Megan

Bulletin #12682

Resilient and funny, Megan, is chock full of potential. Megan is eager to belong to a ''forever'' family. With an expressive face and tendencies towards the dramatic, Megan will always let you know how she feels. She loves to color her naturally light brown hair and try new hairstyles. Her great smile and the twinkle in her blue eyes are hints as to the personality within.

Megan likes to sing along with her karaoke machine and last summer enjoyed participating in acting camp. She likes to read and talk about what she's read. She has attended horse camp and dreams of having her own horse.

Megan is a truly wonderful child who, despite the many challenges she has faced, is still hopeful, open and affectionate. Megan, who gets along well with younger children very much wants to belong forever to a family. She is set to blossom into a confident and compassionate young adult.

KVAL newslink:

HOW CAN YOU HELP?

ADOPT

CALL THE DEPARTMENT OF HUMAN SERVICES-DHS 686-7555

AND ASK TO TALK TO THE ADOPTION WORKER OF THE DAY ABOUT HOW TO ADOPT.

SPREAD THE WORD

ON OUR WEBSITE AND THIS EMAIL!  SHARE WITH YOUR FAMILY AND FRIENDS THAT MEGAN NEEDS AND WANTS A FAMILY.

SPONSOR  

DONATE, ONCE OR MONTHLY, TO HELP US FIND HER HER FOREVER FAMILY.  WE WILL USE THIS MONEY FOR PROMOTIONAL MATERIAL AND ACTIVITIES THAT ARE DIRECTED TO FINDING MEGAN A FAMILY.  WE WILL REPORT TO YOU, OUR ACTIVITIES, HOW WE SPENT THE MONEY AND HER PROGRESS.

Melissa Hart

Six large-format photographs--each framed and propped on its own easel at the Eugene Airport--changed my life.  My husband Jonathan and I planned to adopt a baby from overseas.  We sat through months of classes on international adoption.  We completed weeks of interviews with our social worker, and drove two hours to Portland for five-minute mandatory fingerprinting.  But suddenly, as we waited for my mom to deplane so we could treat her to a Mother's Day brunch, we found ourselves confronted with the Lane County Heart Gallery.

            Started in 2006 by Christie Obie-Barrett of Eugene, the project pairs foster children with professional photographers who donate their time to capture a compelling portrait of each child.  The pictures are framed and exhibited with brief biographies.  Heart Galleries exist across the country, in grocery stores, malls, and churches-in any venue populated by prospective parents.

            The mother of 12 children, nine of whom are adopted, Obie-Barrett works to make a difference in the lives of other kids by finding them "forever families."  Her mission statement notes that through the Heart Gallery, she hopes to "inspire and educate families that otherwise would not have thought of becoming an adoptive family."

            I grew up wanting to adopt.  But I'd always pictured myself traveling overseas to do so.  That day at the airport, I studied the photo of a pigtailed blond girl holding a rose, a little boy sitting among fall leaves.   I looked at Jonathan-his hazel eyes reflected my revelation.  Kids in our county needed a home.  Domestic adoption struck us as a duty we could happily embrace.

            My mother walked toward us, toting her suitcase, and raised her eyebrows.  "Why do you two look so excited?" she asked.  "Surely this can't be about my visit."

            "We've decided to adopt a kid from Oregon," I said, indicating the photographs.

            Mom simply nodded.  Over the last two years, she's observed our wedding, witnessed us scraping the bumper sticker off our car-"If I wanted to hear the pitter-patter of little feet, I'd put shoes on my cat."  She's watched us attempt to adopt from China before new restrictions in that country required us to be married for five years.  She's seen us embrace Vietnamese cooking in anticipation of choosing a toddler from that country.  And now this.

            "Whatever you decide is meant to be," she said, hugging me.  "You can do this."

            Is this what she said to herself as she struggled to raise three small children alone for a time?  Did she ever doubt her capability, as she worked two jobs to put food on the table and gas in our ancient Volkswagen bus?

            I had my own doubts as I sat through ten weeks of classes to learn about children from the Heart Gallery.  Parental abuse, neglect, and drug addiction mar the lives of these young people.  Many grow up in foster care which-no matter how loving-is transient, filled with kids who may or may not sit at the family dinner table next month.

            I listened to heartbreaking stories and clutched Jonathan's hand.  Where would we find the strength and wisdom to raise a child who came to us with such tender scars and painful memories?

            I wavered.  One morning, Jonathan and I took our dogs hiking and stopped beneath a grove of sycamores, their branches festooned with moss.  "Maybe we should adopt a baby from Vietnam after all," I told him.  "A child without a history of abuse might be easier."

            Now his eyes mirrored my fear.  We embraced in the pale green light of the trees, threw tennis balls for the dogs, and drove home bewildered.

The next day our social worker arrived at our house with an enormous red binder.  "These are foster children available for adoption in Oregon," she explained.  "Some are from the Heart Gallery.  Others are too young to qualify."

            I made a cup of cocoa and curled up with the book, poring over photographs of beautiful boys and girls, studying their biographies.  Some had legal names like Peanut or Serendipity.  Some of them had lives that resembled a Dickens' novel.  Others were too young to have much history.  All needed love and security and a home.

            The book felt heavy in my hands, a good five pounds.  The weight of responsibility tempered the joy I felt at the possibilities within its pages.  But now, instead of asking, "Can I do this?" I reread the biographies and said to myself, "Yes.  And for which child?"

            At last, we chose a 16-month old girl named Grace.  Born to a drug-addicted mother, the baby has lived in medical foster care her entire short life.  In the midst of her adoption process, I occasionally doubt my capability to raise this child.  But one look at the soulful brown eyes in her photograph assures me that I've made the right choice.

UO Journalism instructor Melissa Hart is the author of a memoir, The Assault of Laughter.  Contact her at melissah@uoregon.edu .

May 2008