* This article originally appeared on the news site “the POST”, written by Gabe Mercado, under the title “We are a single-parent, adoptive family. This is our story.”
Beeto was a foundling who, in his first few months of life, was cared for by a kind bishop and a loving foster home. He was surrendered to a church straight from the delivery room.
I found myself tearing up when I got news that Beeto got accepted into the finance program at ISM University in Vilnius. My son will be the first Filipino student in this private Baltic business university. While I’m excited for the new world that will open up for him, I’m also anxious that the center and meaning of my life for close to two decades will be so far away from me.
To understand our unique relationship, it is best to go back and recognize what this boy has overcome in his 19 years because our journey as a multi-hyphenate family is an unusual one.
Beeto was a foundling who, in his first few months of life, was cared for by a kind bishop and a loving foster home. He was surrendered to a church straight from the delivery room. The kind bishop asked a family friend to foster the child. He then found his way into our home, and the DSWD through their Adoption Resource and Referral Unit helped in legalizing his status with us through a foster parenting arrangement.
At the time, I was married and we were childless. My friend came to us and asked if we would be interested in caring for the child. My then wife was excited and I was hesitant but was foolish enough to agree to meet him. When I took him into my arms and he stopped crying, I knew I was holding my son.
Adoption, after all, was not an unfamiliar concept to our family. My father was once the president of the Adoptive Families Foundation and we have multiple members of our family who were adopted.
We welcomed Beeto into our home. It became apparent when he was a year old that he wasn’t hitting his developmental milestones and it was determined that he had schizencephaly, a congenital brain condition that would put a ceiling on his muscle and mental development. He was predicted to have notable weakness on his left side (hemiparesis), difficulty in socializing, a possibility of seizures, and while he wouldn’t need to be in a special education program, he was not predicted to excel in school.
We decided to take action right away and he started regular physical and occupational therapy. We celebrated when he finally was able to walk by himself.
Single-parent adoption
A year later, amid a struggling career, my marriage fell apart and it was family and friends who refused to let me let my life fall apart. Again with the help of the DSWD, we navigated the process of single-parent adoption. It took all of seven years (five years for the annulment and two more for adoption) before he could legally carry my family name and we were recognized by the state through his quirky birth certificate: Mateo Benedicto Mercado. Father: Gabe Mercado. Mother: Unknown.
That has gotten us into complicated situations with well-meaning but ill-informed bureaucrats like that time in the Department of Foreign Affairs when they would not give him a passport despite our explanations and complete legal documents. We had to appeal to friends in higher places who knew the proper procedures and that we were right.
It also got us into interesting discussions at school. When he was in grade one, Beeto came home anxious about his assignment. They were asked to make a family tree and present it to class. The template they were given couldn’t quite capture our unique family configuration.
So instead we drew a tree with me as trunk and Beeto at the crown with all the people who loved him and supported him—yayas, cousins, lolas, aunts and uncles, ninongs and ninangs, my improv group, foster parents, lawyers, social workers, the DSWD—all in the branches surrounding him.
I asked the teacher if I could be allowed to speak in class and we presented the family tree together and we shared about how not all families look the same and that we were proud to be a single-parent, adoptive family. I told them about the first time I met Beeto while he was in the care of his foster mother.
After we told our story, a chirpy voice at the back of the room whispered, “I wish I were adopted too.”
It took seven years before he could legally carry my family name and we were recognized by the state through his quirky birth certificate: Mateo Benedicto Mercado. Father: Gabe Mercado. Mother: Unknown.
Another time, it was a different kind of tree that gave me anxiety. There was a Christmas tree in Beeto’s classroom and the kids wrote their wishes for Christmas anonymously. One wish stood out in familiar writing: “I want to meet my actual parents.”
When we got home, we talked about what he had written. I told my son that I would help him look for his biological parents if that’s what he wanted and we would begin by going to the church where he was first found. I told him that I would support him in his journey to find out more about himself and where he came from, and that he was at the right age to wonder about these things.
After all that, Beeto said, “Oh all I really want is to see a picture. I want to know if I will become tall.”
He hit a growth spurt and shot past me when he was 12, much to his delight.
Showing up is love
During the pandemic, we stopped school for one year when he was struggling with anxiety and learning in an online environment. He lost his motivation and interest in academics and would ask me if I would be disappointed if he didn’t attend college. But I asked him to keep plugging away, to just pass and focus on learning, never mind what the report card says.
A few months ago, Beeto insisted that I watch what was to be his last volleyball intramurals at school. Now he isn’t especially skilled at anything—he blocks well, he receives well, his serves are on the mark, and he sets up his teammates well.
What stands out though is that he never gives up on any play. He dives, stretches, and goes for balls that no one else bothers with. There were a few times that you could hear audible oohs from the crowd when he would keep the ball alive against all expectations. I told him after that he was the crowd favorite and he was my unbiased favorite because of how hard he worked and how much he cared. Little wonder we had been spending the last couple of evenings patching up his bruises and scratches and rubbing painkillers on his legs.
When I was eavesdropping on his motivational interview for his university application that night, I overheard him telling his story.
“I love volleyball. But I was born with a congenital brain condition called schizencephaly—that makes my left side weak and I have poor muscle tone on my left side. I also have less feeling on that side. But I never used that as an excuse and I just worked harder to become good because I love the sport. I’ve even used my not being able to feel much on my left side to my advantage: I’m not afraid of strong hits because I use my left side to receive and it doesn’t hurt as much.”
At Beeto’s graduation from senior high school yesterday, there were two moments that stood out. As his name was called and I walked him to his seat, he said to me, “I want you to hold my hand as we make our entrance,” and so I did.
Afterwards, as students gave their parents a letter and a rose as a token of gratitude, he whispered to me (while stifling a sob): “Thank you for always showing up with love.”
