Part of the explanation was that I was intentionally playing dumb. Those financial matters, who got paid what, were clearly none of her business. And it’s not as if she can exactly keep a secret. She may be getting older and more mature, but my favorite little girl in the world still lets pretty much everything that goes into her ear come back out of her mouth. You can’t set your watch by it, but you can essentially count on it coming out eventually. So, anything I want kept from the world at large has to be kept from her, too.

On the other hand, I really was having trouble understanding the question, and that played an equally strong role in why I wasn’t answering it. I think she was after something like salary independent of expenses, but the way to express that in the language of a seven-year-old is elusive, and I just wasn’t getting it. But, rather than blame the limitations of the linguistic tools at her disposal, she blamed the man trying to listen.

“A stupid daddy, even dumber than you, would get it!” she declared.

“Does that mean I’m even dumber than a guy who’s dumber than me?”

“YES!”

Now, normally, I’d believe I’d caught her in a contradiction, but this is a girl who’s been wrestling with the idea of the infinite for some time. For any finite level of stupidity, it’s not possible for me to be dumber than a daddy who’s dumber than I am. But, for the infinitely stupid, such a thing is possible.

This may also be one of those times when intuition trumps logic. Even in the real world, it’s possible for the “dumber” of two people, whose intelligence is measured by any criteria you please, to understand something that the “smarter” one fails to grasp. The old Far Side cartoon comes to mind, with a student pushing with all his might on the front door of a school for the gifted. On the door is a sign that says “Pull”.

But that’s really just a matter of two different criteria for intelligence being used. The apparent contradiction isn’t real. But it also somehow makes intuitive sense to say that that someone is so dumb that, not only is it impossible for anyone else to be dumber, it’s even impossible for someone else who is dumber to be dumber – or even quite that dumb. Again, it doesn’t make sense logically at all, so you have to banish logic from your intuition for it to make sense. Really, it’s just a long way of saying someone is impossibly dumb.

So, I think that’s what was going on. She invoked infinite regression to declare that I’m impossibly dumb.

Well, I’ve been called worse.

My favorite little girl in the world just asked me yesterday, “When you were negative infinity years old, were you happy?” She’s fascinated with negative numbers now, what you get when you subtract a larger number from a smaller one, say, five from two, and she’s also fascinated with infinity – so NEGATIVE infinity, less than any number, must be doubly fascinating.

Earlier the same day, she asked me, “What do you get when you add infinity and negative infinity together?” Does she have any idea how complex the answers to her simple questions are? I told her you can get anything – from negative infinity to zero, to positive infinity, and anything in between. I was preparing to explain why, but she was already aware of many strange properties of infinity, and was thus willing, for the time being, to take this one on faith. Instead, she asked, “What’s positive infinity?” so I had to explain that this is just another way of saying infinity, that positive meant “not negative”.

She has established in her mind that “there’s no number past infinity”, but I had to clarify that there are different sized infinities. So far, she hasn’t asked for an explanation of this, but I fear I’ll soon have to start figuring out how to explain Cantorian set theory to a six-year-old. How will I approach the diagonal argument before she understands infinite decimals – or is that the next step? Will I have to discuss non-Cantorian set theory, so we can talk about whether or not there are infinities between Aleph Naught and the Continuum? It seems to me she’s dangerously close to asking questions like that – and, if she gets any further, I’ll have to study just to keep up.

So, back to her question, she was reasoning that, since everyone is older than negative infinity, everyone must have been negative infinity at one time – just like every child in her school is older than one, and each was one year old at some point in the past. I guess the concept is that, infinity years ago, we were all negative infinity years old, and we all passed through our negative years, getting older and older, until we were zero, and were born.

I answered that I don’t know if I was happy, but I don’t think I existed infinity years ago. “Was the earth invented infinity years ago?” (She seemed to have made the conceptual shift between an age of negative infinity and “infinity years ago” rather seamlessly.)

“No, the earth wasn’t there infinity years ago.” (I opted not to get into who might have invented the earth.)

“Was NOTHING there infinity years ago?”

“I think that infinity years ago was so long ago, that not even NOTHING was there.”

“Whoa.” Her mind seemed sufficiently blown, and we moved on to a different topic.

I’m flattered that she thinks about my happiness over an infinite expanse of time. Was I happy forever ago? I hope I was. I hope she was, too. And I hope we will be happy forever from now, too. At least I know I’m happy now. How could I have a discussion like that, and not be?

This little piece isn’t so much about adoption as about having (or being) a two-year-old. Some of the ideas come from as far back as when David was two. I didn’t write this when Dani was two, but thoughts like this often helped me keep strength, and even to be a little bit more understanding than I could have been otherwise.

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My name is Dani. I have a Mama, a Dada, and my very own David. I love them all. They make me laugh, and play with me. They bring me food when I’m hungry, and milk or water or juice when I’m thirsty. They give me hugs and kisses. They say nice things to me. I can’t say all of their words, but I understand most of them.

Sometimes, I think they’re very smart. They know how to do things I just haven’t been able to figure out yet. But, at other times, they miss the most obvious things. They bring me milk when I’m clearly thinking of juice. Unless I figure out how to say it in exactly their words, they often miss my meaning entirely. Oh, I know I should be patient, but, sometimes, they’re just so IRRITATING! Are they trying to not understand me?

Ah, but, if that were my only problem, I’d have a pretty easy life. They are nice a lot of the time. They usually get me what I want, if I’m patient enough. But I’ve come to realize that it’s all on their own terms. I’m subject to their slightest whims, because they’re bigger than I am. I’m helpless in a physical contest with any of them. Now, a lot of the time, I don’t care very much where they take me, or what they choose to do. �When I don’t care, I don’t make a big fuss, but maybe I should. I don’t think they appreciate just how often I give my silent consent for them to do with me as they please.

They never even question their right to choose who takes care of me. They come and go at will, and their only rule seems to be that there has to be someone within shouting distance, who may or may not give me what I want or need when I call for it. When they want to take me somewhere, they just do it. They almost never ask me if I want to go. Sometimes, they’re kind enough to tell me where they’re taking me, but they use those words that I’m still working out how to use. They get to choose what I can have and what I can’t have. They decide when it’s bed time, and my bed has bars, so I can’t get out! There’s very little pattern to what they decide. They just choose, and mess with my life at will.

And, oooh, this is the worst part. If I, tiny little insignificant Dani, choose to resist their will, if I choose to make my voice heard, they IGNORE it! They don’t just ignore it. They PHYSICALLY invade my PERSONAL SPACE to impose their all-powerful will on me! Oh, the unmitigated GALL! It makes me mad just thinking about it! They pick me up like a sack of toys and cart me off where-the-scream-ever they screamin’ want me to be! They use their senseless brute strength to pry things out of my hands, and I’m dead certain that they know I don’t like it.

I said I sometimes can’t say all the words I understand; but there’s one word I know solid: it’s “NO!” I know they know what it means; they say it to me sometimes. �But, if they don’t want to hear it, I might as well be talking to a great big locked door. No! No! NO!!! Can’t they hear me screaming? Don’t they know that nothing’s right, and, with every movement, based on arbitrary whim, they’re making it worse? Yes, I know they can hear me. It shows on their faces. They don’t like it. Well, too screamin’ bad for them! It’s all I’ve got to fight with.

I can run, but they’re faster. I can go limp, but they just pick me up — it’s a minor inconvenience for them. I can tell them no, but it doesn’t even get their attention unless I scream it. Sometimes, yes, once in a while, I can wear them down. I can put up such a fuss that they decide their senseless whims can yield to reason; but OH, what a bother I have to go through just to get that to happen — and even that isn’t reliable! When they dig in, when they make up their minds, there is absolutely nothing I can do, no matter how wrong they are! It makes me SO MAD!

The conflict comes and goes. I put up with their whims when I can, even though they don’t recognize it. I know it could be worse. The cage I live in is a gilded cage. I get fed, cared for, and loved. I love them all, too, and I don’t want anybody else to be my Mama and my Dada and my David. But, when they really cross the line, I will NOT be silenced. I will not allow them to forget that I am a person, and that my deepest desires and needs are WAY more important than their arbitrary whims. Until they really show me that they understand, until they really choose to recognize my depth, my honor, and my dignity, I will not yield, and I will not back down. They can impose their will upon me, but they cannot make me be quiet. I’ll pay whatever price they impose to make my voice heard — and I’ll see that they pay a price, too.

There is hope for this. All three of them have moments when they’re absolutely wonderful. They may even be wonderful more often than they’re insensitive and mean. Sometimes, even when they’re imposing their will, they try to appear sensitive. I don’t buy it for a second, but maybe it indicates there’s hope for actual sensitivity in those circumstances. Maybe they’ll learn to recognize me for who I am, all the time, and not just when they’re feeling kind. I really hope we do work this out. It’s such a hassle having to scream and cry and fight. I’d really rather not have to bother.

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Hi, this is Steve again. I do realize parents are more understanding than this piece portrays – and I don’t pretend I have any special insight into any child’s mind. I certainly hope I was (and am) more understanding and fair than the Dani of this piece portrays. Experience shows that children that age live mostly moment to moment, so the moderating part, where she’s still grateful for what she has, would probably never go through her mind at the same time as she’s raging about injustice. I guess I’m artificially spanning time here.

But I stop short of claiming, as so many do, that a two-year-old is incapable of this complexity of thought. Sure, I’m projecting my own feelings on her situation. That’s the purpose, really – to help me understand. But I think little ones are smarter than many give them credit for. They certainly have a lot more going on than their words portray. I don’t know the child language to express the feelings I’m projecting; so I have to try using grown-up language, instead.

I wrote this on May 3, 2005, just days before leaving for China. We were excited, but we knew the times ahead might not be easy for any of us.

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Welcome, Dani! Welcome to our life.

We’ve been working to bring you home since before you were born, and we’re coming to get you soon.

You don’t know us. We sent pictures to your orphanage. Maybe you’ve seen them; maybe you haven’t. But we’re going to be your family — your mom and your dad and your big brother.

You didn’t ask to be in our family. But we spent a year talking to the government, in Virginia, the US, and China. They all agreed we’d be a good family for a little girl to be a part of. Then the Chinese government picked you out just for us, and we’re very excited about bringing you home.

We’ve agreed, and the governments have agreed, but you haven’t agreed yet — but we hope you will, very soon. We hope you’ll call us Mommy and Daddy and “my brother, David”. We hope you’ll be happy when you say those things. We will try to be as loving and nurturing a family as you could want. We won’t be perfect all the time, but we’ll do our very best.

So, Dani, please give this new family of yours a chance. Let us reach out to you with loving words you’ll soon come to understand, and with tenderness and caring we hope you’ll understand right away. We’ll try to make this the last big change you’ll have to go through for a very long time.

Cry, if you need to; we’ll hold you and dry your tears. Grieve if you need to; we’ll be there when you’re ready to start a new life with us. We’d love for you to be happy with us right away, but our hope is simply that you’ll come to love us once you know us better.

We love you already.

Welcome, Dani! Welcome to our life.

We’ll come for you soon.

On March 17, 2005 (St. Patrick’s Day, for what it’s worth), we got our child match email from CCAI. The next day, we got a FedEx packet, with pictures, medical information, and the address for the orphanage. Within days, we put together a “care package” with toys, clothes, a single-use camera, and a small, soft “Who Loves Baby?” photo album with between six and eight 3×5 photos of her new family. As we waited for our travel date to come, still well over a month in the future, it helped to think about how she might react to the package. We actually have a picture of the nanny showing Dani her album, so we know some of it’s true. Here’s the piece I wrote in late March, while trying to wait.

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Ze Ling has had a typical, but pleasant, afternoon. Most of her favorite toys have been available at one time or another, and her second-favorite Lady has been around. While many kids have moms and dads, Ze Ling has Ladies. She likes her Ladies. They play with her and smile at her and they just let her play by herself when she wants to — except when it’s nap time or bed time or eating time.

Two Ladies come in, calling her name, and she looks up. They have a box. Ze Ling likes boxes. You can put things in them, and take them back out. Sometimes, if it’s big enough, you can put your head in a box, or even your whole self. They’re lots and lots of fun. This box looks big enough for her head, but not big enough for her whole self. The Ladies are smiling big. One has a tear in her eye, but she’s still smiling. Ze Ling likes to smile, and she likes to see smiles. She smiles back at them.

They open the box, and she reaches in impulsively, and pulls out some clothing. Her interest in that is limited. She could play with it, but she has clothes on already, and there’s more inside the box. They show her a toy frog. “It’s a frog,” they tell her. “Look at the frog!” When she picks up the frog, it makes a noise! She drops it, and it makes the noise again! Now, here’s something that deserves some attention! Pick it up. CROAK! Put it down. CROAK! Wiggle it. CROAK! Put it down carefully. No noise. Slap it. CROAK! So many ways to make it croak!

They show her a plastic book with pictures in it. She glances back at the frog, but the Ladies seem insistent. Still smiling, but insistent. So she looks at the pictures. There seem to be three different people. In one picture, all three are together. In some, just the two bigger ones are together. In others, just one of them is there. The people have strange hair, and one of them has blue eyes. Their faces look a little strange, but they’re all smiling. In every picture, they’re smiling. The Ladies are using strange words: “Mother”, “Father”, “Brother”. They sound like happy words coming from the Ladies’ mouths, so she smiles again.

The box also contains a FlashyThing. She’s seen FlashyThings before. Usually, one of her Ladies (or some other adult) will hold the FlashyThing in front of her face, covering at least one eye, and then sometimes it will make a bright flash. Sometimes, it doesn’t, but people always act a little strangely in front of the FlashyThing — holding still, and making big smiles. One of the Ladies picks up the FlashyThing, and Ze Ling smiles, but holds her eyes shut. No flash. She opens her eyes. FLASH! Somehow, those FlashyThings always know when her eyes open again! No, not always. Sometimes, she can trick them.

The frog from the box is still there, and she plays with it again. Drop. CROAK! Drop. CROAK! Wiggle. CROAK! Just about every day, a Lady shows her the pictures of the smiling people, using those words again: “Mother.” “Father.” “Brother.” Soon, both the pictures and the words are familiar to her, and she sometimes gets the book and looks at it herself. Most of the toys are shared with the other kids — even the new frog. But those pictures seem to be just for her, and she comes to think that they’re smiling at her. Maybe, she thinks, those are real people, and they’ll come see her someday, and she’ll smile right back at them.

On April 20, 2004, we were just beginning the process of adopting Dani. The exact source of the quote below is lost, but it can be found all over the Web, especially with reference to adopting from China. So, I sent this piece, based on the quote, in an email to my wife, who forwarded it to a few of her friends. One very special friendship was started due to this piece. But possibly the most remarkable thing about this piece is the date on which I wrote it. April 20, 2004 is Dani’s estimated (and now, official) birthdate. It’s possible she was being born the very moment I wrote this.

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“An invisible red thread connects those who are destined to meet, regardless of time, place, or circumstance. The thread may stretch or tangle, but never break.”

I imagine the thread wound around hills, trees, buildings, and other threads, in such a way that you can never really tell which direction the thread is leading you. You just have to follow it, in whatever zigzag pattern it’s stretched itself into. And, since you have many threads, and many duties, you will sometimes work to untangle a thread while tangling others. At other times, you will untangle many threads at the same time — these times will feel very good and right.

The hills, trees, and buildings that tangle the threads in my picture of it are symbolic — metaphors for the barriers in life that continually change our direction; making straight, simple paths rare, and widely wandering paths the norm. It’s rare, when we take a path, that we really know where it will lead us, except in the very short term. Even when the end is what we expect, it’s very, very rare for the path to remain unchanged for the duration of the journey. The way I see it, these threads are paths — you can follow them — but, when you stop following them, they follow you, exacting no price other than the fact that they may get more complex if you leave them alone too long.

Just today, when I saw the quote again, I was struck by the fact that the threads are both invisible and red. This is impossible for any actual physical object, since color is a visible phenomenon. And so I’m given to wonder what the redness signifies and how it is perceived. Ignorant of any intended meaning, I let the red feel warm, comforting, like my own body’s blood in my veins. It is the red of working, vital blood, rather than spilled blood. It is that warmth that you sense when following a thread. You follow a thread by instinct, using your senses and logic when they apply, when they feel right. But you can’t see the thread; you can only feel it.

The ability to put oneself in another’s shoes is fundamental to most meaningful relationships. I’ve found this especially true in parenting. It sometimes takes an extra effort of will – the child’s situation can be so different.

When Dani came home, it was very difficult. She wouldn’t let us out of her sight, she cried and screamed, sometimes over the slightest things, and she fought going to sleep, keeping us up late into the night. And so I wrote the following piece to help me cope.

Ah-YA-ya is David, her big brother, eleven at the time. “Na-na-na” is the cry she used when we first picked her up. We thought it might be for her nanny. A report we got from her nanny said she’d sometimes hit other children who were getting attention that she wanted. Ma-ma and Ba-ba are the Mandarin words for mother and father, and she used them for a while. Anyway, this is what I wrote:

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My name is Dani. That’s my name right now. I have had other names, back when I knew other people.

Right now, I have a Ma-ma, a Ba-ba, and an Ah-YA-ya. They all call me Dani, or Dan-Dan, or sometimes other names. But my name is Dani right now.

I used to have a Na-na-na, and people called me Ze Ling or Ling Ling. And I think I had another name, too, at a different time. But I’m not sure.

I learned a lot about life with my Na-na-na. My Na-na-na took care of me, but there were babies around, too. The babies were about my size, but they were not like me. When they fell down, it didn’t hurt me, like when I fall down. When they ate, I didn’t get any less hungry.

When it was time to eat, my Na-na-na would sit me and the babies in a circle, and she would give us a bottle, or spoon feed us. Sometimes, when she was done, I would still be hungry. But I wouldn’t get any more to eat for a long time. If I cried, and said, “Eh! Eh! Eh!”, I got more food. The spoon or bottle would go into my mouth more times, and I wouldn’t be as hungry when my Na-na-na was finished. Sometimes, I would still be hungry when she was done, but not as hungry, and not as often.

When I go to sleep, people go away. Sometimes they come back, and sometimes they don’t.

I did have another name, other than Dani and Dan-Dan, Ze Ling and Ling Ling. I woke up and there were strange noises, and bright sunlight, and my blanket. I cried, and new people came and found me. The old people never came back. And I got my Na-na-na. Sometimes, I would fall asleep, and she would come back after I woke up.

One day, Ma-ma, Ba-ba, and Ah-YA-ya came to see me. They were from pictures, and my Na-na-na showed them to me. She showed me the pictures, then she showed me the real people. When the real people came, she went away.

When my Na-na-na goes away, I call for her. I cry, because I’m upset. I don’t want my Na-na-na to go away. Sometimes, she will stay for a while and give me kisses. She loves me, I think.

When she left me with Ma-ma and Ba-ba and Ah-YA-ya, it was outrageous. I made my angry cry. I made my afraid cry. I made my loudest, loudest cry. She came back once, but then went away again. And then Ba-ba took me away, and took me inside a room with windows, and sat down. Ma-ma and Ah-YA-ya came, too. And a whole bunch of big people and babies sat in the same room. The room moved. Trees and buildings passed by the windows. I had a lot to look at. Then I fell asleep. When I woke up, my Na-na-na was not there, and she never came back.

Sometimes I like my Ba-ba best, sometimes I like my Ma-ma best, and sometimes I like my Ah-YA-ya best. I might sometimes like my Na-na-na best, too, but she never comes back. Letting anybody that I like best out of my sight is not safe. I never know how long it will take them to come back. And they might never come back.

Letting someone else have someone I like best is not safe. Sometimes, my Na-na-na would play with the babies instead of me. They’d get attention that I didn’t get, hugs I didn’t get, and kisses I didn’t get. I like attention, hugs, and kisses. Sometimes, my Na-na-na would spend almost all her time with the babies instead of me. I learned not to let that happen. The babies have no right to take my Na-na-na away, and I’ll fight for her time if I have to. I’ll hit and slap and scratch and cry.

Going to sleep is not safe. Almost every time I wake up, I’m alone. I don’t want to be alone. I need people to feed me. I need attention from people. I need hugs and kisses. I can’t get any of this if everyone goes away.

Waiting quietly for food is not safe. Any food I don’t get right away might get fed to someone else. It might disappear altogether. I might have to stay hungry, just because I didn’t speak up, or because I wasn’t loud enough. I will not make that mistake.

My name is Dani today. Maybe tomorrow I’ll be Ling Ling again, and my Na-na-na will come back. Or maybe I’ll have my other name, or a new name, with new people. But I’ll take my lessons with me, whatever my name is. I wish I could have the same name and the same people all the time. It scares me to keep changing. Every time my name changes, a whole lot of other things change, too. And maybe I won’t like my next name and my next people. But now I know how to take care of me, and how to keep myself safe, so nobody else gets all the food and hugs and kisses and attentention that should be for me.

Ma-ma and Ba-ba and Ah-YA-ya are my people today. I’ll keep them if I can.