When My Son's Brother Became a Dad: An Adoptive Parent's Christmas

Adopting a baby boy meant starting a relationship with the family he came from.


It's Christmas season, a time I often hear from my other family. It happened early this month. I was reading the pileup of overnight email on my cell-phone when I felt the vibration that signals a new message. "Hey how you" it said in the subject line. Spam? I wondered. I clicked anyway.

"Hi, It is Robbie. I thought I would drop you a line and see how things are going since I have not talked to you in a long time," it began. "And to let you know I have a baby of my own now and she is the best thing ever."

The boy I first met as a baby has a baby, I thought.

"Now I know how you felt when you got Matt."

My first tear fell.

"Also there is a picture added to this email so you can see my daughter."


I clicked on the email attachment and tiny, hairless, brown-eyed beauty popped up on my screen. She was wearing one of those pink headbands that make a baby's ears stick out, and a pink sundress. She was perched on her stomach and looking up from her parents' bed. A million memories flooded through my mind. A first photo of my own baby, now 24, was taken in a pose like that in the very same city, Biloxi, Mississippi.

A bunch more tears fell.

Mayci. The baby of Robbie and his fiancée, Allisandra, is Mayci.

My son's name is Matt. He is the uncle of this beautiful new child. Robbie and Matt are brothers. Matt is the child I adopted at three days old after he was born in a hospital in Gulfport, Mississippi. Living in poverty and with three children already to care for, his birth parents, Ken and Laura, were struggling to do the best job they could with a five-year-old, a three-year-old, and Robbie, who was two. With a fourth on the way, they made the wrenching decision to find a couple to adopt their child, and found an ad my husband and I had taken in their local paper, saying we were trying to adopt a child.


"Ya'll better get down here right now because I am in labor and ya'll promised you'd be here when this started."

Laura didn't give me a lot of notice on March 25, 1988, but then again, Mother Nature hadn't given her much notice either. I was at my desk in the New York newsroom of USA Today, where I was bureau chief of the Money Section. It was a Friday afternoon and I was finishing up the final touches on my Monday column.

"I'll call Jim and we'll get the first flight we can," I promised her. I wished her well and hung up.

I hesitated at first to call my husband. He was a disc jockey at the New York radio station WNEW and was on the air, hosting a music show called "The Make Believe Ballroom." Do I give him this news now when he's trying to concentrate, I thought, or wait the hour until his show is over? I called with the news. A lifelong pro at handling the on-air unexpected, Jim opened the microphone at the end of the song that had been playing and told his audience "I've never felt nervous on the radio but there's always a first time." He took a breath. "My wife and I are adopting a baby, and the birth mother just called to say she was in labor."

You don't say stuff like that to a loyal radio audience in New York City without jamming the phone lines. Well-wishers were still calling in when Jim darted out of the studio to race to the subway and get home to pack.


"Don't go down there yet." I was home and throwing clothes into a suitcase while talking to our lawyer. He was giving me the spiel I'm sure he's given a hundred adoptive parents. The papers must be signed first. You don't want to meet this family and hold this baby and then have something go wrong. You don't want your heart broken.

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Susan Antilla is a columnist at Bloomberg View and author of Tales from the Boom-Boom Room: Women vs. Wall Street. She lives in Connecticut. Her website is susanantilla.com.

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