Once there was a small boy, an adopted child. He had known this in various forms pretty much from the time he could understand. Time passed and some uneasiness in the boy appeared to surface. Uneasiness in what he thought could happen to him.
The adopted boy’s father did the following. Early one morning he took the boy to a big building in the town where they lived, the county courthouse, with big statues on the well-mown lawn and high entrances with a lot of steps. Once inside the building, the boy and his dad walked to an office. The father was greeted by a lady who said the judge would be with them shortly.
After a few minutes, the judge came in and shook the father’s hand, and invited the child and his father into his office. The judge called the man by name and they exchanged small chitchat. Turning to the child, the judge said, “I have something to show you.” They went into another room, a room called The Hall of Records. It said so on the door.
“Your dad tells me you’re having some questions, some things you might be worried about. Is that right? He said you are thinking someone might come and take you to live somewhere else?” The judge took a large book from a shelf in the Hall of Records. He opened the book and called the small boy to his side. “Look here,” he said. “You see where people have written their names on these lines? The boy answered, “Yes.” The judge continued, “Well, let me tell you something. Right underneath those names is my name. I signed right there, and you know what that means?” The boy nodded that he didn’t know. The judge went on to explain what it meant. “Everything written here is official and nothing can ever happen to take you from where you now live. My signing means that would not ever happen. I wouldn’t let it. So whatever your dad tells you is so.” With that, the boy’s doubts were erased. The book was returned to the shelf, the father and the judge talked a few minutes more and they left.
The boy has often wondered about that day and what took place. The father had very little formal education-- in today’s standards, about an eighth grade education. The boy went on to graduate high school, obtain a bachelor’s, a master’s and a few hours short of a 6th year degree, but I doubt if he ever gained the wisdom his father had shown on that day.
Hopefully we all can recognize the difference in education and wisdom. There certainly is a great difference.
The father in the story was my adopted father John Adamson and the boy that was me, Larry Adamson. To me it remains an act that will always be remembered. Yes it was an act of love, kindness and also wisdom.
June 17, 2009