GOTCHA DAY

When the occasion arises to describe the family I grew up in my standard line is usually "There were seven of us; six girls and one boy - and we had to cheat to get him!"

That's right, after five little girls mom and dad were unwilling to roll the 'let Nature take its course' dice again and decided to adopt that little boy they wanted to round out their family.  That little girl #6 came along shortly afterward can be chalked up to Mother Nature showing them who was really in charge of such matters.  She has a great sense of humour, Mother Nature does.

I was only nine years old when we started hearing the word "adoption".  Mom and dad had to go for meetings and they went to visit some people in town whose whole family was adopted, I imagine to talk to them about what to expect.  From the fringes where I was observing all this, there was a lot to take in and as I remember it, by the way the grownups treated the word "adopted" it seemed that maybe this was something too far outside the box for our family.  As an adult I now realize that this seriousness that my parents treated the process with was commitment, not anguish - although all parenting involves plenty of both.

I honestly couldn't tell you how long it took between when they applied and the day when they announced that they were off to Regina to pick up a little boy who was going to be our brother.  I wonder?  Did I believe that it was really happening?  How did my school day go?  I can't even recall if they were home before us, or the other way around, but I do remember how cute that dark-haired, brown-eyed boy was, and how all of his new sisters just fell in love with him.

On January 20, 1965 - his Gotcha day (the day we 'got' him) he was a chubby-faced. sturdy toddler with a little one-sided grin that we all marvelled was just like Elvis Presley's.  That mom and dad had chosen a name for him that gave him the same initials (E.P.) seemed like Fate - he was just that darned cute.  There were so many of us crowding in on him that it's a wonder he wasn't traumatised, maybe mom held us all back, but he had us figured as his own personal groupie section in no time at all.  He was spoiled shamelessly.

Until, of course, that little sister #6 came along and he had to share the lime light.

For people who have no experience with adoption, who have never stretched their families in such a way, it's probably hard to understand how you can graft a new branch on the family tree and have it take so completely, but he is our brother; always has been, always will be.

With our gain though, it has to be acknowledged that someone else had to suffer his loss.  I keep these unknown people - his mother especially - in the back of my mind.  We know very little about them, but it's not the financial or social facts that matter anyway.  It's the times that we've shared that they haven't.  It's the sense of humour that they gave him but it's us who get to laugh with him (or at him, as the case may be).  When his birthday rolls around do they stop and wonder where he is; I know I would if I were them.

I'm not sure which came first - the chicken, or the egg; are we the kind of people who are just open and therefore tend to adopt, or did my brother's adoption open a door for us making it an easy decision to go ahead and adopt again?  Regardless, two of my eight grandchildren are adopted as well, and with the arrival of the last one came the concept of having a Gotcha day to celebrate when he joined the family.

It's such a lovely tradition and so simple an idea I don't know why we didn't think of it before.  My brother is in his fifties now and as far as I can remember, has never had his big day acknowledged.  That was changed this year when sister #6 planned dinner and a celebratory cake Friday night and the rest of us were there in spirit to celebrate too.  We're still glad we "gotcha"!