Bryan Caplan is on a mission. This parenting book is not written by a psychologist, counselor, or pediatrician. Caplan is an economist. As an economist, one of his interests is measuring costs and benefits; he knows that a good investment is one in which the reutrns justify the investment. In Selfish Reasons to Have More Kids: Why Being a Great Parent is Less Work and More Fun Than You Think, he demonstrates that the costs of parenthood don't have to be as great as they sometimes are and that benefits or returns are usually greater than we realize.
First, the macroeconomic question. One of Caplan's inspiration was Julian Simon, who argued that man, as the title of his most well-known book indicates, is The Ultimate Resource. In other words, every person born is not just a consumer--sure, the first years of life are spent primarily consuming--but virtually everyone makes a contribution. As long as they're "alive and self-supporting" they are a net gain to humanity. And, of course, as we grow older we need younger people to sustain society as we age and fade back into a position of being a net consumer.
Most of Selfish Reasons is spent on the microeconomic level, arguing that for an individual family more kids are better than fewer. Caplan asks for parents to think long term when considering family size. When you have a little one at home, keeping you up nights and requiring constant diapering and feeding (or two, as Caplan did with twins), you think, "No more!" Or when you have two or three running around to sports and school activities in different places, you think, "This is plenty!" But when the kids are out of the house, married and having kids, that's when it's nice to have a bunch. More kids increases your chances of having more grandkids, which, as my Dad (father of 4) says, is when parenting pays off! More kids also means better odds that you have an adult son or daughter come around to visit or help out when you're old and lonely.
One of the reasons some people choose not to have more kids is the pressure for performance. Parents want their children to succeed academically, to be involved in sports, music lessons, etc. Parents believe that if they have more kids, they have less time to invest in their kids' development. But Caplan compiles the results from twin and adoption studies that show that parents ought to just relax. There is very little we do as parents that determines the long-term success of our children. We might have some short-term impact, but nature wins out over nurture. Caplan says that we think children are like clay, that we can shape them and mold them. But in reality, they are more like plastic; when we mold and shape them, they may stay that shape for a while, but they ultimately pop back into their original shape.
Because we have little long-term impact, we should avoid activities or parenting methods that introduce undue stress or difficulty on the family. The little guy doesn't want to go to karate class? Stay home and play. The little girl doesn't want to go to ballet? No sweat. An easier schedule will make happier parents, and the kids won't be any worse off.
Of course, there are limits to Caplan's arguments. He points out that all of the twin and adoption studies involve first-world families. There are obvious benefits for children raised in the developed world where nutrition, sanitation, and health care are adequate. And he certainly does not promote neglecting or ignoring your children altogether. But he emphasizes relaxing. Rather than get stressed out about parenting, reading parenting books, signing up for all the activities we can fit in, and worrying about college prospects of graduates of certain preschools, Caplan says if we can be approved by a typical adoption agency, we are good enough parents. All of our other efforts, for whatever short-term impact they have, have very little long-term effects.
Caplan's writing is certainly entertaining, especially considering that he's an academic economist, and, I think, he makes a compelling argument. But I'm an easy audience: I have a huge admiration for parents who choose large families, and as a father of 3, I can't help thinking that we're not done. We have two biological children and one adopted, and hope to add by adoption at some point. I do wish he would have spent more time addressing family growth by adoption. I share Caplan's hope, that couples who have no kids will think about having a couple, and that couples with two or three might think about having a couple more.
Showing posts with label adoption. Show all posts
Showing posts with label adoption. Show all posts
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Sunday, August 7, 2011
To Find Hope: Mother Teresa, by Sam Wellman
Few Christians in the 20th century were as well-known and admired as Mother Teresa. Though a devout Catholic, her humility in service to the poorest of the poor brought her fame and adulation from around the world, among Christians of all stripes, and among people of other faiths or no faith at all. Sam Wellman, prolific author of Christian biographies for young readers, provides an easy-reading introduction to Mother Teresa in his novelized biography, To Find Hope.
Like most people, I have been vaguely aware of Mother Teresa's work and legacy for some time. I remember when she died, on the same day as Princess Diana, regretting that Mother Teresa's death was overshadowed by the publicity-loving celebrity princess. But that is probably what Mother Teresa would have wanted. Never comfortable with the media attention and honors she received, including a Nobel Peace Prize, she suffered through the praise with humility in order to bring more attention and needed funds to the poor.
One thing I always loved about Mother Teresa was her speaking out on behalf of the most helpless people: the unborn. Her Nobel speech summed up her view: "I feel the greatest destroyer of peace today is abortion. . . . Because if a mother can kill her own child, what is left for me to kill you and you to kill me? There is nothing in between." Preach it, sister! Er, Mother! She backed it up by promoting adoption. "Please don't kill the child. . . . I am willing to accept any child who would be aborted and to give that child to a married couple who will love the child and be loved by the child."
However, I was never quite comfortable with her universalist-sounding talk. There is no question that she was a follower of Christ, and that she followed and adored Christ in a way that has been equaled by few Christians. But I have a hard time processing statements like this: "We convert Hindus into better Hindus. Muslims into better Muslims." Surely there are many who became followers of Christ as a result of her ministry, but, at least in Wellman's telling, we don't hear of many. To be sure, serving the poor for the sake of the poor, and touching them as if touching Jesus, is a good unto itself. But I'm left wondering about her ready embrace of other faiths.
Wellman's uncritical treatment may not satisfy someone with a serious scholarly or theological interest in Mother Teresa's life and influence, but he captures her life and work in a way that will inspire the reader to try "something beautiful for God."
Like most people, I have been vaguely aware of Mother Teresa's work and legacy for some time. I remember when she died, on the same day as Princess Diana, regretting that Mother Teresa's death was overshadowed by the publicity-loving celebrity princess. But that is probably what Mother Teresa would have wanted. Never comfortable with the media attention and honors she received, including a Nobel Peace Prize, she suffered through the praise with humility in order to bring more attention and needed funds to the poor.
One thing I always loved about Mother Teresa was her speaking out on behalf of the most helpless people: the unborn. Her Nobel speech summed up her view: "I feel the greatest destroyer of peace today is abortion. . . . Because if a mother can kill her own child, what is left for me to kill you and you to kill me? There is nothing in between." Preach it, sister! Er, Mother! She backed it up by promoting adoption. "Please don't kill the child. . . . I am willing to accept any child who would be aborted and to give that child to a married couple who will love the child and be loved by the child."
However, I was never quite comfortable with her universalist-sounding talk. There is no question that she was a follower of Christ, and that she followed and adored Christ in a way that has been equaled by few Christians. But I have a hard time processing statements like this: "We convert Hindus into better Hindus. Muslims into better Muslims." Surely there are many who became followers of Christ as a result of her ministry, but, at least in Wellman's telling, we don't hear of many. To be sure, serving the poor for the sake of the poor, and touching them as if touching Jesus, is a good unto itself. But I'm left wondering about her ready embrace of other faiths.
Wellman's uncritical treatment may not satisfy someone with a serious scholarly or theological interest in Mother Teresa's life and influence, but he captures her life and work in a way that will inspire the reader to try "something beautiful for God."
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| "Pure and genuine religion in the sight of God the Father means caring for orphans . . ." |
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Silas Marner, by George Eliot
Poor Silas. He can't get a break. After falsely being accused of a crime, he relocates to another village, where he focuses on working and earning money, living an isolated, antisocial existence. He loves his money. In fact, that's all he loves. Then someone robs him, taking every last coin.
George Eliot, pen name of Mary Anne Evans, wrote several novels capturing life in 19th century England. Silas Marner, first published in 1861, remains a timeless, moving story of one man's struggle and redemption in the face of adversity. When Silas was a young man, one of his closest friends betrayed him by framing him for a crime and stealing his girl. As if being betrayed by his friend wasn't enough, he was also betrayed by the church; the drawing of lots declared his guilt.
Moving to a new town, he earns his living as a weaver, and lives a miserly existence. He had no other purpose in life but to earn and save money. "His life had reduced itself to the mere functions of weaving and hoarding, without any contemplation of an end towards which the functions tended." His only pleasure, all he looked forward to, was taking the money out every night, counting it, stacking it, sorting it, and handling it. Until one night, it was gone.
And as suddenly as the money disappeared from his home, a little girl appeared. Silas found the mother frozen by the road near his home. Without hesitation, Silas took on the task of raising her as his own, finding the fulfillment he had been missing all those years: "Now something had come to replace his hoard which gave a growing purpose to the earnings, drawing his hope and joy continually onward beyond the money."
As the mystery of the missing money and the unknown parentage of Eppie, Silas's adopted daughter, come together, the story comes together in a clash of class and family that, while perhaps bordering on melodrama, is nevertheless moving and satisfying. When Godfrey, Eppie's biological father and a nobleman, comes to Silas and Eppie, the reader takes heart in Silas and Eppie's love for one another. On a personal note, I found the thoughts of Nancy, Godfrey's wife, on adoption were interesting. After they lost a baby and weren't able to conceive again, she had resisted Godfrey's wishes to adopt a child. "To adopt a child, because children of your own had been denied you, was to try and choose your lot in spite of Providence: the adopted child, she was convinced, would never turn out well, and would be a curse to those who had willingly and rebelliously sought what it was clear that, for some high reason, they were better off without." I wonder how widespread this attitude was then, or even today. Certainly Silas's adoption of Eppie contradicts Nancy's view; Eliot clearly strikes a positive note for adoption here.
As you might expect from a novel of the mid-19th century, many passages seem overly wordy and unnecessary. But even the dialogue and action that seems irrelevant to the story, like the men chatting in the pub, and the girls chatting as they're getting dressed for a formal dinner, add to the ambience by giving a realistic portrayal of the culture and language of the time.
Eliot, decidedly not a believer, has little good to say about the church in Silas Marner. But Christians can don't have to try very hard to resonate with the moral lesson of the novel. The joy and rewards of life can be measured not by how much we save of what we earn, but by how much we give ourselves away in the service of others. James says pure religion is looking after orphans; Silas certainly embraced that call.
Years ago I saw Steve Martin's adaptation of Silas Marner, A Simple Twist of Fate. As I recall, even though that story took place in modern times, it was pretty faithful to this story. I'll have to watch it again sometime. Eliot's story is timeless and moving, and though it's a bit of a slog at times for the 21st century reader, it's certainly worth your time.
George Eliot, pen name of Mary Anne Evans, wrote several novels capturing life in 19th century England. Silas Marner, first published in 1861, remains a timeless, moving story of one man's struggle and redemption in the face of adversity. When Silas was a young man, one of his closest friends betrayed him by framing him for a crime and stealing his girl. As if being betrayed by his friend wasn't enough, he was also betrayed by the church; the drawing of lots declared his guilt.
Moving to a new town, he earns his living as a weaver, and lives a miserly existence. He had no other purpose in life but to earn and save money. "His life had reduced itself to the mere functions of weaving and hoarding, without any contemplation of an end towards which the functions tended." His only pleasure, all he looked forward to, was taking the money out every night, counting it, stacking it, sorting it, and handling it. Until one night, it was gone.
As the mystery of the missing money and the unknown parentage of Eppie, Silas's adopted daughter, come together, the story comes together in a clash of class and family that, while perhaps bordering on melodrama, is nevertheless moving and satisfying. When Godfrey, Eppie's biological father and a nobleman, comes to Silas and Eppie, the reader takes heart in Silas and Eppie's love for one another. On a personal note, I found the thoughts of Nancy, Godfrey's wife, on adoption were interesting. After they lost a baby and weren't able to conceive again, she had resisted Godfrey's wishes to adopt a child. "To adopt a child, because children of your own had been denied you, was to try and choose your lot in spite of Providence: the adopted child, she was convinced, would never turn out well, and would be a curse to those who had willingly and rebelliously sought what it was clear that, for some high reason, they were better off without." I wonder how widespread this attitude was then, or even today. Certainly Silas's adoption of Eppie contradicts Nancy's view; Eliot clearly strikes a positive note for adoption here.
As you might expect from a novel of the mid-19th century, many passages seem overly wordy and unnecessary. But even the dialogue and action that seems irrelevant to the story, like the men chatting in the pub, and the girls chatting as they're getting dressed for a formal dinner, add to the ambience by giving a realistic portrayal of the culture and language of the time.
Eliot, decidedly not a believer, has little good to say about the church in Silas Marner. But Christians can don't have to try very hard to resonate with the moral lesson of the novel. The joy and rewards of life can be measured not by how much we save of what we earn, but by how much we give ourselves away in the service of others. James says pure religion is looking after orphans; Silas certainly embraced that call.
Years ago I saw Steve Martin's adaptation of Silas Marner, A Simple Twist of Fate. As I recall, even though that story took place in modern times, it was pretty faithful to this story. I'll have to watch it again sometime. Eliot's story is timeless and moving, and though it's a bit of a slog at times for the 21st century reader, it's certainly worth your time.
Monday, November 16, 2009
My Fathers' Daughter, by Hannah Pool
One of the things I enjoy most about getting together with other adoptive families (such as at Families Like Us events) is swapping adoption stories. Frequently I tear up as I hear other's stories, and I love telling the story of my family's adoption of Zippy. I don't hear as many stories about meeting birth families. One of our friends took their daughter to Haiti a few months ago to meet her birth family. We had a sweet time with Zippy's birth mother in June. (Read about it here.) My Fathers' Daughter tells the story of Hannah Pool's reunion with her birth family. She provides a valuable resource for adoptive families, particularly those who adopt internationally or transracially, who wonder about the whirlwind of emotional issues in such a reunion.
Ms. Pool, a writer for The Guardian, was born in Eritrea. Her mother died in childbirth, and her father placed her in an orphanage. The orphanage had record that both parents had died, and placed Hannah as a baby with a white couple who was then living in Eritrea. A short time later, they moved back to Europe, and Hannah grew up in England. In My Fathers' Daughter (note the placement of the apostrophe--a significant detail that is easy to miss), Pool recounts the story of discovering that her father was, in fact, still living, and her subsequent trip to Eritrea to meet the family of her birth.
There is much to love in her story. A professional journalist, Pool tells a wonderful story, providing details and background that draw in the reader. And what a rich story she tells. She skillfully and beautifully conveys her feelings upon learning that her birth father is alive, upon meeting him and other family members, upon seeing the bed on which she was born and her mother died, and more. After a lifetime of feeling disconnected from her home country and birth family, she finally connects and feels a sense of belonging.
In one moving passage, Pool anticipates meeting her birth father and Eritrean relatives for the first time, after a lifetime of being around no one related to her by birth. It's about "being able to look in a mirror and know you have your father's eyes and your mother's lips," about knowing medical history, looking at nieces and nephews and wondering what your own children will look like, knowing if you will likely be fat, thin, tall, short. (99-100) Every adoptee must have the same kind of questions at one time or another. I am reminded of a time when (my very white wife) Kelly and (my African-American son) Zippy were cheek to cheek, looking in the mirror. Kelly asked Zippy if he thought they looked alike. Without missing a beat he said yes, the whites of their eyes are the same!
One of Pool's most pressing questions for her Eritrean family is why they placed her in the orphanage. Her feelings of rejection run deep. For "normal" families, "the thing that remains the same is the sense of belonging, that families are permanent. The almost invisible confidence that comes from knowing no matter what happens, your parents will always be your parents. No matter how often your adoptive family tells you they love you, no matter how much you believe them, for the adoptee there is always the knowledge that a parent can decide they don't want you anymore, sign a few forms, and wash their hands of you. . . . It's tattooed on your psyche: love is temporary." (88) This passage rips at my heart. Pool doesn't say much about her adoptive family, but what she does say is very positive. She worries that they will feel betrayed by her tracing her birth family, but they support her at every step. I don't see a justification for her insecurity about their love for her. I hope and pray that as Zippy grows, he will always know that there is nothing temporary about our love for him. I hope it's tatooed on his psyche that Kelly and Chloe and Elliot and I and all of our extended family love him unconditionally.
Pool goes on to say that most adoptees wish they were never adopted. "Even though I know more [adoptees] than most, I have never heard the words, 'I'm glad I was adopted.' . . . We all wish we hadn't been put up for adoption." In Pool's case, she knows that in Eritrea she would have faced hunger, drought, displacement due to war, likely early death, and if not, then national service at the front lines, possible genital mutilation, an arranged marriage, and children in her teens. "But . . . I still wish I had never been adopted." (102-103) Later, while visiting family in the rural village where her father lives, she confesses that she envies her nieces. "[T]hey have something I have never had. They are slap bang in the middle of a normal, happy Eritrean childhood. . . . I am jealous of their few uncertainties." (220) Despite their poverty, Pool longs to be a part of their life, to share their lifestyle. Maybe Zippy will look at his birth family's life one day and think the same things. Maybe all adoptees think such things. But I believe and hope with all my heart that he will say "I'm glad I was adopted!"
I can't help but think that Pool would feel differently about adoption and the course of her life if she had a foundation of faith. She wears her atheism on her sleeve. For instance, upon learning that her father was really alive, she feels a deep sense of gratitude without an object. "It's times like these when it would be handy to have a religion. If I believed in a god, I'd have someone to thank, and it's be nice to have someone to thank. As it is I'll have to settle for my own version: my father is alive, thank f--- for that." (24) Later, upon meeting her extended family, they all thank God for her coming. She does not quite know how to respond to all this religious sentiment. "I want to say Lufthansa brought me here, not God, and if he was so great, then why did God separate us in the first place? . . . I want to say that God is a load of baloney . . . and that anyone who thanks him for anything is a fool. I want to say that I came here, me, on my own, without help from a divine being. . . . I want to say God didn't take me away, you gave me up." (112)
A couple of other notes, not so related to adoption. Pool, and African woman who grew up in a white family in a majority white culture, has some interesting insights into race and feminism. The first time she heads out on the street in Asmara, the Eritrean capital, the attitude of the people surprises her. "Everyone looks so comfortable, so relaxed, walking around as if they own the place. So this is what black people look like when they are not having to constantly look over their shoulder, or justify their presence." (63) She relishes the times when people take her for a native Eritrean, not standing out the way she does at home at London. Those of us white families who have adopted children of other races should bear in mind the potential alienation and isolation they might feel in majority white culture. Her experience here reminds us that spending time among people of his or her own race can provide a huge boost in confidence and acceptance of his or her identity.
Upon returning home, the disparity of wealth between the first and third worlds bothers Pool, just as it does many Westerners who visit developing countries. Only with her, it is much more personal. "It is one thing to spend a fortune on shoes and bags without a second thought; it is quite another to do so when you know your sister and her family would not survive without food aid. I found it hard enough to read or see reports of drought, potential famine, and possible war before I went to Eritrea, so what will it be like now that I can put names and faces to the statistics?" (265)
Despite some of the negative comments about adoption and Pool's blatant atheism (and the self-centered, materialistic, libertine attitudes that result), My Fathers' Daughter gives wonderful insight into the struggles, questions, and insecurities of the international and/or transracial adoptee. Her colorful storytelling, honest emotional revelations, and probing self-reflection make this a highly recommended read.
Ms. Pool, a writer for The Guardian, was born in Eritrea. Her mother died in childbirth, and her father placed her in an orphanage. The orphanage had record that both parents had died, and placed Hannah as a baby with a white couple who was then living in Eritrea. A short time later, they moved back to Europe, and Hannah grew up in England. In My Fathers' Daughter (note the placement of the apostrophe--a significant detail that is easy to miss), Pool recounts the story of discovering that her father was, in fact, still living, and her subsequent trip to Eritrea to meet the family of her birth.
There is much to love in her story. A professional journalist, Pool tells a wonderful story, providing details and background that draw in the reader. And what a rich story she tells. She skillfully and beautifully conveys her feelings upon learning that her birth father is alive, upon meeting him and other family members, upon seeing the bed on which she was born and her mother died, and more. After a lifetime of feeling disconnected from her home country and birth family, she finally connects and feels a sense of belonging.
In one moving passage, Pool anticipates meeting her birth father and Eritrean relatives for the first time, after a lifetime of being around no one related to her by birth. It's about "being able to look in a mirror and know you have your father's eyes and your mother's lips," about knowing medical history, looking at nieces and nephews and wondering what your own children will look like, knowing if you will likely be fat, thin, tall, short. (99-100) Every adoptee must have the same kind of questions at one time or another. I am reminded of a time when (my very white wife) Kelly and (my African-American son) Zippy were cheek to cheek, looking in the mirror. Kelly asked Zippy if he thought they looked alike. Without missing a beat he said yes, the whites of their eyes are the same!
One of Pool's most pressing questions for her Eritrean family is why they placed her in the orphanage. Her feelings of rejection run deep. For "normal" families, "the thing that remains the same is the sense of belonging, that families are permanent. The almost invisible confidence that comes from knowing no matter what happens, your parents will always be your parents. No matter how often your adoptive family tells you they love you, no matter how much you believe them, for the adoptee there is always the knowledge that a parent can decide they don't want you anymore, sign a few forms, and wash their hands of you. . . . It's tattooed on your psyche: love is temporary." (88) This passage rips at my heart. Pool doesn't say much about her adoptive family, but what she does say is very positive. She worries that they will feel betrayed by her tracing her birth family, but they support her at every step. I don't see a justification for her insecurity about their love for her. I hope and pray that as Zippy grows, he will always know that there is nothing temporary about our love for him. I hope it's tatooed on his psyche that Kelly and Chloe and Elliot and I and all of our extended family love him unconditionally.
Pool goes on to say that most adoptees wish they were never adopted. "Even though I know more [adoptees] than most, I have never heard the words, 'I'm glad I was adopted.' . . . We all wish we hadn't been put up for adoption." In Pool's case, she knows that in Eritrea she would have faced hunger, drought, displacement due to war, likely early death, and if not, then national service at the front lines, possible genital mutilation, an arranged marriage, and children in her teens. "But . . . I still wish I had never been adopted." (102-103) Later, while visiting family in the rural village where her father lives, she confesses that she envies her nieces. "[T]hey have something I have never had. They are slap bang in the middle of a normal, happy Eritrean childhood. . . . I am jealous of their few uncertainties." (220) Despite their poverty, Pool longs to be a part of their life, to share their lifestyle. Maybe Zippy will look at his birth family's life one day and think the same things. Maybe all adoptees think such things. But I believe and hope with all my heart that he will say "I'm glad I was adopted!"
I can't help but think that Pool would feel differently about adoption and the course of her life if she had a foundation of faith. She wears her atheism on her sleeve. For instance, upon learning that her father was really alive, she feels a deep sense of gratitude without an object. "It's times like these when it would be handy to have a religion. If I believed in a god, I'd have someone to thank, and it's be nice to have someone to thank. As it is I'll have to settle for my own version: my father is alive, thank f--- for that." (24) Later, upon meeting her extended family, they all thank God for her coming. She does not quite know how to respond to all this religious sentiment. "I want to say Lufthansa brought me here, not God, and if he was so great, then why did God separate us in the first place? . . . I want to say that God is a load of baloney . . . and that anyone who thanks him for anything is a fool. I want to say that I came here, me, on my own, without help from a divine being. . . . I want to say God didn't take me away, you gave me up." (112)
A couple of other notes, not so related to adoption. Pool, and African woman who grew up in a white family in a majority white culture, has some interesting insights into race and feminism. The first time she heads out on the street in Asmara, the Eritrean capital, the attitude of the people surprises her. "Everyone looks so comfortable, so relaxed, walking around as if they own the place. So this is what black people look like when they are not having to constantly look over their shoulder, or justify their presence." (63) She relishes the times when people take her for a native Eritrean, not standing out the way she does at home at London. Those of us white families who have adopted children of other races should bear in mind the potential alienation and isolation they might feel in majority white culture. Her experience here reminds us that spending time among people of his or her own race can provide a huge boost in confidence and acceptance of his or her identity.
Upon returning home, the disparity of wealth between the first and third worlds bothers Pool, just as it does many Westerners who visit developing countries. Only with her, it is much more personal. "It is one thing to spend a fortune on shoes and bags without a second thought; it is quite another to do so when you know your sister and her family would not survive without food aid. I found it hard enough to read or see reports of drought, potential famine, and possible war before I went to Eritrea, so what will it be like now that I can put names and faces to the statistics?" (265)
Despite some of the negative comments about adoption and Pool's blatant atheism (and the self-centered, materialistic, libertine attitudes that result), My Fathers' Daughter gives wonderful insight into the struggles, questions, and insecurities of the international and/or transracial adoptee. Her colorful storytelling, honest emotional revelations, and probing self-reflection make this a highly recommended read.
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