Yesterday we celebrated what we call in our house "Adoption Day." That's the day when the judge in Vologda, Russia, dropped the gavel to say that we were now a family. We celebrate that day because, up until the moment that gavel was dropped, any family member or any Russian at all could have come into the room to say that they wanted to adopt these two children, and it would all have been over. Paul and I still marvel that no one did that. Obviously they did not know these children, or there would have been a line forming outside the courtroom. But by God's grace, we found each other and we were able to stay together.
The timing of the whole thing has always amazed me. Russia didn't even allow foreign adoptions until somewhere around 1992, which was the year we got married. And then the year that we began the process in 2001, Vladimir Putin took office and decided that adoption laws needed an overhaul. Our agency warned us of that. We just laughed, until it actually happened. The bad news is that we lost six months in the process; the good news is that our children were not even on the register until after that six months had passed. And now we see the global politics which in 2013 have once again caused Russia to close adoptions to Americans...
Once the gavel dropped, we had to wait to obtain two red passports, so that we could obtain two green cards, so that we could obtain two blue passports. Some number of Russian officials were so ill-disposed to the adoption of Russian children to foreigners that they had begun to drag out the time required to issue the red passports. So they had made a regulation internally saying that the passports must be issued within 72 hours of the court ruling. Some officials, including ours, would take every minute of 72 hours to make sure that our children were not terrorists or spies.
That gave us lots of time to go shopping for them. The rules also said that the children were ours, but that all their possessions were those of the state. So on the night that we departed for home, we had to arrive with new clothes and shoes and toys for them. We didn't shop very well - we had no experience in guesstimating sizes or thinking about what would actually be necessary. But we did our best.
On the appointed night, we arrived at the Baby House at 10:00pm. Amazingly, both of our children were awake and neither of them was crying or afraid. There was something absolutely baptismal about taking off their old clothes and putting new ones on. They were shedding their old life and preparing to enter the world, virtually for the first time, as Alexander Driskell Watson and Tatiana Meredith Watson. Accompanied by parents, affirmed by passports and paperwork.
We tied their shoes, hugged everyone in sight, and bundled ourselves into a jerry-rigged VW van to go to the train station. The good news is that we were accompanied by two friends, a translator and another Gladney worker, who could help us communicate and pass the first hurdle of parenthood: the first night together!
We rode the overnight train to Vologda, our family in one sleeper car and our friends next door. There wasn't much "sleeping" going on. I think that Meredith and I slept a little bit. But that night, Paul taught Alex his first words of English: the light switch could either be "on" or "off." We heard those words all night long!
When morning dawned, Alex was glued to the window, taking in all the sights. Every so often he would see something fascinating, like a tall crane or a dump truck, and he would squeal with delight. Meredith was more reflective, taking it all in. They continue to display similar traits to this day.That morning, Alex says he remembers some woman buttoning up his shirt for him - if that wasn't me it was probably Natasha - and he remembers jumping down off the train into Paul's arms.
We spent the next few days in Moscow, getting the blue passport, getting physicals, filling out more and more paperwork, and taking in the Moscow Fair as our first outing. Two toddlers at one of the world's largest fairs in the one of the world's largest cities... thank God there were other adults to help us! But we navigated it all, with their help and with God's, and found ourselves on the plane coming home on September 5, 2001.
Of course, the world changed for everyone on September 11, 2001. We missed the morning's drama because we were safely at home in Austin, having breakfast and watching Barney and Mister Rogers. Our world had changed already. We heard the news of the day from another mother at the park near our house. After some play time we came home and had lunch, put the kids down for their nap, and then turned on CNN and cried with the rest of the world.
When we were in Moscow, our translator and driver were showing us around one day. We had been to a Russian Orthodox church, which was fabulous. I noticed another building and asked about it. It was an Islamic mosque. I asked if we could go in and see it too. The driver inquired, and they enthusiastically invited us in. I have never been given such a tour. The fellow who showed us around was not the Imam, but he was wearing something resembling a monk's robe. I assumed he was either an assistant or maybe even someone in training. He had blondish hair and green eyes. He was so thrilled to see us - he said I was the first American that had ever been inside their mosque. He took me every single place a woman could go in that building, including the boiler room - he was so proud!
We ended up in the Imam's study, and he thrust a copy of the Koran at me for my reading pleasure. It was a parallel translation, in Arabic and Russian. Neither of which I could read! So I asked him to read me his favorite passage. He read me from the first of the book, which our translator said was their version of the creation story. And then he read me a passage that is always used at funerals. His face glowed with delight as he read.
On September 11, 2001, that young man was the first person I thought of. I still remember him and pray for his well being and safety, and hope that he remembers that crazy American woman with some level of fondness. Who knew that the adoption of our children would include Christian-Muslim detente?
Those days between August 26 and September 5, 2001, were absolutely unforgettable and life-changing, both for our children and for us.
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