10263. Harper writes the number on a sticky note and turns to the files. One by one, he slides the metal walls to the right until he gets to the section that holds Joanna Galen’s file. He kneels and sifts through the folders until he finds the one he’s looking for.
He opens the folder and sets it on the counter between us, revealing a black-and-white photo of a tiny face with plump cheeks, a patch of dark hair, and eyes that are open just a slit. It’s stapled to a pile of papers that contain all the answers to Joanna Galen’s questions. My heart swells with excitement.
Harper lays Joseph Galen’s birth certificate and adoption papers on the counter for me to see. “These files contain two types of information,” he explains, “identifying and non-identifying. Non-identifying information is trivial stuff, like the baby’s hair and eye color, birth weight, and length. For the parents, it’s usually their ages at the time of the child’s birth, education levels, health histories, and other details that won’t identify them. Non-identifying information is pretty easy to come by, and anyone involved in the transaction can request it.”
I cringe.
Transaction
makes it sound as banal as selling a stock, but if Joanna Galen was anything like me, giving up her son was probably more like amputating a piece of her heart. “Why would anyone want trivial facts?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I guess it gives the requester some hope to survive on.”
I nod politely, but it’s obvious he’s never been on the other side of a request form.
“There’s also identifying information,” he adds, “which can help someone identify a birth parent, an adoptee, or other birth relatives. It includes information like current names, past names, addresses, places of employment. You get the picture.” He flips through the papers in Joseph Galen’s file and then stamps Joanna’s Galen’s information request with a big red
DENIED
.
My heart lurches. “Why is it denied?”
“By law we have to follow a mutual consent system. The only way a birth parent can get identifying information about an adoptee is with signed consent from the adoptee. The process works in reverse too. No consent form, no identifying information.”
“And how exactly would someone like Joseph Galen go about giving his consent?”
“He can fill out a consent form, which we’ll keep in his file in the event someone is ever looking for him.”
“So if you receive his consent form tomorrow, would you send his mother the information she’s looking for?”
He chuckles, but his smile fades when he realizes I’m not joking. “Consent must be given before the information request is received. Trying to back fill all the information requests we receive would be an administrative nightmare.”
A sinking feeling pulls in my stomach. “Does this system ever work out for anyone?”
He shrugs. “Sometimes, I guess.” He grabs a form letter from the shelf beneath the counter and tucks it into the self-addressed stamped envelope that Joanna Galen had sent with her request.
“What does that say?”
“It’s just some lawyer-speak about the protection of identifying information. It gives Mrs. Galen the option to write back and request non-identifying information, if she so chooses, or to give her consent should her son ever request identifying information about her.” He licks the envelope shut and drops it in the mail bin.
I imagine Joanna Galen opening her mailbox and finding the envelope from the Adoption Registry. She’ll tear it open right there in the street, but she won’t find the answers she’s been looking for. Instead she’ll find a form letter, with its lawyer-speak and its empty offer for some trivial non-identifying information. My heart wilts for her.
Harper tucks the strand of hair behind his ear again. “I have to say, no one has ever shown so much interest in my job. Most people think it’s pretty boring.”
His grin is less adorable
He opens the folder and sets it on the counter between us, revealing a black-and-white photo of a tiny face with plump cheeks, a patch of dark hair, and eyes that are open just a slit. It’s stapled to a pile of papers that contain all the answers to Joanna Galen’s questions. My heart swells with excitement.
Harper lays Joseph Galen’s birth certificate and adoption papers on the counter for me to see. “These files contain two types of information,” he explains, “identifying and non-identifying. Non-identifying information is trivial stuff, like the baby’s hair and eye color, birth weight, and length. For the parents, it’s usually their ages at the time of the child’s birth, education levels, health histories, and other details that won’t identify them. Non-identifying information is pretty easy to come by, and anyone involved in the transaction can request it.”
I cringe.
Transaction
makes it sound as banal as selling a stock, but if Joanna Galen was anything like me, giving up her son was probably more like amputating a piece of her heart. “Why would anyone want trivial facts?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I guess it gives the requester some hope to survive on.”
I nod politely, but it’s obvious he’s never been on the other side of a request form.
“There’s also identifying information,” he adds, “which can help someone identify a birth parent, an adoptee, or other birth relatives. It includes information like current names, past names, addresses, places of employment. You get the picture.” He flips through the papers in Joseph Galen’s file and then stamps Joanna’s Galen’s information request with a big red
DENIED
.
My heart lurches. “Why is it denied?”
“By law we have to follow a mutual consent system. The only way a birth parent can get identifying information about an adoptee is with signed consent from the adoptee. The process works in reverse too. No consent form, no identifying information.”
“And how exactly would someone like Joseph Galen go about giving his consent?”
“He can fill out a consent form, which we’ll keep in his file in the event someone is ever looking for him.”
“So if you receive his consent form tomorrow, would you send his mother the information she’s looking for?”
He chuckles, but his smile fades when he realizes I’m not joking. “Consent must be given before the information request is received. Trying to back fill all the information requests we receive would be an administrative nightmare.”
A sinking feeling pulls in my stomach. “Does this system ever work out for anyone?”
He shrugs. “Sometimes, I guess.” He grabs a form letter from the shelf beneath the counter and tucks it into the self-addressed stamped envelope that Joanna Galen had sent with her request.
“What does that say?”
“It’s just some lawyer-speak about the protection of identifying information. It gives Mrs. Galen the option to write back and request non-identifying information, if she so chooses, or to give her consent should her son ever request identifying information about her.” He licks the envelope shut and drops it in the mail bin.
I imagine Joanna Galen opening her mailbox and finding the envelope from the Adoption Registry. She’ll tear it open right there in the street, but she won’t find the answers she’s been looking for. Instead she’ll find a form letter, with its lawyer-speak and its empty offer for some trivial non-identifying information. My heart wilts for her.
Harper tucks the strand of hair behind his ear again. “I have to say, no one has ever shown so much interest in my job. Most people think it’s pretty boring.”
His grin is less adorable
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