Bishkek, 2)Kyrgyzstan. The name of that foreign city went through my mind over and over, as I lay in bed. Biskek, Kyrgyzstan. Panic gripped me, as I kept wondering why I had applied for a job in a country about which I knew nothing.
　　I had 3)battled a similar kind of panic when my wife and I decided to adopt a baby. Adopting a child and becoming a father scared me as much as moving to an unknown country. I knew there would be joy and excitement as we began the adoption process, but I 4)was caught off guard by the attack of the “5)what if’s.”
　　What if the child isn’t anything like me? It’s natural for parents to look for their reflection in their children. Fathers often want sons who will love football, fishing, or other hobbies like they do. I was an English teacher and feared adopting a child who hated to read. Fathers are easily tempted to live their lives 6)vicariously through the achievements of their children. But the more I thought about not being able to boast about my son’s genes, the more I believed that having my 7)ego less 8)wrapped up in my son was probably a good thing. Today, however, I cheer just as loudly as any other dad when my son scores a goal in soccer. He’s my son—even though he doesn’t share my genes.
　　Six years of teaching in 9)grade school have also taught me that a child with his parents’ genes could be just as much an unknown 10)entity as any adopted child. I had students who were completely different from the brother I had taught the year before. I saw un-athletic children, whose fathers were professional athletes. 11)Recessive genes even eliminated any guarantee that children would look like their parents. I realized, all children were a wonderful adventure of discovery.
　　But what if I don’t love this stranger? I had known my wife for years before making the decision to marry and love her forever. How could I just decide to love a child who, in our case, wasn’t even born yet? Although we completed our adoption in what we were told was 12)record time, the forty days 13)leading up to it was like forty days of emotional 14)labor, as we got 15)physicals, did interviews for the home study, filled out forms, talked to lawyers, and watched friends and relatives give generously to help us with the cost. My wife had not 16)carried this baby in her 17)womb, but we had certainly carried this baby in our hearts and prayers.
　　Because of the “intensive labor” of the adoption process, my son didn’t seem like a stranger when I first held him, three days after his birth. With one arm gently cradling his whole body, I looked into his eyes and knew that my heart belonged to him. All doubts about my heart being large enough to love this child vanished, as I gazed down into his blue eyes and said, “Peter James Wilson.”
　　But what if he later has all kinds of questions about who he is and why he is adopted? I had seen some adopted high school kids struggle with a sense of identity and a lack of connection with their parents. This was not a “what if” I could completely work through in advance. But since our adoption was open and we had met the birth parents, I decided to keep a written record of the whole process.
　　

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