Sunday we hosted our annual party for adoptive families with children born in Guatemala. Every year, in the throes of preparing for the thing–I won’t bore you with the details, but there are many–I vow “Never again!” Then Olivia tapes the Guatemalan flag to the front door and posts the sign she made that reads “WELCOME FRIENDS” and Tim and Mateo hang the balloons on the mailbox–light blue and white, the colors of Guate–and the first families arrive, bearing their side dishes and drinks, and embracing me with their heartfelt hugs.
The kids run inside–they know our house by now; this is our fourth or fifth year–and if they are in the 8-10 year old group, dash straight out the back and down the hill to the trampoline. If they are older–the 11 to 15 set–they hover for a few minutes and circle, before melding into their own pack, the Big Kids–where they hang in the private spot they’ve carved out, a side deck, until dinner is served. Young adults come, too–still willing to indulge me, the crazed hostess, with a smile and a hug–and I tell them how grateful I am to see them, that their presence is essential. “You are our role models,” I tell them. “You teach us. You pave the way.”
Tim grills dozens of hot dogs and hamburgers and quinoa burgers and chicken apple sausages. Parents greet old friends and make new ones, engaging in conversations long and animated. This is one party where everyone you meet shares a single profound experience. This is one party where everyone you meet “gets it,” everybody understands.
I love many things in this world, but one of the things I love best is my community formed through adoption. To our guests, I say: Thank you for making the drive to our house. Thank you for showing up. Thank you for doing your part to keep our community connected. I hope to see you again, same time, next year. xo~
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