AN ADOPTION TO REMEMBER

We had enough children. Surely four was enough. My wife's prolapsed uterus had required a hysterectomy four years previous. Wasn't that a sign that our family had reached it's limit? As an enlisted man, serving in the military, overseas, I was barely able to support my family now. Shouldn't all things be done in wisdom? Despite this, my wife continued to plead with me to adopt a child.

We were living in Okinawa, Japan. Adoption of Japanese or Caucasian children was highly restrictive, especially when we already had four of our own natural children. Friends informed us that possibilities for adoption of a Filipino child, however, were very good. My wife, Jean, said she had prayed about it and knew there was another child meant to be in our family. She had tried, repeatedly, lovingly, to convince me of this, but I would not be swayed. We had two girls and two boys and our last one was out of diapers. We've sacrificed plenty, I thought. Kids are very expensive. Some of my peers had no children and extra money to do special things.

Such was my resolve until a church sacrament meeting in the Futenma Japanese Chapel. The sister that was speaking told of a cute, healthy, oriental Chinese boy that she was adopting near Clark Air Base in the Republic of the Philippines. She explained how the wonderful child was worth all the sacrifice and trouble. Her description included the countless hours of joy the baby had already given them and as she spoke, I felt a warm flush spread over me, as if to say, this would be right for us. I argued with the feeling, for I felt it was an emotional rather than a spiritual plea and would not hold up to reason. The more I struggled, however, the stronger the feeling became.

I looked over at Jean to see if she was feeling the same tug of war but she looked merely attentive, with a tender longing she had always felt during times like this, wondering if I would ever soften. The wave of warmth I sensed was strong and I felt that, despite my misgivings against it, that it was the right choice. I could not believe my reaction and after a few minutes, I leaned over to Jean and said the words that would put into motion many expenses, sacrifices, pains, changes, joys and adjustments. "I think it is right that we adopt, after all." Jean stared into my eyes and instantly began to weep.

We had arrived at Kadena Air Base, Japan in 1979 and Jean had begun saving, almost at the onset, for all sorts of exotic furniture. Things like Korean Chests, roll top desks, secretary desks and the like, were high on her list. It was now April of 1982 and suddenly these plans to buy furniture were scrapped and she was diverting savings toward travel arrangements, separate living expenses and adoption costs. She took Metta, five years old and Danny, four, with her and they left for Clark Air Force Base. I stayed in Japan with Suzy, ten and Scott, seven. They spent the day at babysitters, after school, until I got home from work. Our family life was already in turmoil and yet we had just begun.

Jean had never worked outside the home since we had been married. She was always there for all of us. We, therefore, began to feel, keenly, the agony and loneliness of separation. Expenses of two separate households began to wear on us right away. If I had been sent on temporary duty, TDY, to the Philippines, Jean would have been able to shop at the base exchange, BX, and Commissary on Clark, but since she was only there on leave, she had to shop off base, which was much more expensive. We began to realize the depth of sacrifice this adoption would inflict. She also had nowhere to live but was able to appeal to the Filipino LDS Church Ward, just off base, in Angeles City. Bishop Tecson was the leader there and fortunately, he was also a landlord and rented half of his unfurnished duplex to Jean and the kids.

The weather in the Philippines is subtropical, hot and humid, except during the winter or monsoon season when the temperature is the same, but heavy rain is added. Insects flourish well in this environment and the foliage is lush and green. Clark Air Base had a large landing strip to accommodate super size aircraft and the base itself was massive and spread out all over. Jean and the kids had no car in that country and they were forced to rely on lifts from passersby or depend on the slow bus system. Off base they would ride "jeepneys" which were old jeeps, decorated and painted by the locals and loaded beyond belief with extra passengers that sat on the hood, roof or anywhere else that could hold them. They were incredibly unsafe by our standards.

There were very few enforced traffic rules and if you could get behind the wheel and reach the pedals, you could drive. No normal sewer system existed and that smell, combined with unusual cooking odors wafting out of open doorways made for some nauseating smells. The noise of traffic was deafening and confusion reigned as everyone tried to get to their destination. Jean had been to Angeles City before and felt all these things, but then it had meant shopping and spending extra money, which she loved to do. Now her mission was entirely different and she was seeing sights not meant for shopper's eyes. All this added to her frustration. We would communicate on the phone when we could and many prayers were said, pleading for each others welfare.

Bishop Tecson explained to Jean the adoption proceedings and she began to look for an infant in earnest. I had only given written permission to adopt one child, for I knew that if I did not so specify, she would bring home at least two. Jean had been told that it was imperative that she adopt thru official government channels, since there were many unscrupulous pretenders who would take the money of the unwary, with the promise of an adoption that would really never be.

One of the first people she met upon arrival in the Philippines, was a man who said, for a small fee, he could get her an adopted baby fast, thru a series of "shortcuts." Jean had already been warned, however, and paid this man no heed. Unfortunately, this was the type of man who was helping the sister who gave the ward members that original talk about adoption at the sacrament meeting.

Jean was instead led, by a friend of Bishop Tecson's, to an orphanage. The facility was overcrowded with young children from newborns to late adolescents. When the children knew she was there for a possible adoption, many surrounded her and begged her to pick them. It was considered fortunate indeed to be adopted by an American family. When Jean hesitated, the children screamed all the louder, but she did not feel that any of them were the right one. It tore at her heartstrings when she left the orphanage with no child.

My wife was told of other children, but nothing seemed to work out until she was led into the barrios or slums. She found a baby, lying on a recessed table, on the inside of a hut, that had no electricity or running water. The tiny girl was seven months old and yet weighed only seven pounds. Her mother had kept the child barely alive by feeding her one part of condensed milk to seven parts of water. The infant was left up against a wall for so often that she could only move her head in one direction, toward her mother and the open room. The baby had a bruise on her tailbone from being left to lay on a hard surface, day after day.

We later learned that the name of the child was Anna. She had little strength to cry or move but had developed a scratching technique, wherein she could also move her fingers and arms to fend off insects. She lay naked on the table and it was later discovered that she suffered from head lice, scabies, round worm and malnutrition. The hair of her head stuck out in stringy chunks and smelled horrible. Her eyes were sunken in a round face, devoid of fat. Anna's look was placid and apathetic, as if somehow consigned to her fate. Doctors later reported that, left in her current condition, she would only live a few more weeks at most. Her ribs were clearly visible, along with the bones in her arms and legs.

Anna possessed none of the vitality normally found in youngsters her age. She was withdrawn and listless and yet it was to this young, starving baby that my, by now, crying wife, was drawn to, feeling a confirming spirit saying that this is the right one. Jean had seen so many children, with far less problems and wondered why they had not been more right for our family than this one. Why, this one? Even so, she did not attempt to discern why this was the special child for us, she simply began working thru the State to adopt Anna and proceedings were begun.

After a few days, my wife was able to take possession of the baby. A priesthood blessing was immediately given. Jean would have to meet a four month residency requirement, living in the Philippines for that amount of time. It was the longest four months I ever remember. A court date was set, wherein I had to appear, pledging my support of the baby, both financially and emotionally. At that time we also had the baby's name officially changed from Anna to Melony Crystal Ray. Before the Filipino judge, I further promised I would do everything for Melony that I would do for any of my natural born children. This included that she would be one with them when it came to rights, to privileges, possessions or heirs as a beneficiary, should her adopted parents die. The natural mother released all rights to the child.

Having met the court and being on a few days leave, we all returned to the duplex that Jean had rented. It was very good to be briefly together again but living conditions, although somewhat luxurious for a Filipino, were primitive to us. The two most distressing concerns were fighting off the rats and the absence of basic furniture, especially beds. Sleeping on the floor with rats the size of small dogs was one scary adventure.

As far as I could determine, there was no regular garbage pickup. Trash just accumulated in the corner of the property designated for its disposal. Rats and enormous bugs feasted and disease was rampant. The heat and humidity were oppressive. We constantly thirsted. Fans helped, however, electricity was available but unreliable. "Brownouts," or long periods when the electricity was off, was a daily occurrence. At night, the sound of rats scurrying about for food or fighting was very common, but the worst came during heavy rainstorms. Water would fill up the rodent holes and the rats would head, in a panic, for high ground. Their true numbers could be seen crawling up buildings or onto screens, by the hundreds. It was like some awful horror movie. The biggest cockroaches I have ever seen live there. They swim and even fly during some stages of their lives. They are even bigger than the ones in the U.S. southern states, like Florida water bugs.

We set large rat traps at night, but they did little to reduce the population. Sort of like emptying the ash trays on a 747 jumbo jet to reduce the take off weight. They made little difference, but instead provided more food for the cannibalistic rats.

I was only able to take leave for about two weeks of the four months that Jean and the children were away, so I knew that my attempts to make life easier for them, after I left, would be feeble. My military unit consisted of 15 men trying to do the work of 25. We were grossly undermanned and so my leave time was limited. Still, while I was there, I tried to do what I could to keep insects and rats outside. On the first night that we all stayed together in the duplex, we had only paper thin straw mats to lie on. These served as our beds. They were placed on the concrete slab floors and afforded us almost no comfort. However, I quickly learned why houses of quality, in that country, were made from concrete. Rain, monsoon wind and rats have a tough time getting thru. The general population had homes of wood or leftover cardboard boxes.

We were all so tired, that first night together, as a family of seven, we slept anyway, despite the intense heat and humidity. All of us except Jean. She had lived in that house for some days before I got there. She knew of the intruders that tried to get in. Jean slept fitfully, sitting up in a wicker rocking chair, next to Melony's baby crib. Those were two pieces of furniture we did have. Jean could hear the rats trying to gnaw under the wooden back door. They had already tore away some of the wood, so she got a heavy, wooden plank supported by two full, gallon size paint cans and propped them against the door. There Jean sat, facing the door, guarding her baby, night after night, all night long. On Okinawa, in base housing, we had central air conditioning and soft beds. She gave that all up, temporarily, to adopt. The rats could smell the milk in the house and were after it. Gruesome things could happen if the rats followed the smell of milk to a baby's lips.

Jean was ready to do combat, if necessary, to protect her new baby. During the next few nights, we all took turns guarding, but Jean was most vigilant. We lived with only the basics. There was no TV, stereo, or video to entertain us, or rather, distract us. Getting acquainted again, we began to read from story books we brought along. We read from the classic, "Heidi," a little each night, before retiring. The story was inspiring and we laughed and cried together, stopping to explain or clarify this or that passage. Night after night, the words of that book brought us together in a spirit of love and companionship. Notwithstanding our hardship, we relished our time, reading of a little girl and her grandfather in the Swiss Alps, while we sweltered in the poverty of the Philippines. Never had we suffered so and never had we been so close. Sometimes terrible conditions can actually bring about good.

Shortly after Jean had arrived, she was able to make off base travel arrangements a little easier by employing a certain Jeepney driver and his vehicle. Benie, only a nick name, offered to wait and bring Jean and the kids to appointments for a reasonable flat rate. He would meet her at the duplex at prearranged times.

Benie's rides benefited both of us. He always knew he had a fare at certain times of the day and we could get the vehicle to ourselves without haggling over price, with a new driver each time. The taxi was not owned by Benie and he had to pay daily rent for its use and therefore, was never able to get financially ahead. Benie was fair and protective and more than once made sure we were not cheated when shopping. We became good friends and two days before I was due to return to Japan, I bought Benie a pair of high quality, G.I. sunglasses. It was a bonus gift that I wanted him to have, in appreciation for superior service. His reaction amazed me. He openly wept. He'd squinted for so long in the sun and never imagined the luxury of shades to protect his tired eyes. Over his bronze baked, leather skin, he wore tattered jeans, an old, faded T-shirt, a straw hat, sandals and sunglasses that cost more than all the rest of his attire combined. He was overcome with gratitude and showed the shades off to everyone.

On 4 June 1982, I was preparing to return to Okinawa when I again spotted Benie, this time without the sunglasses. I asked him what happened to them and he became sheepish and embarrassed. He finally confessed that he sold them to buy two of his children enrollment into elementary school. He said he knew they could do better than to grow up and be Jeepney drivers the rest of their lives. He worked seven days a week, sunup to sundown, no benefits, no holidays off. If he didn't work, his family didn't eat. If his kids could get some education, he reasoned, maybe they wouldn't have to live like him, from hand to mouth every day. Such was his resolve and my heart went out to him.

I dreaded leaving and being split as a family again, but I had no choice. I left Suzy & Danny with their Mom and took Metta and Scotty back with me. We said our tearful goodbyes and then Scotty, our seven year old climber, decided it would be more daring to scale the rusty, iron fence, outside our rented duplex, rather than using the gate. Upon doing so, he caught his wrist on some protruding metal. It cut him deep and long and he sobbed miserably, but we bandaged him up and departed. By the time we got home, his wrist was infected and a trip to the emergency room at Kadena repaired his wound but left a permanent imprint in his memory of an unpleasant experience.

Our time away from each other lasted just over a month more and on 17 July 82, we were again reunited amongst tears of joy. A strange turn of events occured to the woman who had first told us of adoption possibilities in the Philippines, however. She had listened to a man who said he knew "shortcuts" to an easy adoption and had given the man money. The police became involved and the baby was taken away from this woman because the child had been a black market baby. Oh, how we ached for that sister but there was little we could do.

I had pleaded with the Air Force and my unit to send me TDY to Clark, to receive my next assignment's C-130 training, since we were on our way to Frankfurt, Germany for a three year tour there. My unit dragged it's feet. Had they sent me for four months training at Clark during the adoption, we could have all been together and lived on base. Instead, they waited till after the adoption was over. Our time together in 1982 was disrupted, yet again, in September, when they sent me to Clark till just before Christmas.

I lived in a one bedroom base apartment, where I was pestered by Filipino prostitutes day and night, pornography rampant everywhere, and Filipino girls dancing on top of tables to loud music as we ate our meals at the NCO Club. I got heavily involved in the local military LDS ward, wore music headsets, listening to church music and talks, ate at the chow halls instead and avoided anything that sought to compromise my marriage vows. Many military men begged to be sent to Clark TDY, for it was the Sodom and Gomorrah of the orient. For me, it was yet another pain to be endured. I refused to take the bus and walked everywhere I needed to go, to keep me physically fit. When the volcano eruption caused the closure of Clark, years later, I often wondered if it was by divine edict.

In March of 1983, we all left for Germany and had many choice experiences there, but because we had not been in the States long enough, Melony was still on a Filipino passport. When I retired from the military and returned to Utah, our first concern, amidst and unstable Filipino government, was to get Melony her U.S. citizenship. The wait and the paperwork to get her citizenship approved was staggering. But, "after much tribulation, cometh the blessings," and finally, on a windy 4th of July of 1986, at Rice Stadium, in the University of Utah, Melony became a naturalized citizen of the United States. Jean stood proudly by her side for the oath and when it was over, Melony, almost five years old, looked at her Mom and said, "Now Mommy, I America." She certainly was.

"She just needs alot of love and food," the military doctor who first saw her had said. This we had worked to provide. Melony's biggest hurdles had been climbed but she still had many small jumps to make. She had come from fixating her eyes on her hands and then rolling her eyeballs back into her head, when someone talked to her, to complete socialization, brought on by playing and living with our other children. She had come from being hysterical and absolutely terrified of baths and washing, to showering everyday and playing in the pool. Still, malnourishment at such an early stage of development has made it difficult for her to learn new things. She was almost 12 before she learned to ride a bike, for instance. Sometimes she needs extra help, but once she learns, it's there to stay.

As of this date, September 2007, Melony is 26 years old, with a 14 month baby girl of her own. Melony plays the piano and enjoys exercising and reading. She is shorter, physically, than most girls her age, but not much different in height from most Filipinos. To us, she is a walking miracle and brings us joy in our advancing years. May we never forget how she came into our lives.