It is difficult to associate our happy, healthy adopted son with the neglected, silent, urine-soaked infant who lay in a bundle of rags in Romania nine years ago. The memory of that cold Romanian winter spent waiting for British social workers to decide on the 'child's best interests' and for the Romanian courts to weave their spell of corruption, confusion and delay, is thankfully our memory, not Joseph's (our son).
Today, if asked about his 'interests', Joseph would politely and enthusiastically explain his love of football and tell of his successes playing for the local Under 9's team. He also enjoys training hard at the local swimming club. He loves to go on bike rides and to play computer games. He would tell of his enjoyment in playing with his friends and will unashamedly express his love for his brother, his 'best friend' who is not adopted. In many ways, Joseph is a typical noisy, fun-loving, energetic nine year-old, whose bedroom wall boasts an array of achievement certificates in both sport and school work.
VIP treatment
These facts were just hopes as I carried Joseph off a flight from Romania to Heathrow in 1991. Fellow passengers insisted on giving us VIP treatment, allowing Joseph and I (rather reluctantly) to be first down the aircraft steps to the sound of their applause. There was an unreal, dream-like quality to those events nine years ago and yet our aim then, as now, was to provide a day-to-day normality for a child who had been living a nightmare.
