This is Faith.
She is now almost five. She studies in a day-care center near the foot of our mountain home. She talks of her classmates and how they are smaller than she is. She likes it when her teacher wears purple and would probably grow up having purple as her favorite color.
She does not like to be reminded to eat all her food on her plate and would prefer to have hot dogs for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
She wants to be a movie star so she could buy her Mama My a car. She tolerates riding a motorcycle but pines for a big SUV someday.
She dances when there’s only her Mama My and Papa Ta watching; she is terribly shy around other people she only met for the first time.
She likes cats better than dogs and coffee better than milk.
She yells, “My Bus!” each time a yellow Ceres Liner passes us on the road.
She has three sets of grandparents and two and a half sets of parents plus a father she has never seen at all. She has a brother and a spare sister in the person of Yamee, one of her classmates. She insists that Yamee is her sister even if others tell her this isn’t so.
She likes being around older people. She minds it so much if a person fails to say “Excuse me” or “You’re welcome.”
She likes to travel. She likes the sea but is afraid of taking a swim, preferring to play on the sand the whole day long.
One thing’s for sure… I may not know how it feels to agonize over the gestation period of a child but this little girl is a big part of my life. I just get so annoyed with people who are so gifted with insensitivity when they interject their unsolicited remarks each time I mention Faith — remarks that run along the vein of “Oh, I really think you are not all out with your feelings for Faith. You’ll see that it’s really nicer if you are caring for your own child. Come on, have your own baby already!”
All out? What is that supposed to mean? That I am holding back on something because I did not carry her in my womb for nine months? I did not have cravings of banana splits slathered in bear grease? I wasn’t the one who had to be trussed up like a dressed chicken on display over a butcher’s counter, with my shaved privates in full view of the whole hospital staff?
That is being unfair. And stupid.
And to urge me to rush my procreative role in this God-given universe. Heh. And I’ll ask you to fart perfume for my pleasure.
These people irk me because they cannot understand that it is my choice that Faith became part of my life. It has nothing to do with charity and nothing to do with competing with the late Mother Theresa for the altruism throne. But Faith — although she has a mother and a father somewhere, with the circumstances — is actually on her own. And I should be holding back? How “all out” must I be when my own borders have already been broken down with each interaction with a little girl who trusts me with her own life?
And it is all the more unfair for Faith, and for other children who are in foster homes and living with their adoptive parents. Remarks such as this imply that Faith’s presence in my life is temporary, easily displaced when I have my own baby already.
Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!
I pity those people who made those remarks to my face. I wonder if sociopaths have parents who hold the same view as these enlightened beings.
That’s a bone of contention out of my system.