Introduction

When I first thought about going through the CFS system to become a parent, either through adoption or fostering, I kept track of my emails. I recorded every part of the procedure, and when it became apparent I was being toyed with, I recorded every promise made and broken, and took notes about every meeting. I had always planned to write a book about the experience. I thought that depending on how the years went, that book would be either inspiring and affirming of parenthood or profoundly depressing if I was never allowed to care for a child. When I began to notice that I was being lied to and my paperwork deliberately misplaced, I also wanted my reporting to be accurate. I didn't want to guess at what someone said, especially if I was making serious allegations of incompetence or mendacity.

The origin of this story is more difficult to trace than merely those records, however. Although this particular struggle began relatively recently, my difficulties with Child and Family Services in Manitoba likely originates much earlier. Long before my birth there were issues in my biological family which led to me being placed in foster care at eight months old. There I was moved a few times, treated well or poorly depending on the circumstance and my reader's expectations, and largely had to take responsibility for making my own way in the world.

One of the products of my background was a firm sense of the difficulties of parenthood. I always felt that a prospective parent needed to be fully aware of the twenty-five year commitment if they took on the responsibility of a child, and I knew I wasn't ready when I was younger. In my university years I lived on less than ten thousand a year, and every time an ex-girlfriend had a pregnancy-scare, I shared that terror. I always believed that a father must be responsible for a child, and such concerns made me obsessively careful about birth control. Whether the baby is brought to term becomes, rightfully, the woman's decision, but if a man is to have any part in the decision, he has to exercise his caution early.

That paranoia about birth control finally led me to get a vasectomy when I was thirty-one, for by that point I felt I was mature enough to make such a momentous decision. Even then, there were those who suggested I was foolish or short-sighted. Michele, my girlfriend at the time, wanted to know, "What if I want to have a child someday?" That gave me pause for a year. Our relationship was only four months old, and I didn't want to give her the impression that I didn't care about her opinion, especially after I had asked for it. I waited a year until we were both more secure in the relationship, and broached the topic again. She replied with the same refrain, but this time I was ready with a quote of my own: "My body, my choice."

The slogan was popular enough when discussing women's rights to their own bodies, but I felt just as strongly about my own bodily autonomy. I asked her input, but I would never dream to tell her what she could do with her body, and I expected the same respect in return. Accordingly, I booked an appointment with an urologist recommended by my general practitioner. Once the doctor asked me a few questions--such as my marital status, whether I had children or not--he refused to perform the operation. I was too young, according to him. Since I wasn't married and didn't have children, I would regret the decision.

That was the first time that outside forces with power over me were deciding to make a decision that should have been mine, but considering that years later I would try to foster through Manitoba Child and Family Services, it wouldn't be the last.

He may have been correct. Maybe some people would regret the decision, but I was outraged. I couldn't help but feel that he was stripping my right to make that choice from me. I didn't come to him for advice about my lifestyle. I told him that whether I got a vasectomy wasn't his choice to make. "I'm not sure who you think you are," I said. "You're a glorified technician. I tell you where to cut and you cut. I'm not asking for your approval."

After that interaction I returned to my general practitioner and demanded a doctor with actual credentials they were proud to hang on the wall. She sent me to a colleague, who was mostly concerned that I was aware of the implications of the procedure. He told me how long the body would produce sperm after the operation and about the chances of re-canalization. He also mentioned the effectiveness rate of a reversal if I happened to change my mind. Once we'd covered the basics, and I still wanted to go ahead, he did a brief examination and booked an appointment.

After that simple procedure, I didn't need to worry about birth control. Although the operation didn't change my life in any significant way, I was treated to commentary from my friends. Denis, no doubt operating out of a sense that men's vitality was located in their crotch, facetiously asked if I were going to become fat and lazy like a sterilized dog. Ibrahim told me that I shouldn't go through with it because, "If it's not broken, then don't fix it." I told him as far as I was concerned it was broken, and therefore needed fixing.

Once that door had been slammed on my testicles, as it were, I said that I would adopt or foster when asked by those who worried about how I would become a parent. I didn't want to be a parent immediately, I definitely didn't want to become a father because I wasn't paying attention to birth control and had an "accident," but I still believed that it was a decision which demanded planning. That was the only way to be respectful to the child and to best prepare myself for a responsibility which I perhaps took too seriously.

The responses to my wish to adopt were also derided. Dennis said he would never adopt because you don't know what you're going to get. I agreed, but I wondered how you know what you will get when a child is gestating in the womb. It seems to me that biological birth is even more of a crap shoot, and he was lucky his girls had the opportunity to turn out to be fantastic women.

Steve's girlfriend Pat, upon hearing I had a vasectomy, said that she would never date a man who couldn't have a child. Annoyed, I asked her to consider the same statement if it had been made by a man. I told her I felt the same way, "I would never date a barren woman." She tried to backpedal, but once her prejudice was thrown back in her face as if a sexist man held such a view there was little she could say.

I remember telling a few Indian and Pakistani students about my decision, and their response was intense curiosity. They'd never considered the fact that they needn't have the same life as everyone around them, and they wondered how I'd escaped with my hide intact. They were trapped in a different system, and I felt like our conversation led to a chance for real learning.

I can't remember who spoke against adoption by warning me that the child might grow up and not love me. I remember telling them that such an eventuality is always a risk. Like the genetic lottery that Dennis was afraid of, there are no guarantees to parenthood. You have to go into the business thinking about what you can do for the child and not what the child can do for you.

To support my decision, I frequently brought up my environmental argument about not having my own children. I said we should care for those children who are already with us who need parents. Upon hearing that, Griselda told me I was being selfish. The exact mechanism of that selfishness--in that I was sacrificing my own desire for a child so that the world might have one less person destroying the environment and an orphaned child might have a home--was difficult to discern, and her subsequent statements on the topic didn't clarify matters.

A colleague at University of Manitoba not only disagreed with my political views, but we were in the middle of a relatively intimate conversation when Jila threw down her last card. Although we were both single, we had been discussing the possibility of having children someday. Since we had no other plans, we were talking about adoption. She mentioned how she wanted to take care of a child, and how she yearned to be a mother. I sympathized, for I'd often felt the same way. "I'd like to be a dad someday too," I began. "I've always thought about adopting or fostering."

"Oh, like you would be a good father," she scoffed.

I stopped, at first unsure I'd heard correctly. "What?"

"I just mean . . . I don't think you would . . . I mean, you wouldn't want a kid to interrupt your life."

I knew what she meant. She had dropped the subtlety for once and was telling me exactly what she thought. If she'd made another comment about my work, I might have taken it less to heart, since she was tenured and easily made three times my wages. But my skills as a father were scarcely her area of expertise and her claim just sounded like nastiness.

I was told by others that I would regret the decision, that women would not want to date me if they knew I wouldn't or couldn't have a biological child, and that the path I was on would not necessarily lead to happiness. The last point I have to agree with. Once anyone steps off the common path the untrammeled way ahead offers few certainties. They cannot predict from the lives around them how theirs will be, but decisions we make must consider more than our own happiness. As well, there is no guarantee that the main road will lead to joy any more than a side route will not eventually circle back and rejoin the carefully maintained highway that nearly everyone else is on.

My path ran parallel to that road most of the time, and the matter of children came up more than once. With the people I dated we normally discussed adoption, although one of my ex-girlfriends already had a child and had been a surrogate mother, which meant she had an informed appreciation of my position. As I got older, the possibility of parenthood seemed to grow more remote. I was busy with graduate school, my girlfriends had careers they were preoccupied with, and we never felt like it was the right time. Sometime in the future, we said to ourselves. When all of this settles, then we'll consider adopting.

Some of the reasons for this delay were selfish. I knew that my ability to travel would be curtailed if I were to take parenting seriously, and for all those who pointed to young parents backpacking with children, I knew my income would never allow that. My itinerant lifestyle, again tied to penury, also meant I gave up apartments in the spring and rented anew in the fall. I would need to be more stable if I were bringing up a child. There was never enough money and never enough time, until suddenly there was.

Buy the Ebook

Buy the Paperback