Awakening

In recent months I have begun to acknowledge things within my children that I had previously denied, especially as it pertains to common characteristics among children adopted internationally. I had always dismissed the ideas as something created to explain bad behavior, or as creating a pathology for what is simply common behavior among children of a certain age. It had nothing to do with being adopted, let along whether that adoption was international or domestic. But today one of those characteristics stood up, slapped me in the face, and then shook me until my teeth rattled.

My kind, sweet baby boy - who feels the emotions of all around him - had a debilitating panic attack as we walked through the streets of Mérida. He was so overcome with terror that he attempted to run across the street to escape, nearly running in front of a speeding bus before being scooped up by his father. Strangers turned, sure that we had kidnapped the beautiful brown boy screaming in this Anglo's arms. As we attempted to quiet him, people stopped to check out the situation and determine our intentions and assess his safety. But all of that was a peripheral blur, so focused were we on calming him down.

Shawn Joaquin has an aversion to crowds and to noise, and often covers his ears to escape things that are even visually frightening to him - all the while continuing to stare at it. But today there was no escape from the incredibly crowded sidewalks, the music blaring from the stores, the police megaphones squawking, the teeming crowds that pushed up against him in the humid Yucatán centro. His anxiety was overwhelming, and he had a death grip on our hands as he alternately sobbed and reassured himself...and we continued to tell him we were close to our destination. He could work through this. He was safe. He begged to take a cab, but we somehow felt he could just make it two more blocks.

Then we hit a block with not only beggars, but beggars equal to an Indian novel - missing eyes or feet, others with gnarled body parts and some with parts of their minds long gone, leaving them to bash themselves in the face with the same cup they used to collect the infrequent centavo sent their way. One such woman was howling as she hit herself repeatedly, sitting in her wheelchair with twisted, Thalidomide limbs and unseeing eyes. Upon first passing her, Shawn Joaquin - ever the polite boy - stood frozen in fear but didn't want to say why; as he told us later, he didn't want to hurt her feelings. Madelena simply asked "hey, what happened to her," ever the pragmatist.

But when we had to turn around and give up on our journey, planning to just hit an air conditioned, quiet restaurant, Shawn Joaquin lost it and begged us to just get an a non-existent cab. We attempted to take a circuitous route back, avoiding some of the larger crowds, as sweat dripped down his face. We tried to speak calmly, reassuringly...just two more blocks, and we'd be in the restaurant and would take a cab home. Then suddenly he was in flight and dashing across the street - yet another frightening person had appeared on his left, and he couldn't take it any more. As we struggled to calm him and hustle across the street, we payed no attention to anything but him and traffic...and before we knew it, the head-bashing woman was there in front of us, howling directly at Shawn Joaquin. What had we done?

After that, he buried his head in Gregg's shoulder, shaking and heaving, until we were able to finally find a cab. In the cab, he fell apart not from the fear but his guilt at having subverted our day. He apologized all the way home, overwhelmed by guilt and not hearing our reassurance that it was okay...we understood.

But honestly, I don't completely understand. At least I don't understand or know what lies in the heart and mind of this incredibly sweet boy that makes him afraid of loud noises of any kind. Of even "normal" people who look just like him but walk too close to him. Of anyone with a disability or a different appearance. Of the average homeless person. Of anyone who looks too long at him on the street or in a restaurant, when he's sure they're laughing at him or plan to do him harm. He has been loved and protected and cherished since his first day of life - when he was given to the foster mother and family who loved him as their own, and then to me, his true mother for life. What lies within him, what loss does he feel, from the first of three mothers who had no choice but to give him up for his own survival? It breaks my heart, challenges my own faith in my abilities as a mother, and makes me desperate to find some solution for him - something that will lead to a life without this debilitating fear within him. My boy who wants to explore the world and learn about all cultures, but fears a trip to Berkeley because two years ago a homeless man growled at him and changed something within him. Or simply awoke something.

I would like to say this has nothing to do with his adoption, international or otherwise, but as I read more and more about similar experiences with similar children...I have to wonder. And while there is nothing I can do to change that past nor would I if it meant he were not my son - I have to change his future. I have to figure out what I can do help him become the person he wants to be, the explorer, the historian, the cultural anthropologist. Or I have to help him find a new future that he will not just accept, but embrace. And in the interim, we will take taxis. We will be aware of anyone a block away who might panic him. We will spend more of our days here in the safety of our home, in the pool, or in the quiet areas outside the city where we can wonder at the ruins or the sites and ensure that history is in the forefront of his mind....not fear.  And we will keep him safe, from dangers real, imagined or deep within his heart.