Suffer the Little Children-1 - by Carl Douglass

Suffer the Little Children-1

Carl Douglass

Neurosurgeon Turned Author Writes With Gripping Realism

AuthorMasterminds Charter Member

I am an old man and have been through more than my share of life threatening, potentially life ending, health issues. Many older men and women complain to me about how annoying the noise is children seem to have to make. Some of those people have chosen to live in cloistered neighborhoods that exclude children because they want nothing to do with the pesky little beings. Some of my more religious friends complain that children in church are noisy and make it hard for them to hear the latest reiteration of a select group of sermons. As I recall, those sermon topics are neither new or so complex that missing a word or a sentence or two would constitute a serious loss. But that’s just me.

I happen to love the cooing, attempts at talking, the outbursts of enthusiasm, and even the brief crying of a baby who has no other way to express him or herself. Why is that? Because the noise they make is the stuff of life. Those children are the future, and I am happy I get a little longer to share in the joy they bring into the world. Christ said—to paraphrase—suffer the little children to come unto me for such is the kingdom of heaven. The little children and their aviary like noise is about as close as I ever expect to get to that heaven. Let me savor it.

Recently, my family had a miracle. Two of them in a row, I might add. A young couple in the family was unable to conceive. Despite all the sad-but-true commentary from those far older and many far wiser than they, the couple told a receptive part of the world of their plight and of their great desire to be parents.

Since this is the age of the Millennials, they did so on FaceBook. The first miracle happened three or four months later. A young unmarried girl and her family had the wisdom to realize that a sixteen-year-old girl is not in an ideal position to take on the sober responsibilities of single motherhood. She answered the FaceBook request, and the result led to the adoption of a beautiful, deeply loved, baby boy who entered a large and overbearingly attentive family. The new parents moved into parenthood with impressive gusto.

Four-and-a-half months after that--unassociated with the first response to the FaceBook posting by the new parents—a second young woman, a superior athlete, found herself to be, as we antiquarians might once have said, “with child.” Despite protestations by her grandmother, this second girl also sought out the above described prospective parents. The result was a smooth process that led to great happiness all around: a girl who could get on with her life, a baby with a future, new parents who have a baby brother close in age to their other new baby, an absolutely delighted—and more or less overly solicitous three generation retinue of family.

There have been hundreds of photos, texts, and visits. The first boy is a funny little rascal who charms everyone he comes in contact with because of his easy, noisy, laugh, and his love for the family dog. He also loves his little brother and holds on to him whenever he gets the chance.

The new boy sleeps all the time he is not eating or pooping. He is a sturdy little koala bear of an infant who coils up in a ball on your chest and sleeps the deep sleep of childhood while he warms your chest and steals your heart. I like his little noises. We have shared dozens of little videos of the parents and grandparents making the boys laugh. When I feel down, I get into my phone and just listen. Those noises never become passé or, unthinkable—annoying. I am the old great grandfather (name of Papa) who loves the new miracles as much or more than anyone.

We just celebrated one of the most beautiful and inspiring holidays in the nation’s repertoire of holidays—national adoption day—by clearing the last hurtle of legal adoption. The second baby is now officially, fully, and finally ours forever. The judge made the decree with enthusiasm and exuberance. The families who have benefited from adoption stood and cheered and cried. The moment was one of surpassing beauty.

Please, I beg, consider adoption. Save a girl, a baby, a set of childless yearning parents, two distraught families, a state with too many children wandering in the wilderness of what is unaffectionately known as “the system.” It is not a Republican thing, a Democrat thing, a Catholic thing, or a Protestant thing. It is a great American, Christian, Muslim, Jewish, etc. etc. thing.

Adoption deserves our every contribution. Children deserve all the love and care and protection we can offer. Adoption is inordinately expensive and stymies many otherwise perfect transactions. All of those among my readers who care, please push your legislators to change laws to enable rather than to hinder adoptions. Whatever the cost to We the People, it is money well spent for our country. We cannot afford the great economic, societal, judicial system, and human costs, of neglecting this vital personal, governmental, and investment-in-our-future, issue.