A few years back, after my son graduated from high school and began his life as a parkour stud and professional stuntman, I very diligently considered adopting a kid. Not just a kid. A kid who aged out of desirability already. A kid whose chances at a forever home were slim at best. A teenager.
I already raised my son… effectively as a single parent because the ex-wife travelled all week for her job. My kid turned out great, and I felt I could give another kid the same loving, supportive, and safe home, if only for those final few years as a kid.
At the time, I was friends with a social worker who specialized in foster care. I mentioned my idea of adopting a kid. And she asked:
“What qualifies you to adopt a child?”
As a starting point of the conversation, I replied, “Love.”
And immediately she said, “That isn’t enough.”
Her reply was so quick. So I asked her, “Are you a parent?”
She said, “No, but that doesn’t matter. I have my master’s.”
I chose to end the conversation there.
My son rocks. And I love him. So there.