The Omar Situation

Note:  the names, identities, and personal details of the foster children and social workers have been changed to protect their identities

We had no idea what the day had in store for us when we got into the car that morning.  And we had no idea that we had no idea.  You see, we’d already imagined our destination – the Adoption Fair – in so many ways, one of our scenarios HAD to play out.  We’d thought about the oodles and oodles of children attending the event who would of course understand why they were there, and who would somehow wear that understanding on their sleeves.  We’d visualized the weirdness of the event – adults and children interacting with the hope, the prayer, of connecting and eventually becoming the happiest family ever!  And we’d imagined Omar, the little man whose story had already touched us, whose foster parents were giving him up after almost a year, and who would be there in search of his next (and hopefully last) home.

We arrived at the church’s campus ridiculously early (for fear of being ridiculously late).  We sat in the car in the campus parking garage marveling at the fact that this church is so big it has a parking garage.  After watching throngs of church-goers arrive to attend the service, we made our way to an usher, a dapper gentleman in brown pinstripes who implored us to re-park our car in one of the closer stalls “reserved special” that morning for adoptive parents. 

The adults attending the adoption fair had been instructed to arrive an hour and a half early.  Apparently Child Services felt the need to orient us on proper behavior around the children.  All in all, there were about 20 potential adoptive families.  We listened intently as Child Services laid out such ground rules as not asking children about their abuse history, not monopolizing one or two children,   not making future plans with a child – seemingly obvious rules, and yet not obvious to some.

They finally led us to the playground where 12 children and their social workers were already hard at play.  Most of the potential parents kept to themselves at first, standing in clumps near arts & crafts or at picnic tables.  But we were approached almost immediately by a young boy and his social worker.  The boy waved at us and smiled.  His face lit up as his social worker explained that they were on their way to the slide.  A quick glance at the child’s nametag revealed that this was Omar.  We followed after them.

Omar was shy, but he warmed up when we played hide and seek around the slides.  He showed us his mad climbing skills and how he could practically fly down the biggest slide.  He waved from his perch on the top of a ladder, and he scrambled through a plastic tube, stopping only to peek out and wave to us.  The thrill of meeting Omar, of playing with him, overshadowed our thoughts of his future. Did he know why he was here?  Was he aware that his life was going to change?  Did he realize that the place he called home would soon change?  If so, he gave no indication.  And so we played.

We played for about five minutes.  That’s when the vultures began circling.  Scout had warned us.  “He’s cute,” she’d said.  “I’ve seen his picture and he’s cute.  He’ll be getting a lot of attention – just know that.”  We heard her.  And we thought we understood what she was saying.  Our feeling was that if Omar got a lot of attention, that’s good.  It meant that there are any number of potential homes out there who would welcome him with open arms.  Our agency had already expressed interest in him on our behalf, so we could back off and let others enjoy him while we got to meet some of the other children.  That’s what we’d imagined.  But it played out differently.

Another couple, both women, had been eyeing Omar.  One of them, Donella, engaged us in conversation, animatedly telling us of their adoption hopes and dreams.  As we listened to her chat away, excited by the prospect of a potential new friend, her partner was behind us.  She had secured a small wagon into which she’d coaxed Omar and then wheeled him to the opposite end of the playground.  Once Donella saw that Omar had been safely secured, away from us, she abruptly ended the conversation and joined her partner and Omar for some fun in the wagon, completely unaware that other couples had honed in on Omar, as well.

Now, although we were slightly horrified by the methodical removal of Omar from our vicinity, we had committed ourselves to playing with all of the kids at the event, particularly those receiving little or no attention.  But a quick glance around the playground revealed that all of the children were being “managed” in a similar way – courted by one couple while other potential parents waited for their opportunity to cut in.  We squeamishly watched parents plot, then play, then plot again. 

As if things weren’t competitive enough, the church made an announcement during services about the adoption event and invited parishioners interested in pursuing a foster child to join in the fun.  So an hour into our time with the children, 50 more couples showed up – couples who aren’t certified and hadn’t been oriented on how to interact with the kids.  It was as if we were a part of a reality show, and a slew of contestants who’d been voted off got to return for one last shot at the prize.

Our agency chaperone finally appeared in the form of Scout’s boss, Amelia.  She asked if we’d met Omar, and once we filled her in on the heated competition for Omar’s attention, she set to work on the other side of the Omar situation – networking and promoting us to the decision-makers in his case – the social workers.  Before we knew it, we were ushered from group to group of Child Welfare “executives” overseeing the event.  Our story was told.  Our praises were sang.  It was hard not to get caught up in it all, hard not to join in on the promotion of the “us as parents” scenario.  By the end of a half hour, we’d gone from a mild-mannered couple wanting one child, any race, between the ages of 5 and 9 to a dynamic work-from-home duo with endless flexibility, patience, and desire for a sib-set of almost any age with any number of mental health problems.  So effective were Amelia’s networking efforts that by the time we decided to leave, a group of social workers had vowed to review their caseloads for their difficult-to-place sib-sets and Amelia had decided to present our profile to a state gathering of child welfare workers. 

As we wrote Omar’s name on our “child selection sheet,” we saw that Donella and her partner had been cut out of Omar-time by a white hetero couple in their early 30s who had escorted him to a picnic table to enjoy lunch.  Much to the couple’s dismay, however, two other couples, also interested in Omar, sat down with them while Omar, completely overwhelmed and a little afraid, got up from the table and walked away, in search of his social worker. 

We left the event exhausted, not from a day of fun with kids, but from a day of horrors with adults.  We felt lost and confused, unsure of what would happen next.  As we walked to the car, we reminded ourselves of the Omar situation.  We tried to imagine his exhaustion, his horror, his confusion.  What would happen next for him?  When would he be told that where he’s been living for the past year is not, in fact, his permanent home?  And what would happen next for all of the children at the event that day?  We got one tiny little taste of what that world – the foster/adoption world – is like for the kids.  The networking, promoting, competing for homes, for families to call their own.  This is what they deal with all the time. 

They have to deal with it even after they think they’ve found their permanent home, like Omar thought he’d found his.