Mridula shares not only her thoughts on the book, but on important social issues  especially as they pertain to women (including video footage). I would like to thank Mridula for taking time out for the interview. 

Could you tell us a little about yourself and what led you to writing?

I grew up hearing I would become a writer. This was presented as an inevitable future for a talker like me. What scared me was the other connection drawn – to my aunt, Mary John Thottam, a well-known poet in Kerala, India.  I was frightened by this idea of writing as a family trait surfacing in the same way a pudgy nose might every generation or so. What if my parents were mistaken and I wasn’t nearly smart enough to be a writer.

At thirty-five, it was no longer an option to turn my back on something that felt like my re-entry ticket to home. Back in Delhi after a twenty year stay in the US, this talker no longer knew anyone in a town so intensely alive with talk that ‘belonging’ depended on gaining entry into the conversation. I was home with my youngest child, my dear daughter who had just turned three a year after joining the family. It was too soon to enroll her in school and to seek full time work outside the home. I began writing as a way to enter the conversation and found to my relief that writing is no more dependent on inherited genius than it is on inspiration. Paper, pencil and disciplined engagement is all it takes.

What inspired you to write, Not Only the Things That Have Happened?

The ethical and legal problems with inter-country adoption were hard to escape once I became intimately aware of them through my experience of adopting my daughter. When I began work on Not Only the Things That Have Happened, I knew a critique of inter-country adoption would be one of the book’s reasons for being. I also knew this book would be would be a fictional work, that is to say it would not be my family’s story. In fiction I could access the historical and political story of adoption, and as well characters whose circumstances called for more courage and more imagination than I have ever had to summon.

In the story, “time” is a character. Can you talk about how this character is central to the theme of the story?

Toward the end of my protagonist Annakutty’s life she lies on her deathbed struggling to see her life. Her eleven-year-old niece, Nina, tells her that although the sun is indeed too bright and wavery and impossible to see, she can draw it. She draws the sun not by trying to see it as it is, but by trying to see it as she imagines it is. So she draws it “with two eyes and a nose and a smile on its face…by imagining about the sun.”

Not Only the Things That Have Happened is not a book about life as it is. It is about how I imagine life is – for Annakutty and Asa and a host of others. One reason the book is structured in a somewhat non-linear fashion is because linearity is only one way to imagine life. By imagining it anew I open myself to the possibility and usefulness of the many other ways in which it can be imagined.

Asa’s story is the story of someone plucked from the narrative of his life, displaced from the story he tells himself about himself first in his mother-tongue, Malayalam, when he is a baby, then in Hindi as a four year old street child in Delhi, and finally in English when he is adopted as a nine year old by his American family. Time is born and dies with each of these narratives as Asa is effaced again and again. There is no linear order for Asa and inevitably there can be none for the writer or the reader.

Can you tell us more about the title of the book and its significance to the story?

I remember the first stories in my life were always about ‘Once upon a time’ and this phrase I think is an important marker of the effort to contain the uncontainable, to contain the things that happened. The best of the stories hinted at or at least begged the question of what happened twice upon a time and thrice. They hinted at how untidy stories actually are.

The story of inter-country adoption is a contained and tidy story. It has a ‘once upon a time,’ the act of adoption, as its arbitrary beginning and permits itself no other ending but ‘happily ever after.’ This story of the things that have happened begs the question of what might be found if one were to look at ‘not only the things that have happened.’

Outside of literature, when a young adoptee asks the adoptive parent ‘Why did she leave me,” or “Will I ever see her again,” or “Is she alright,” and “my brothers and sisters, are they alright, do I have any,” the narrative breaks. The compassionate adoptive parent answers these questions with an attempt to comfort even as she imparts the painfully uncomfortable truth, “I don’t know.” In fiction, it is possible to complicate “I don’t know” with knowing. Though Asa doesn’t know whether his first mother lives or dies, the reader knows. Though Annakutty doesn’t know whether Asa thrives or suffers, we know.

The young Annakutty falls in love with a young man who does not marry her and then has a child out of wedlock. She experiences stigmatization and is ostracized by her family and community, her head is shaved and at one point her clothes confiscated to keep her under control. How common are such practices?  

Annakutty walks naked through her town in a dangerous act of defiance.  This cannot be characterised  as a common form of protest, but neither is it unknown. Here is a video of a woman who as an act of protest walked in her underclothes through the city. Notice the baseball bat in her hand. http://ibnlive.in.com/news/woman-strips-walks-in-city-against-dowry-demand/44089-3.html. Perhaps the most famous image of woman using their nudity to protest their oppression is this one in which a group of Manipuri women protest the Armed Forces Special Powers Act, which allows the Indian Army to act with impunity in some parts of the country where civil rights have been suspended, resulting in rape and other atrocities by the army. http://www.commondreams.org/headlines04/0719-03.htm

It will take too long to answer the question of how women are oppressed in India. Suffice it to say patriarchy is alive and well here, as elsewhere, although it takes some unique turns here. But whether manifested uniquely or otherwise, patriarchy looks different in different parts of this huge and diverse country. For example, the birth ratio of baby girls to boys is skewed by selective abortions in one half of the country but not in the other half. http://www.nybooks.com/articles/archives/2013/oct/10/indias-women-mixed-truth/?page=2

Annakutty raises her son alone and eventually makes the heart wrenching decision to relinquish him around the age of four to tourists passing through. What is it, ultimately, that forces her to make this difficult decision?

The long answer to the question of what forces Annakutty to relinquish her son is in the 350 pages of the novel. The short answer is she relinquishes him because someone shows up to adopt him. She withstands a tremendous amount of pressure to be done with her child, pressure that includes an attempt to kill her child in the delivery room, and pressure that has resulted in her terrible isolation from her family and community, isolation she fears will be visited on her child as he grows. But until someone comes to adopt her child, she continues to struggle with the circumstances of her life, agonizing over what to feed him on his birthday as any mother anywhere of any circumstance will. Absent the pressure of adoption, she would in all likelihood have continued to struggle to provide for him.

Annakutty regrets her decision throughout her lifetime as she remembers and even tries to search for her son. How does this story speak to other birth mothers who are forced to relinquish a child(ren)?

Annakutty is left with little besides regret. What legal recourses does she or any birthmother have? How does her economic poverty and the beliefs of those around her equip her to fight for her child? It does not. Of course, as readers will find, Annakutty does not stop at weeping over her loss. She may not be able to rewrite the rules of the engagement, but engage she does with life, above all by grappling the question of how she will live with her loss.

I think regret is real for everyone in the triad. Adoptive parents are regretful and even remorseful that the very circumstances which allow them to become parents are also the circumstances which leave them unable to answer their children’s most anguished questions. Loss marks all the relationships in the triad, and this loss extends beyond the triad.  Recently, the Australian government apologized to women who were coerced in the past to give their children up for adoption. This coercion was cultural and political. The apology is an acknowledgment that regret is not just a birth mother’s obligation. It is from the owning up to our regret that we can step toward the kind of legal reform that is needed in inter-country adoption.

Annakutty suffers many losses in her life, yet possesses a certain strength and dignity despite her painful circumstances. From your perspective, what gives Annakutty such resilience in the face of her experiences? Would you consider her a heroine? If so, in what ways?

Annakutty’s powerlessness is not far from the experience of most women on the planet today.  I’d like to believe she is a heroine in the way most women are: she tells the truth, the complicated truth, regardless of her inability to command an audience for it. She does not, for example embrace the idea her neighbours offer her – that her child is lucky for being adopted,  that he has gone to “a good life such as none of us can give our children.” She fights for the return of her child whom she herself handed over to another family.  Gretchen, who is the child’s first adoptive mother, is another example of this courage I admire in women. Late in life she voices the difficult truth that “she made a huge mistake.” The child she saw calling to her in her dreams, the child she was forced to abort, cannot be replaced by a child she adopts. Gretchen has no one with whom she can share her regrets, no way to correct the mistake she made. Her courage is evidenced in the endless calls she makes to random toll-free numbers in India, an attempt to find the child she adopted and lost.
Asa, Annakutty’s son, struggles to remember the events that led up to his relinquishment and is frustrated by the lack of information available to him. This manifests in anger and a deep sense of loss, which greatly affects his life and relationships with significant others. From your perspective, how do the losses experienced by adoptees shape who they become?

I don’t believe Asa is condemned to a life of anger and nothing but anger. He is shown in the novel attempting to love and to be loved, for example in his relationship with his daughter. This work of loving which is painful and filled with risk for most of us is made more painful for Asa by the fact that he has no narrative to explain the loss of his first love, his mother.  Barred access to this narrative, he needs at least an acknowledgement of this loss if he is to ever sustain himself in the work of loving his daughter. Even given such an acknowledgment, many adoptees will struggle with anger as they encounter each new loss life brings them. Some of the new losses will be related directly to the original loss. Other losses (the loss of a lover or a job) may not be directly related to the original loss, but will recall its helplessness.  Some adoptees do not accept the idea of loss as a recurring event in life. Others are vocal in their acceptance of this idea. And certainly society with its celebratory embrace of adoption cannot accept the idea that loss is a part of adoption.

At the end of the story, Asa decides not to go to India to search for some of the missing pieces to his past, yet leaves the airport having gained some insights about his life. Do you foresee Asa returning to India one day to search for answers? And, in the book, nearly all of the characters experience some sort of loss, including Asa’s adoptive parents, Marge and David. How does loss factor into the theme of the story?

Oh my gosh, I really don’t know about Asa returning to India. I write to discover answer to the questions I don’t have answers for. I would have to write another story to find out if Asa ever makes it to India. In writing Not Only the Things That Have Happened, I wanted to answer a different question: how can a person live with profound loss and disruption? And of course I wanted to know, how can a parent leave their child? Can a child recover?  I found in Annakutty’s story a remarkable example of someone who lived and lived well by allowing loss to remain with her, to keep faith with that loss. She does not give in to the pressure to put it behind her. Whether Asa is scamming old ladies into adopting him or scamming himself into thinking that he need not be a parent to his daughter, his life seems to be a dizzying scramble to escape loss.

Readers will quarrel with the disappointment of not being able to see Asa return to India. Instead of the music soaring as the curtain falls there will only be the static of CNN’s botched weather report, the man snoring in the seat next to Asa, the whoosh of the revolving door ushering Asa out of the airport and  into the rest of his unknown life. In the first pages of the novel, Anakutty’s niece Nina exits the stories Anakutty likes to tell about her Lost Boy because Nina dreads the way they all end in the unknown.  I hope that forewarned by Annakuttys death on the first page, readers will know this is not a story about reconciliation. I hope readers will wonder as I did what one can take away from a story that ends in the unknown. Perhaps uneasiness. And uneasiness is useful. Perhaps a little bit of the sense I gained writing this book that even the unknown future is not entirely unknowable. Annakutty certainly believed in keeping faith with her loss, which cannot be read as anything but faith in her future.

What would you like most for readers to take away from the book?

Two things actually, the first is a political and the second a literary/philosophical objective. One, we need to reform inter-country adoption and two, our narratives must of necessity be as complicated as the stories we hope to tell.

Visit Mridula Koshy’s facebook page here

Purchase Not Only the Things That Have Happened on Amazon.com

book review: not only the things that have happened

“If it is real, you can remember not only the things that have happened, but also the things that are going to happen.”  —Annakutty Verghese

Harper Collins (India, 2012)

Mridula Koshy’s debut novel, Not Only the Things That Have Happened, is not a tale for the faint-hearted. It is a story that explores the impact of adoption, oppression, loss and identity. Koshy’s prose and storytelling is hauntingly beautiful and speaks directly to the heart. It is not a quick read, but one that invokes thought, and as such, is an important and compelling work.

At the center of the story is Annakutty Verghese, an aged, dying woman who desperately clings to life as thoughts of the son she relinquished 30 years ago linger within her memory. Annakutty was coerced into giving up her beloved son and regrets this decision the rest of her life. She constantly relives her brief time with him by telling stories to her niece, Nina. Annakutty’s greatest hope is that her Lost Boy, Madhu, will return to her, a hope that never diminishes even until her death.

Divided into two halves, the story takes place in Kerala, India and in the Midwestern U.S. and spans a period of 36-hours. The story of Annakutty is featured in the first half and that of Annakutty’s son, renamed Asa Gardner by his adoptive parents, in the second. We transition back and forth between the present and the past as the memories of various characters whose lives intersect are recollected. This can be a bit confusing, yet it is through this interweaving of past and present that Koshy so masterfully creates a multi-layered story of memories, loss and longing.

In Part 1, we travel back to Annakutty’s life as an adolescent. The sixteen-year old Annakutty falls in love with a young man from her stepmother’s village. Her family, particularly her stepmother, disapproves and Annakutty is sent away to a convent, but not without first suffering much degradation and scorn. At the convent, she has a child out of wedlock with a priest, which brings more shame upon the young Annakutty. Eventually, she is convinced to give up her son when he is four years old. She later takes in her niece, Nina, and even marries, which brings a certain happiness back into Annakutty’s life, though she never gives up hope of finding her Madhu.

In Part 2, we travel a world away to meet Asa Gardner, formerly Madhu, who is now a grown man. We learn that Asa’s life has been characterized by instability. After his relinquishment to a German couple visiting India, he becomes lost at the train station where he and his new family are to depart. We are led to believe, however, that this was not an accident. The young Asa soon joins a group of homeless boys, his “brothers,” who live on the railroad platform until he is rescued by agency workers. He is eventually adopted by an American couple. Asa’s struggles continue even after his adoption, and he has great difficulty assimilating to his new life. After a devastating family tragedy, Asa leaves home for good only to return to what is familiar- living on the streets and begging. Time passes and Asa marries, but becomes estranged from his wife and has a disconnected relationship with their young daughter. At the root of Asa’s turmoil is the lack of any tangible history, in essence, a lack of true identity. With only fragmented memories of his past, Asa wanders like a lost soul, searching for missing pieces and reinventing stories to fill in the gaps.

On a much deeper level, the story of Annakutty and Asa speaks to a larger issue, the social institution of adoption, and begs the question, is adoption really the best option for children from disadvantaged backgrounds? I have conflicted feelings on this issue. The point of contention for me begins with the separation of a mother and her child due to coercion, or because an unwed mother feels that she has no other options. Furthermore, that such exorbitant fees are required to adopt a child from another country is difficult for me to grasp. I cannot undo my own past and recognize that I had privileges growing up that I would not have had otherwise. On the flip side, I will never know my birth parents, nor ever feel fully integrated into my culture of origin. It is an emotional injury that rears its ugly head now and again. Although adopted children flourish in adoptive homes, the disparity between losses and gains is traumatic. Often the only picture one gets of adoption is a romanticized one. Some adoptees are Ok with this disconnect. For me, it is not that black and white.

In the end, my heart broke for Annakutty and Asa. They both lived on the hope that one day they would reconnect, and there is something to be said of Annakutty’s unwavering hope that her son would return, though this never occurs. I could relate to Asa in many way- his losses and struggle to put a narrative to his unknown past. An element of grief seeps heavily into much of the story, as most of the characters experience a great loss. I didn’t mind the sadness, quite the opposite. There was an underlying rawness that pulled me deeper into the story and gave it a true sense of realism. I encourage you to read Not Only the Things That Have Happened. It is a powerful read and one that will leave a lasting impression.

Not Only the Things That Have Happened may be purchased on Amazon.com.

Mridula Koshy is an Indian writer and lives in New Delhi, India and Portland, Oregon with her poet-school teacher partner and three children. She is also an adoptive mother. Please visit her website at http://mridulakoshy.blogspot.com/.

Koshy’s short-story collection, If It Is Sweet, won the 2009 Shakti Bhatt First Book Prize and was shortlisted for the 2009 Vodafone Crossword Book Award, an Indian literary award.

Next post, an interview with Mridula Koshy! 

life books

Last month at a training I attended for foster and adoptive parents, the subject of life books was discussed. The facilitators explained that for a child being fostered, a life book provides an important connection to the child’s birth family until he or she is reunified with them. Pictures of the biological family and special events are typically included in the book. The idea is that as the child grow, the foster family continues to add things to the life book. It is a link to the child’s roots and a history of his/her past and present.

During the training, a sample life book was passed around the room. I watched as prospective adoptive and foster parents thumbed through the pages. I then began to think of the overwhelming number of internationally adopted children who may never be privy to any information regarding their biological families. No pictures of their birth parents or siblings, no physical link to their cultural roots. A hollow feeling, one that I can now identify as loss, expanded right in the middle of my chest as I was reminded that I will never have the opportunity to meet my own birth parents. Yes, it is a tremendous loss even though my adoptive parents are who I consider to be my parents. I am grateful that my biological sisters gave me pictures of our parents when I was in Taiwan. Just to have a few pictures of my birth parents is something significant and that I now have a connection with my birth family is beyond words. I am truly grateful that my adoptive mom kept my adoption contract and many other things pertaining to my adoption, although they remained hidden for many years.

Before I left for my trip to Taiwan, I started my own “life book” mainly to share with my sisters. I included my adoption contract, some of the documents I found with it, and pictures of my adoptive family, school pictures, holiday photos, and pics of my husband and daughter. I remember that first evening in Taiwan and showing my sisters the album after dinner. They saw just a small glimpse of what my life was like with my adoptive family. The years my sisters and I spent apart and the disconnect between my cultural and Western roots suddenly became so very real. How can I express the significance of finding my birth family and establishing a connection with my birth heritage? To say that it was a pivotal turning point is an understatement.

My life as an adoptee began with loss. Though I don’t spend everyday thinking about or feeling such loss, every once in awhile I allow myself to go there. It doesn’t overwhelm me or send me into a huge state of depression – most of the time. It’s more a time of self-reflection. It’s an important part of who I am, and I accept that. Yet, it’s not something that can ever be easily captured in a life book.

the invisible red thread

Shumin_Vivian2Over the last couple of years, it seems that there have been a number of film documentaries made on inter-country/transracial adoption. But many people in Arizona do not have the opportunity to see such films, which are typically introduced at film festivals and then screened via special engagements. Earlier this year, we were able to host a screening of Somewhere Between by Linda Knowlton Goldstein through Tugg. We had a super turn out and even sold out of tickets. I received much positive feedback after the event from friends and adoptive families.

In 11 days, we will host another film screening on adoption in Chandler. This event is called, “Honoring One’s Cultural Roots.” We’ll screen the film documentary, The Invisible Red Thread, from director Maureen Marovitch, although this event will be slightly different, as the movie is shorter (approx. 55 minutes), and we’ve invited psychotherapist Stephanie Withrow to speak after the movie. Stephanie has a private practice inTempe, AZ and works with adoptive families. She and her husband, Doug, have adopted 3 girls from China. In addition, another friend and colleague, Dalena Watson, LPC, FAMI, MT-BC, has helped to coordinate the event. She and her husband, Dustin, have 2 adopted children from China and Korea. If you live in the Phoenix-Metro area, I hope that you’ll be able to join us. You can find all the details at the link above entitled, The Invisible Red Thread- An AZ Premier. The film is recommended for kids 11 and older. Reservations and pre-payment are required, so be sure to reserve your seats. You can actually pre-pay for the screening by clicking on the Paypal button located on the right sidebar of this site. If you cannot attend the event but would like to contribute to the cost of bringing the film to Chandler, you can make a donation by clicking on the same button. For more about the movie, see the official website by following this link.

Come out and meet other adoptees and adoptive families who live in the valley!

Stephanie and her family

Stephanie and her family