We Choose You.

Here is the text version of my recent column in Aiken Family Magazine.

I had to do a bit of research to fill in some of the blanks of my early life and that in and of itself was interesting. As I often say, ….hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

We Chose You

Once upon a time, in the NJ suburbs, not far from New York City, a couple was married in May of 1954. They had the love and desire to start a family, yet eight miscarriages and stillbirths later, they were still without child and growing weary of the hopes and disappointments.

Early in their dating, they discussed that if they couldn’t have children, they would try to adopt. Little did they know how “Plan B” would unfold.

After much thought and prayer, calls were placed to two agencies that assisted with adopting babies. They filled out the forms and then went through the interviews. They were then told to wait and that when a baby was found in need of adoption, they would be contacted.

I am saddened when I hear of parents who, when they find out they are pregnant, resent the fact because maybe the time’s not right or that they didn’t want a baby at all. Some of those parents chose to abort their baby and some, while keeping the baby, never get over the resentment, even as their child becomes an adult. Some parents make the choice to put their baby up for adoption, severing the physical bonds forever.

Imagine their surprise when just two days later, they received a telephone call from Catholic Charities, advising them that there was an infant boy in need of adoption. They were instructed to come to a church in nearby, Newark, NJ and when they did so, a nun escorted them into a very small room where the baby lay. Sister told them to spend some time with him and that she would be back in a few minutes and then left.

How do you decide if a baby is right for you? This was happening very quickly and I suppose they may have been second guessing the idea and questioning their taking this step. There was little time to prepare for making this decision. What would they decide?

The answer, I am told, was provided when that bruised, sickly three month old, complete with almost healed cigarette burns on his body, reached up and took a hold of the man’s finger and wouldn’t let go.

That baby was me.

After the paperwork was finished, I was officially the son of Leonard and Lorraine Visotski. They hadn’t time to prepare. Not a bottle nor diaper in the house! They chose me and the rest is as they say….history.

I have come to learn that I was severely abused as an infant. That didn’t come out until I was in college and experienced a spontaneous dislocation of my shoulder. It wasn’t a big deal and since I was working in the emergency room at the time, I was able to have it easily taken care of. When I was home a few weeks later, I casually mentioned it to my parents at dinner and there was a sudden silence as they looked at each other with a look I had never seen before and have never seen again. It was only then that I started to get a glimpse of what they went through with me.

My earliest memory is of being in the hospital when I was almost three years old. I also recall having lots of fevers and getting alcohol rubs on the kitchen table. I was in the hospital often and on one of the early visits, was x-rayed and several old fractures were discovered. My father, a police officer, had to constantly explain to doctors and nurses that I was adopted, and the lasting bruises and injuries (like a dislocated shoulder) were not from his hand. That wasn’t always an easy sell and I am told there were a few times the police were called to investigate. After eventually having my infected tonsils removed, I was restored to being relatively normal.

As a young boy, I grew up in a neighborhood where literally half the kids on the block around my age were adopted. Because of that, I arrived at the understanding that there was a 50-50 chance of being adopted.

For that I am thankful. Mom often reminded me that they didn’t have to have me…they chose me. It was something mentioned so often that I never really pondered the depth of it’s meaning. It was almost as common as “Have a nice day”.

I was two and a half when my parents adopted a baby girl, (Donna) and five years after that, another girl, (Debbie). Shortly thereafter, we moved to a new town where there were very few adopted kids around. At the age of nine, I barely noticed, but my younger siblings were more observant and that lack of normalness caused them to make the subsequent decisions to try to find their natural parents, something I have never seriously considered.

My parents worked hard to support us and my dad always had a few part time jobs, as most police officers do. He drove tractor-trailer trucks and buses and I occasionally got to go on trips with him. Over the years I got to meet celebrities like Robert Keel, Anna Marie Albergetti and Fabian because of his work. When he was a desk sergeant at the police station, every now and then he would take me to work with him on a Sunday afternoon way before the advent of “Bring Your Kids To Work Day”.

Mom took care of us and the house, all while working as a librarian in a local school and then as the administrative assistant to the superintendent of schools. She was also the one that nurtured my love of writing, having written countless poems and short stories over the years. She continued to gently remind us that they didn’t have to have us…they chose us.

Precious memories.

We were loved, well cared for and given opportunities that their parents were not able to give them. What more could we have asked for?
Although not perfect, their dedication to trying to get it right was acknowledged in 1978, when our family was selected from families all throughout the state and recognized as the “NJ Family of The Year”.

What a celebration that was! It was the first and last time that distinction was awarded. A now faded proclamation from the Somerset County Police Chiefs Association hangs in my office, a daily reminder of that special time in our lives.

I am most grateful for the fact that as I just turned fifty-one, I am blessed to still have both my parents alive. It allows us the time to go talk about the memories and for them to see the fruits of their love and dedication. I would imagine there is also some entertainment provided from seeing me deal with the challenges of parenthood as they once did.
There is a special place for a mother and father’s love, nestled in there between the love you have for your spouse and children….it can never be replaced and it never has to be questioned, because they chose me.

THE ANSWER
Not flesh of my flesh, 
nor bone of my bone,

but still miraculously
 my own. 

Never forget 
For a single minute:

You didn’t grow under my heart,
 but in it.

—Fleur Conkling Heyliger

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