A Friday the 13th Story

I said something to a co-worker today about it being Friday the 13th, and they asked me, "Oh, are you superstition?". Hmmm... I didn't know how to answer!

I happily stand under ladders, I socialize with black cats (if they are nice), and I just plain try to stay out of graveyards, so there's no risk of me walking over someone's grave.

However...

I do listen to the universe.

Okay you new age goofy freak, what does that mean?

I think there are signs around us that give us guidance about whether we are going in the right direction or not. You might call it "God", "karma", "Gaia" or even "shit happens".

Mr. Goofy and I grew up in the same city. But we did not meet until we were in high school. But after comparing notes over the years, we have come to realize that our paths intersected many, many times over the years. YMCA camp, field trips, common friends...we found a scary amount of examples that prove to me that we were meant to meet. [insert Twlight Zone theme here]

The best example of this was when we adopted our son. Regardless of what you might read, when you meet your adopted child for the first time, angels do not come down from the heavens and you do not hear trumpets, violins, nor kazoos playing. You just stare at each other and think, "Jeez, is this the one?"

So when we traveled to Russia for the first time to meet our new son, we were listening. For a sign. Anything. So we would know if were on the right track. There's a lot of of scaryness related to adopting internationally. You have no real medical history. It can be lied about. If the parents are not married, the dad is not put on the birth certificate, so you have no idea of his medical history. There is a big risk of fetal alcohol syndrome, especially with all the readily-accessible vodka. And sexually-transmitted diseases are pretty common and can be transferred to the child of a pregnant mom.

Unlike China, when you travel to Russia, you do not get many details regarding the child they have selected for you. The "expecting parents" for China get pictures, names, ages, and details. We got a hearty, "C'mon over, we have a boy selected for you". How old? Name? "Just c'mon over and meet him." Um...okay.

So, of course, one of the first question friends and family asked was, "Well, what are you going to name him?" We were very open to keeping his given name, provided it "worked" in America. Our comment was typically, "Well, if it's something like Vladamir, we will probably change it. But if it's something like Alexander, then that would work here and we will keep it."

The first details you get about your "referral" are in Russia. We met with the Director of the Ministry of Education. He had a file in his hand. He pulled out a picture of a bouncing baby boy. Obviously a boy, as the child was buck naked, all his boy parts showing, with a goofy grin on his face.

"His name is Alexander," the Director said. And that was all we needed to know.

The universe spoke.

We heard.