the road, and so, before taking him all the way back to San Jose, they stopped at Home of Peace in Colma. “Please God, this is where I end up,” Pop said, “in the ground beside your mother. When it’s my time. Which might not be for a long time, or which might be driving home in a few minutes with this
meshugenah
here.” He pointed at Dan, then threw up his hands. “Okay, here, my final word,” he said. “My commentary, take it or leave it. And what I’m thinking is, an adopted is like the Jews, okay? Without a country, because he has two countries, his home country and the Promised Land. ‘Next year in Jerusalem’—maybe an adopted is saying this in his head, he thinks something is missing, always something is not right or perfect, he has longings. Maybe his parents are Dr. Daniel and Alice, perfectly nice people, loving people, concerned people for the good of thewhole world, liberal people who care about other human beings, which is a wonderful way to be, I’m not discounting it; still, here is this adopted, wondering always who he is, not at peace in his heart, restless about everything, a striver, a historian, a what-do-you-call-it, a genealogist type of guy, never satisfied, always asking questions, maybe even rebellious against his perfectly loving parents. Why? Because they aren’t his parents and he knows it—and also he’s mad at his real parents.”
“We wouldn’t tell him,” said Dan. “He wouldn’t know he was adopted.”
“Nobody would tell him,” Alice added. “Everyone would have to keep the secret.”
“Oy,”
said Pop.
But in the end he hugged his daughter and stroked her hair, which was honey-colored, thick, and worn loose, to her shoulders. “Alice,” he said, “if you and Dr. Daniel must do this, adopt, please do it with both eyes open, can you promise? Both eyes open, please, knowing ahead maybe you can’t see what there is to see, maybe it’s a wrecked train, maybe not, who knows?”
“We know,” said Dan. “Things can go wrong. It isn’t news to us, the risks of adoption.”
Pop shook his finger at him over Alice’s shoulder. “This is what I mean,” he said. “This is what I’m nervous of,
exactly
. Listen to Dr. Daniel when he speaks. He thinks this will happen to
other
people. He doesn’t think it will happen to
him
. How could it happen to the wonderful Dr. Daniel, who has such a wonderful life?”
“You’re right, Daniel’s like that,” said Alice.
They situated Pop in his quarters again, and finally, relieved—their forebearers in their wake—got on the freeway. For fifty fast and therapeutic miles they shared their generational amusement and gave their familial irritation full rein, laughing because their parents were archaic, and angry because they were know-it-alls. When that was exhausted, and for the next two hundred miles, they talked as if against a deadline about adoption, and, partly because their parents were so difficult—because their parents’ concerns about adoption were so ridiculous—they decided to go ahead with it. That night there was motel sex as confirmation. There were earnest convictions, virtuous feeling, outrage, and the will to make a statement. Let their parents think what they want to think, letthem be oppressed by tradition and reservation, by Darwinian smallness, and by fear of the unknown—they, Dan and Alice, were adopting.
Without delay, then, they started the process. They had to jump through hoops, waste reams of paper, and, Dan felt, put up with nonsense. They had to answer every question, fill in every blank, and be patient while invisible wheels turned; they had to expect things to proceed in tiny increments that inevitably triggered another invoice. During all of this, Alice got up to speed on adoption. She read studies and how-to books. When Dan complained about exasperating forms, Alice said that people who gave up because adoption was tediously bureaucratic, not to mention expensive, couldn’t
meshugenah
here.” He pointed at Dan, then threw up his hands. “Okay, here, my final word,” he said. “My commentary, take it or leave it. And what I’m thinking is, an adopted is like the Jews, okay? Without a country, because he has two countries, his home country and the Promised Land. ‘Next year in Jerusalem’—maybe an adopted is saying this in his head, he thinks something is missing, always something is not right or perfect, he has longings. Maybe his parents are Dr. Daniel and Alice, perfectly nice people, loving people, concerned people for the good of thewhole world, liberal people who care about other human beings, which is a wonderful way to be, I’m not discounting it; still, here is this adopted, wondering always who he is, not at peace in his heart, restless about everything, a striver, a historian, a what-do-you-call-it, a genealogist type of guy, never satisfied, always asking questions, maybe even rebellious against his perfectly loving parents. Why? Because they aren’t his parents and he knows it—and also he’s mad at his real parents.”
“We wouldn’t tell him,” said Dan. “He wouldn’t know he was adopted.”
“Nobody would tell him,” Alice added. “Everyone would have to keep the secret.”
“Oy,”
said Pop.
But in the end he hugged his daughter and stroked her hair, which was honey-colored, thick, and worn loose, to her shoulders. “Alice,” he said, “if you and Dr. Daniel must do this, adopt, please do it with both eyes open, can you promise? Both eyes open, please, knowing ahead maybe you can’t see what there is to see, maybe it’s a wrecked train, maybe not, who knows?”
“We know,” said Dan. “Things can go wrong. It isn’t news to us, the risks of adoption.”
Pop shook his finger at him over Alice’s shoulder. “This is what I mean,” he said. “This is what I’m nervous of,
exactly
. Listen to Dr. Daniel when he speaks. He thinks this will happen to
other
people. He doesn’t think it will happen to
him
. How could it happen to the wonderful Dr. Daniel, who has such a wonderful life?”
“You’re right, Daniel’s like that,” said Alice.
They situated Pop in his quarters again, and finally, relieved—their forebearers in their wake—got on the freeway. For fifty fast and therapeutic miles they shared their generational amusement and gave their familial irritation full rein, laughing because their parents were archaic, and angry because they were know-it-alls. When that was exhausted, and for the next two hundred miles, they talked as if against a deadline about adoption, and, partly because their parents were so difficult—because their parents’ concerns about adoption were so ridiculous—they decided to go ahead with it. That night there was motel sex as confirmation. There were earnest convictions, virtuous feeling, outrage, and the will to make a statement. Let their parents think what they want to think, letthem be oppressed by tradition and reservation, by Darwinian smallness, and by fear of the unknown—they, Dan and Alice, were adopting.
Without delay, then, they started the process. They had to jump through hoops, waste reams of paper, and, Dan felt, put up with nonsense. They had to answer every question, fill in every blank, and be patient while invisible wheels turned; they had to expect things to proceed in tiny increments that inevitably triggered another invoice. During all of this, Alice got up to speed on adoption. She read studies and how-to books. When Dan complained about exasperating forms, Alice said that people who gave up because adoption was tediously bureaucratic, not to mention expensive, couldn’t
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