No Such Thing as An 'Average' Family

When I published all I had learned about these mothers and their sons in a book, I thought I was simply expanding the definitions of good parenting—something that might help people like me. So I was startled when I was called an "abomination," a "misguided liberal zealot," a "dunce," a "femi-Nazi" and invited to "do us Americans a favor and move to Europe."

But the world has a way of moving on. More than 20 years ago, when my son was in the first grade, divorce was something new. Fourteen years later, my daughter found the fact that some classmates had no fathers and some had two mommies to be no more remarkable than the color of their backpacks.

I'm now part of the family I once longed for—married to the same man for more than 30 years with two great kids and two unruly dogs. But we're far from standard issue. I'm an older mother with a 28-year-old son and a 14-year-old adopted daughter. I've worked hard to make sure my daughter sees her adoption for what it is: just another way for two people who love each other to find each other.

My daughter recently had a class assignment to bring in a picture that said something important about her life. She picked one when she was an infant—with me, my husband and her brother all managing to support some part of her tiny body. We were standing in front of the adoption agency on the day we brought her home.

I think often about the families I got to know in my research. I think about how they are simply getting on with their lives, wanting nothing more than what all families want—health, affection, success and some fun on the weekends.

The utter normalcy of those lives changed how I see mine. I realize now that my mother was dealt a terrible hand being widowed in her early 30s with three kids. And I allowed slights and empty spaces—the reminders that we were an exception to some kind of rule—to equate "different" with "damaged." We weren't. I know that now.