TIME: Almanac 1993/TIME Almanac 1993.iso/time/060490/0604620.000

Text File | 1992-08-28 | 5.9 KB | 123 lines

                                                                                ETHICS, Page 82

When the Lullaby Ends


Should adoptive parents be able to return unwanted children?

By ANDREA SACHS -- With reporting by Michele Donley/Chicago and
Janice C. Simpson/New York


    Most eleven-year-olds don't have a lawyer, but Tony is a
special case. His adoptive parents decided five years after his
adoption that Tony had not properly "bonded" with them, and
returned him to the state in March. They kept Sam, Tony's
natural younger brother. Patrick Murphy, the Chicago public
guardian who was appointed to serve as Tony's attorney, says
the youngster is an "absolute joy to be around." But there have
been scars. Says Murphy: "One of the tragic things is that Tony
blames himself."

    Tony is one of at least 1,000 children adopted in the U.S.
each year who will be returned to agencies by their new
parents. Some are sent back because of unmet expectations,
others because they have severe emotional problems the parents
cannot handle. In a risk-averse age when consumer standards
have become more exacting and family commitments seem less
binding, there is a danger that adopted children could be
viewed as commodities that come with an implied warranty. The
problem presents a major challenge for the legal system. "This
is not a question of damaged goods; it's a matter of what's in
the best interest of the child," says Neil Cogan of Southern
Methodist law school.

    Social workers used to believe that all an adopted child
needed was a loving home. But now many admit that even the most
committed parents may be overwhelmed by unexpected problems.
In 1986 Dan and Rhonda Stanton adopted a blond baby girl they
named Stacey Rene. "We thought we had a perfect baby because
she didn't cry," says Dan, an insurance agent in suburban
Dallas. Their contentment faded as the months passed and Stacey
did not develop properly. She didn't babble and laugh like
their friends' babies and couldn't pinch with her individual
fingers. The tentative diagnosis: Rett's syndrome, a rare
genetic disorder in which the brain stops growing. Devastated,
the Stantons took Stacey back to the agency and have not seen
her since. "We made a commitment to her, but we were not able
to live up to that commitment," says Rhonda. "She turned out
to be totally different from what we thought we had adopted."


    If adoptive parents are saddled with an unforeseen defect,
who should shoulder the load? Most experts put the onus on the
adoptive parents. "Families, having decided to do an adoption,
assume a certain risk," says Professor William Winslade of the
University of Texas Medical School in Galveston. "If it is an
incredibly difficult burden, it seems unfair not to give
parents, who have provided the benefit to society by making the
adoption, some special help. But I don't think the burden
should be totally given back to the state either. Parents adopt
because they want the joys -- and the sorrows -- of having
children."

    About 2% of all adoptions in the U.S. fail. But for older
children and children with special needs, the numbers are far
higher. For children older than two, 10% of the adoptions are
dissolved. For ages twelve to 17, the rate shoots up to around
24%. This poses a special problem, since healthy adoptable
babies are increasingly scarce owing to the fact that more
single women now opt to have abortions or to keep their
infants. More families are therefore adopting older or
handicapped children. This seems to be a main cause of the
growing return-to-sender phenomenon.

    As the problem of disrupted adoptions spreads, specialists
are looking more closely at agency methods. One cause for
failure is a practice that Berkeley Professor Richard Barth
describes as "stretching." In essence, it is a bait-and-switch
game: would-be parents are encouraged to adopt a child
different from the one they wanted by the withholding of some
negative information. For example, a couple who want a baby are
persuaded to take an older child and never told that several
earlier placements have not worked out because of emotional
problems. Though the motive is benevolent -- finding a home for
a hard-to-place child -- Barth regards the tactic as unethical.

    Some disappointed parents have begun to fight back in the
courts. The notion of "wrongful adoption" -- which claims that
agencies are liable for damages if they place children without
fully disclosing their health backgrounds -- is gaining legal
recognition. Frank and Jayne Gibbs of Philadelphia are suing
two agencies for $6 million, following their adoption of a
seven-year-old boy who turned out to be violently disturbed.
After the adoption, say the couple, they discovered that he had
been horribly abused, including an attempt by his natural
mother to cut off his genitals.

    Many states have passed medical disclosure laws, which make
it easier to obtain accurate information about a child.
Agencies themselves are attempting to gather more data. The
Golden Cradle adoption agency, in Cherry Hill, N.J., requires
natural mothers to fill out ten-page medical histories that ask
about everything from hay fever and heavy drinking to Down's
syndrome and blood transfusions. Genetic counselors are often
called in as consultants. "We believe an ounce of prevention is
worth a pound of cure," says agency supervisor Mary Anne Giello.

    Still, there are no warranties on adoptions. Those who set
out looking for perfect "designer" children are likely to be
disappointed. Nor is it possible -- or even necessary -- to
know everything about a child. "People shouldn't get the idea
that they can't be parents unless they have a DNA profile of
a kid," says Professor Joan Hollinger of the University of
Detroit law school. Instead adoptive parents, armed with as
much information as possible, should face the inevitable
mysteries -- just as all parents do.