Third in a series
Laughter breaks the stillness of a summer night and the tension of a family's long struggle. A campfire glow reveals the faces of four children from different corners of the world. The quiet Asian boy, so long withdrawn, playfully entertains the others now. He mimics a circus strongman, hamming it up for his audience. A bond that wasn't there before. Wanda and Chris Owen of Crystal Lake labored eight years to reach this moment with no guarantee it ever would arrive. The couple's desire for a family had taken them from a Midwestern delivery room to rural Brazil to a city perched on the Russian-Chinese border. The children they came to call their own shared their name, but little else. A journey that began by crossing continents had to continue by connecting hearts and building memories. In many ways, their journey was just beginning that night by the campfire six years ago. Still, for the first time, at least, they were no longer strangers. Their Asian son, adopted at 3¨ years old, rejected both the toy truck he was welcomed with and the older brother who waited for him for months. At dinner three years later, the boy still was mostly silent. The family sat around the table as if one among them still was a stranger. But their faith, perseverance and an openness to outside help and advice proved key to the Owens' success. Two parents and four children from faraway lands now are one family. An easy familiarity has replaced stiff formality. On a fall morning, only the reflection of the bright kitchen and those darting through it are visible in its dark windows. Books and laptops are packed into bags. Food is cooked and quickly devoured. Feet, with shoes and without, pound up and down the stairs. The Owens move among each other on their own separate but united purposes. Wanda carries a breakfast tray to her daughter Tara's room. She's learned that in order to make a 17-year-old eat in the morning, it has to be as easy as possible. Wanda and Chris were able to arrange Tara's adoption in time to be there when she was born in Iowa. She shares an especially warm embrace with the brother she's known longest. Grant, 13, was born in Brazil. A fussy eater who moves slowly in the morning, he is the hardest to get out the door on time. "I don't want it," he complains about breakfast. "You will eat what I have," Wanda insists. Twelve-year-old Dulus (pronounced duh-loose) bears the Asian features of the hardy, horse-riding people of Siberia. He sticks to the morning routine like a soldier. He eats efficiently at the table while the rest of the family rushes around chaotically. Dulus easily makes it to his school bus. Elena, 11, is adopted from the same far eastern Russian city as Dulus, but her pale skin and straight brown hair reveal her European ancestry. She's a sharp wit who acknowledges both favors and parental orders with a formal bow. Elena's attention rarely strays from her beloved black Lab, Bear. She's quick to point out that he's adopted, too. Neither is happy if they're not together on the van ride to Woodstock Christian School. Chris, heading out to catch a flight this morning, believes only adoption could have given him and Wanda such a mix of talents in their children. "We wouldn't have done this well homemade," he jokes. Tara traces eyeliner across her lid in the bathroom mirror. Slowly. Precisely. Carefully. She pulls her own eyelid taut, miming Tara's preparations for that storied high school tradition - homecoming. Tara guides Elena's hands. But then the big sister suggests the little sister still might be too young to start wearing it. Tara soon trades her bathrobe for a pink dress, one that reminds her of Audrey Hepburn. She descends the stairs to a gathering of friends and family. Cameras flash as she, her date and two other couples pose in the living room Dulus has cleaned up for the event. Tara and her friends ham it up with stern looks and fake gun-wielding stances. They eventually cave to mothers' demands for traditional poses. The visitors sample cheese wedges and crackers Chris bought and laid out on the dining room table. Tara slips behind the wheel of the family van. Her friends sit in back, beneath purple Christmas lights Grant strung for the occasion. They pick from ashtrays filled with Hershey's Kisses and Oral-B Brush-ups, courtesy of Wanda. The parents wave goodbye from the lawn. One of Tara's rites of passage has become a family event. Now, Grant retreats to his piano. He waits until Tara's moment is over and the visitors are gone before starting to play. Here he is alone with the music that gives him his own sense of accomplishment. In McHenry County, where one in 10 people is of Latin American descent, Grant's heritage no longer makes him stand out as it once did when the Owens lived in Boonville, Ind. In 1990, only three years before he was born, less than 0.3 percent of Boonville's population was Latin American. There, Grant was called "the brown boy." That he had light skin didn't matter. He drew pictures of himself with Tara's blond hair and blue eyes. It would be years before he'd reach for different crayons. They never thought it would be easy. But they didn't know it would be so hard. Chris and Wanda believed the adoption would be a straightforward process when they first looked to Brazil for their second child. But two weeks after Grant's birth, Brazil's adoption laws suddenly changed. A wait promised to be only weeks stretched into months. Half a year later, Tara sat alone under the Christmas tree. The 4-year-old girl asked where her brother was. She accused her parents of teasing her about him, of making him up. Grant was 8 months old when he finally crossed the threshold of his new home. The memory drove his parents to seek their third and fourth children together. They knew they couldn't endure the process twice more. They didn't have it in them. Chris and Wanda wanted a child whose ethnicity might keep Grant from feeling like a stranger in his own hometown. Their search for an Asian boy pointed them first to China. But adoption agency workers suggested they might find one quicker just 20 miles across the border, in a Russian city of 500,000 called Khabarovsk (Ha-ba-rovsk). They know him immediately. Chris and Wanda find their 3¨-year-old son's dark face among all the white ones in an orphanage with peeling paint. His hair and eyes reveal his Yakut (ya-koot) heritage. His name is Dulus. They pronounce it slowly. The syllables they've practiced for months still are foreign. Despite a crash course in Russian, Chris and Wanda struggle to communicate with their new son. But the boy's frustration is soothed by another child he meets that day. He takes the hand of a white girl with big eyes, not yet 2 years old. Though just as much a stranger, her Russian words make her feel more familiar. She, too, finds comfort in this boy. She stops throwing toys at the mysterious woman who calls herself mama. Later that night, the two kids curl up with one another on the floor of a hotel room. Days pass in a blur of airports and airplanes. The world they knew at the orphanages is gone. Through it all, the two toddlers remain each other's only constant. Today, nine years later, Dulus still is easy to spot as he hurtles across a football field. He races into the end zone. The boy towers over the other kids, flying past them with an ease that feeds his hunger for success. As Dulus scores yet another touchdown, Chris' efforts to restrain his cheering fail. Success like this long eluded Dulus. Sports success and smiles would come only after his learning disability was diagnosed - a painful process of eliminating possibilities raised because he'd spent his first 3¨ years in a Russian orphanage. Fetal alcohol syndrome. No. Low IQ. No. Psychological damage. No. When the answer proved to be dyslexia, it was as if they had emerged from a fog. The problem had a clear solution. And once it was solved, the painfully withdrawn boy faded. His humor surfaced. He could be comfortable now pretending to be a goofy circus strongman for his family. Now, Dulus' hunger for success comes to his aid again as he concentrates on a book. He learns new words like a pictographic language, memorizing their entire appearance. Problem solving and mechanics, though, are a breeze. He even helps Chris fix the brakes on the Ford Explorer. The Owens believe Dulus' basic character and work ethic already were established in his orphanage nine years ago and 7,200 miles away. But Dulus isn't having that. "They've always been a part of my memories," he says of Chris and Wanda.
An independent girl She is the only girl on Dulus' team. Unselfconscious, she throws herself into the game as rigorously as her teammates. For now, Dulus is just another one of those teammates. Like him, Elena's competitive drive finds fulfillment in sports. Yet she also throws herself into a school report on a Saturday night without prompting. She knows she has a lot of schooling ahead to achieve her dream of being a veterinarian, even though she was terrified of dogs when first adopted. Her parents initially thought Elena might be a special needs child because her head appeared too large in early photos - sometimes a sign of retardation - but she is among the brightest in her class. She's also the only Owen child not on medication. Like many children, Tara and Dulus take pills for Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, while Grant is treated for slight Attention Deficit Disorder. On stage with the musicians of Harvest Bible Chapel, Tara's voice greets families streaming into a high school auditorium for Sunday worship. Including her own. Wanda enters first. Elena follows close behind, yawning and bleary-eyed after a sleepover just ended. Her sweatshirt hood blocks out the harsh light. Dulus shadows Chris. Grant veers off on his own, sitting up front to be near Tara. Her voice envelops them all. Her song speaks of a faith binding them to God, binding them to each other.
"And here I am,
And in your arms
It's your love, Faith defines the Owens' lives. It gives direction to their goals - like raising a family and giving to others. Tara and Grant already have been on summer mission trips. Grant wants to volunteer at an orphanage overseas. Chris wants Christ to be an even bigger deal in his children's lives than their dad is. Church, he says, allows them to hear that message from others. Wanda loves the feeling of family the church provides. She grew up with many siblings and cousins but, living far from them now, she sees her church friends as her new, extended family. Before finding them, she turned to support groups for help with the early struggles of being an adoptive parent. In Indiana, only an online group was available. But after moving to McHenry County, she drew strength from face-to-face meetings with other adoptive parents. She's confident she's providing a good upbringing for her children, but remains wistful about all the time they missed with each other. "I see the way they look when other kids talk about being babies," she says.
Family rituals Though church is one place the family comes together, the Owens grow closer through many other activities as well. Because Chris' job takes him away a few days a week, he finds it important to make time for each of his children individually. He and Dulus run together and race each other. Chris says he's fine with getting beat by his son. He just wishes it wasn't while Dulus was still only 12. Chris believes part of his job is to introduce the kids to as many things as possible to discover where their talents lie, which is how Grant found the piano. Elena goes on hikes with her dad. Their reward afterward? Cinnamon rolls. Tara's maturity has lent her relationship with her dad an easy rapport. Over warm drinks on a camping trip, he shares with her the family-building tips he believes in and has used during their 17 years together. There was a time when almost every family event seemed to revolve around Tara. This was one reason he started boys-only camping trips during the summer. Dad loves the trips, but Grant and Dulus see them differently. Dulus throws himself into every aspect enthusiastically. Grant sees all the hiking, hauling, climbing and boating as only evils necessary to get to the socializing he enjoys. Chris grins as he admits he goes a little overboard pushing his family's physical exertion on the camping trips. The boys' trips haven't replaced the family trips, though, which remain a top priority.
Camping, bonding The Owens' van rolls onto a state park campground on a bright, chill fall day. For the first time in months, all six are together again for a common purpose. No friends. No phones. No jobs. No games. Chris shows Dulus how to chop firewood. Grant inflates an air mattress for his mom. Tara and Elena play among the dry, fallen leaves. Elena corrects her big sister on her camping terminology. "It's not a metal stick, Tara. It's called a stake." The long day is a busy one of cooking and cleaning, hiking and horseback riding. Dulus rides a horse named Calamity. "Do you know what a calamity is?" Chris asks. "No, what?" Dulus replies. "It's like … a major disaster." Dulus grins nervously. "Why do I always get the disaster?" Later, the bright blue sky fades to indigo. The temperature plummets. The Owens gather around the campfire once more. Chris, Grant and Dulus blow on the orange and blue flames, sending tiny embers up to join the emerging stars. All six tell stories of when they felt most scared. Grant recites Rudyard Kipling tales. Dulus, no longer the shy one, recites a guest list for his upcoming 13th birthday party. Tara's jokes make the whole family laugh like they did on that camping trip six years ago. Miles and years from that first campfire, the Owens keep returning to the flames that fuel their family bond. They're older now. They're different now. They're closer now. All the children feel this bond, but Tara's the one old enough to describe it. "I think about how blessed I am to be in a family like this. …We have what a lot of families don't have. "Even though we don't have the same blood," she says, wiping tears from her eyes, "I can't imagine our family without one of its members in it." Daily Herald staff writer Tara Malone contributed to this report. Tuesday -- Chapter Three: Making my way as an American from Korea
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Adopting internationally? What you need to know
Consider how your family, support system and community would accept a child from a different cul-ture. Consider what you will tell your child if he or she one day has ques-tions.
How important is detailed medical and biological parent information to you and your ability to pass it along to your child? What quality of care will your child have received in the native country?
Find out the costs, time-frame and travel require-ments for countries you're considering.
Narrow a list of your pri-orities in the above cate-gories down to three. This will help in matching your preferences to a country.
If possible, don't commit to an adoption agency until you've picked a country using your own priorities.
Using an agency near your home isn't necessary, but you should make sure you've checked out its cer-tification and references. Any agency's workers can give a good first impres-sion.
The U.S. State Department has a Web site providing both general advice and country-specific information for international adoption. Click here Source: All God's Children International non-profit adoption agency, Portland, Ore. U.S. State Department A look at costs Depending on a country's specific laws, foreign adoption costs can vary from about $10,000 to about $30,000. Most cost between $15,000 and $25,000. Agency fees usually in-clude dossier, immigration processing and court costs. Adoptive parents might be eligible for a $10,000 adoption tax credit or other financial aid, like em-ployee adoption assis-tance programs. Depending on the country, some additional fees might include:
Child foster care (usually in South and Central American adoptions).
Parents travel and in-country stays to process adoption abroad.
Escorting fees, charged when parents hire escorts to accompany the child in flight.
Child's medical care and treatment (occasionally in South and Central America).
Translation fees.
Foreign attorney and agency fees.
Visa processing and visa medical examination fees. | |||||||||||
Story by ERIC PETERSON | Daily Herald Writer
