Evan is Thirteen

Evan crashed into our life - a scrawny, ribs showing, ravenously hungry six year old in 2012.  Evan was tough.  He was angry as hell.  Evan was completely independent (at 6) and had no use for the crazy lady who had shown up to take him away from everything he knew.  Evan was uncivilized.  Stop on the-busy city sidewalk and urinate wherever the urge hit you uncivilized.  Wave your fist at strangers uncivilized.  Stick your foot out to trip people in the Zhengzhou airport uncivilized. Jump screaming at a poor man sleeping in the airport to scare him uncivilized.

Meeting Evan was an experience that is seared in my mind forever.  Oh, I remember meeting Ben and Dominic, too.  Like it was yesterday.  But when I reminisce about their adoption days, I get the immediate rush of warm fuzzies.  I’d like to say it’s the same for Evan – but honestly, remembering that day and the days that followed gives me more the feeling of recalling a roll-over car crash that makes your heart race, and leaves you with the feeling of astonishment and gratitude that you survived.  

There are a lot of unknowns with adoption.  I will never know where Evan was from birth to age 3.  From 3 to 6 years old, he was warehoused with 200 other children in an old cinderblock building with peeling paint, open holes for windows and doors, and very little supervision.  I often use the reference of “Lord of the Flies” to describe his life there.  I have few photos of the place, but when I met Evan the physical scars and feral behavior told me more about his existence than a photo ever would. 

I. was. terrified.  What on earth had I done?  My life at home with Ben was idyllic.  I literally sat on the hotel floor in China and cried my eyes out.  My sister Anita had braved the trip with me, and she was a Godsend of emotional support.  Somehow, we made it through China. 

There are many delightful stories of adoption that start with, “In China, my son/daughter was wild, but when we finally got them home, they were a completely different kid.”  This was not one of those stories.  Evan was ever true to himself in China, and for the next two years, we walked through fire together. 

Evan had no language by age 6.  He was never taught to sign, and had no exposure to spoken language.  Child development experts will tell you that special window for optimal language development had closed.   

Today is Evan’s 13^th birthday. 

He is at least 5’6, and in the 150 lb range.  Lately, we’ve been trying to figure out: is he just a big kid, or is his age wrong, and his size affected by malnutrition?  I will never know. 

Today, Evan signs much better than I do.  We can have typical conversations: 

           

Evan: “Mom, make chocolate chip cookies for my birthday. Jose (his friend) loves your cookies.”

Me: Sure, I’ll make them.

Evan:  Ok, don’t buy them at a store – YOU make them.  Ok?

Me:  Yes, I promise. 

Evan reads – yes, below grade level – but he reads.  And he is improving all the time.  There are long lasting effects of language deprivation, and we have not escaped them, but we are working hard to minimize and overcome them. 

Evan loves cartoons, especially anime. He loves his X-Box.  He loves graphic novels.  Evan is extremely good at building anything.  If something I order comes un-assembled, I can hand it to Evan and walk away. 

Evan is afraid of the dark, and keeps a pile of makeshift toy ‘weapons’ in a pile next to his bed.  One can hardly imagine what went on in the pitch dark of the orphanage among hundreds of nearly unsupervised children, or adults with no accountability.  There are mornings I wake up, and every light in the house is turned on. 

Evan loves roller coasters.  The bigger and crazier the better.  Since the rest of his immediate family members are giant chickens, we brought Auntie Anita with us to our last amusement park visit. She’s brave enough to go on most rides, but Evan even went on the rides she refused to go on!

Evan loves school.  He loves and respects his teachers, his coaches and his friends.  He goes off to school willingly in the morning, and stays after school for basketball. 

Evan keeps his room very neatly, more so than Ben and Dominic.  He avoids most other chores, but will do something if I ask him. 

Evan still has off-putting behaviors, but with persistence at home and the wonderful team at his school, and the social correction that comes from his friends, we continue to polish this diamond in the rough. 

Evan has a beautiful heart.  His teacher recently wrote to me that he is often complimented in Robotics (an after school Lego building activity) because he is very conscientious about making sure everyone participates.  He loves to help the younger students. 

Evan is loved by his brothers, and he loves them, too.  Sure, they engage in the ordinary sibling bickering and aggravation, but if Evan sees Dominic crying about something, he will often try to give his younger brother a toy or treat to make him feel better.  Evan and Ben connect over video games, Pokémon cards, or occasionally chess. 

Today, on Evan’s birthday, I know my Grandmother is looking down on us.  Grammy loved all of my sons, but she had a giant soft spot for Evan.  When Evan first came home, he was repulsed by her.  He was unaccustomed to being around elderly people, and didn’t want to be anywhere near her.  Evan would mime to indicate that her drooping skin made him cringe.  My Grammy knew this, but she was not offended.  It would have been easy for her to reject him, to react to his behaviors, to focus on his rudeness.  Instead, she was determined to win him over, and often reminded me to give him grace.  In time, Grammy was victorious.  Evan would jump out of the car on Sundays to retrieve her walker, and open her car door.  He even surprised her occasionally with an unprompted, genuine hug. 

I stop at least once a day and marvel at the giant man-child that is my middle son.  Evan is ever amused that he towers over me, and I remind him that I am still the boss.  I have no doubt that Evan loves me fiercely, and the feeling is absolutely mutual.  Out of my three children, Evan has been the most challenging.  Even now, he can drive me to the brink and obliterate my last nerve.  But, he can also be very considerate and respectful. Evan has taught me more about my own strengths and weaknesses than anything else in my life. I have to remind myself that Evan, by age 6, had survived more than most people do in a lifetime.  Evan is incredibly bright, and the bravest person I know.

We are in a different place now, at 13.   I was not sure I would survive his younger years, but now I worry more about what his future will look like.  I think this is a normal concern for every parent, but Evan’s deafness and the lasting effects of the trauma he survived add another dimension.  I am so thankful that he is at a good school, with great deaf mentors who take time with Evan and have infinite patience and provide a warm, supportive environment.  Not everyone we encounter is as gracious.   I worry about future employment.  Statistics show that businesses are not racing to hire deaf employees. 

I could go on… 

Today, however, we will celebrate.  Evan is thirteen!  A teenager –God help me. J Today is Evan’s 7^th birthday as my beloved son.  We don’t do big, splashy birthday parties.  There will be cake, and some modest gifts.  We will celebrate at Evan’s favorite restaurant.  Most importantly, Evan will be surrounded by his family, who loves him to the moon and back.  The greatest gift of all.