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We Found Our Son in the Subway
The story of how Danny and I
were married last July in a Manhattan
courtroom, with our son, Kevin, beside us, began 12 years earlier, in a dark,
damp subway station.
Danny called me that day,
frantic. “I found a baby!” he shouted. “I called 911, but I don’t think they
believed me. No one’s coming. I don’t want to leave the baby alone. Get down
here and flag down a police car or something.” By nature Danny is a remarkably
calm person, so when I felt his heart pounding through the phone line, I knew I
had to run.
When I got to the A/C/E
subway exit on Eighth Avenue,
Danny was still there, waiting for help to arrive. The baby, who had been left
on the ground in a corner behind the turnstiles, was light-brown skinned and
quiet, probably about a day old, wrapped in an oversize black sweatshirt.
In the following weeks, after
family court had taken custody of “Baby ACE,” as he was nicknamed, Danny told
the story over and over again, first to every local TV news station, then to family members,
friends, co-workers and acquaintances. The story spread like an urban myth:
You’re never going to believe what my friend’s cousin’s co-worker found in the
subway. What neither of us knew, or could have predicted, was that Danny had
not just saved an abandoned infant; he had found our son.
Three months later, Danny
appeared in family court to give an account of finding the baby. Suddenly, the
judge asked, “Would you be interested in adopting this baby?” The question
stunned everyone in the courtroom, everyone except for Danny, who answered,
simply, “Yes.”
“But I know it’s not that
easy,” he said.
“Well, it can be,” assured
the judge before barking out orders to commence with making him and, by
extension, me, parents-to-be.
My first reaction, when I
heard, went something like: “Are you insane? How could you say yes without
consulting me?” Let’s just say, I nailed the “jerk” part of knee-jerk.
In three years as a couple,
we had never discussed adopting a child. Why would we? Our lives were not
geared for child rearing. I was an aspiring playwright working as a part-time
word processor and Danny was a respected yet wildly underpaid social worker. We
had a roommate sleeping behind a partition in our living room to help pay the
rent. Even if our financial and logistical circumstances had been different, we
knew how many challenges gay couples usually faced when they want to adopt. And
while Danny had patience and selflessness galore, I didn’t. I didn’t know how
to change a diaper, let alone nurture a child.
But here was fate,
practically giving us a baby. How could we refuse? Eventually, my fearful mind
spent, my heart seized control to assure me I could handle parenthood.
A caseworker arranged for us
to meet the baby at his foster home in early December. Danny held the fragile
baby first, then placed him in my arms. In order to protect myself from future
heartache, I had convinced myself I could not, and would not, become
inextricably attached. I didn’t trust the system and was sure there would be
obstacles. But with the baby’s eyes staring up at me, and all the innocence and
hope he represented, I, like Danny, was completely hooked.
The caseworker told us that
the process, which included an extensive home study and parenting classes,
could take up to nine months. We’d have ample time to rearrange our lives and
home for a baby. But a week later, when Danny and I appeared in front of the
judge to officially state our intention to adopt, she asked, “Would you like
him for the holiday?”
What holiday? Memorial Day?
Labor Day? She couldn’t have meant Christmas,
which was only a few days away.
And yet, once again, in
unison this time, we said yes. The judge grinned and ordered the transition of
the baby into our custody. Our nine-month window of thoughtful preparation was
instantly compacted to a mere 36 hours. We were getting a baby for Christmas.
We spent that year as foster
parents while our caseworker checked up on us and the baby’s welfare. During
that time we often wondered about the judge. Did she know Danny was a social worker
and therefore thought he would make a good parent? Would she have asked him to
adopt if she knew Danny was gay and in a relationship? At the final hearing,
after she had signed the official adoption order, I raised my hand. “Your
honor, we’ve been wondering why you asked Danny if he was interested in
adopting?”
“I had a hunch,” she just
said. “Was I wrong?” And with that she rose from her chair, congratulated us,
and exited the courtroom.
And that was how we left it,
as Baby ACE became Kevin, and grew from an infant to a boy. That is, until
2011, when New York
State allowed Danny and
me to legally marry.
“Why don’t you ask the judge
who performed my adoption to marry you and Dad?” Kevin suggested one morning on
our walk to school.
“Great idea,” I replied.
“Would you like to meet her?”
“Sure. Think she’d remember
me?”
“There’s only one way to find
out.”
After dropping Kevin off, I
composed a query letter and sent it to the catchall e-mail address listed for
the Manhattan
family court. Within hours, a court attorney called to say that, of course, the
judge remembered us, and was thrilled by the idea of officiating our marriage.
All we had to do was pick a date and time.
When we ventured back to
family court for the first time in over 10 years, I imagined that the judge
might be nervous to come face to face with the results of one of her placement
decisions — what if Kevin wasn’t happy and wished he had different parents?
Kevin was nervous too. When he was a toddler, Danny and I made him a storybook
that explained how we became a family, and it included an illustration of the
judge, gavel in hand. A character from his book was about to jump off the page
as a real person. What if she didn’t approve of the way he turned out?
Kevin reached out to shake
her hand.
“Can I give you hug?” she
asked. When they separated, the judge asked Kevin about school, his interests,
hobbies, friends and expressed her delight that we were there.
When we finally remembered
the purpose of the visit, and Danny and I moved into position to exchange vows,
I reflected on the improbable circumstances that delivered all of us to this
moment. We weren’t supposed to be there, two men, with a son we had never
dreamed of by our side, getting married by a woman who changed and enriched our
lives more than she would ever know. But there we were, thanks to a fateful
discovery and a judicious hunch.
Peter Mercurio is a playwright and
screenwriter whose latest screenplay is “Found (a True Story).”
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