We are adopting a baby. Julie and I married relatively late and are following the instant family approach — trying to conceive naturally as well as adopting.
Cool. So we are going through the hoops required by adoption agencies, which include sitting in small rooms with other potential parents, going through the rules and regs and watching some pretty horrifying videos of toddlers in orphanages.
I had resolved to be a good boy. The room is usually packed with some pretty desperate types — older women, infertile couples and both single and partnered gays who have to adopt oversease due to prohibitions in many states.
Let's just say they tend to be not the most discerning bunch — THEY WANT A BABY NOW.
But when it came to the particulars of adopting in Russia, I couldn't stay quiet. You see, it requires bringing more than $10,000 in American dollars — preferably hundreds, clean and crisp — operators normallly don't accept worn or torn bills.
After listening to this detail over a couple of meetings, I finally piped up.
"This Russian thing sounds kind of shady."
The adoption center lady, a lovely social worker, looked like her borscht went down the wrong pipe.
"What do you mean," she said.
"Well, the other countries accept wire transfers," I said. "What about safety?"
"Oh, don't worry, our man in Russia is a former boxer. You give him the money when you arrive and he takes care of it," she said.
Like this was supposed to make me feel better.
Sometimes I am grateful I was raised by feral New Yorkers. "Wait a minute. What if we were going to Alabama to adopt and you told me to bring cash and give it to Jethro, doesn't that sound weird?"
My wife, for once, was glad I spoke up. That's a lot of cash to haul around.
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