When The Lullaby Ends

By Andrea Sachs

Most eleven-year-olds don't have a lawyer, but Tony is a special case. His adoptive parents decided five years after his adoption that Tony had not properly "bonded" with them, and returned him to the state in March. They kept Sam, Tony's natural younger brother. Patrick Murphy, the Chicago public guardian who was appointed to serve as Tony's attorney, says the youngster is an "absolute joy to be around." But there have been scars. Says Murphy: "One of the tragic things is that Tony blames himself."

Tony is one of at least 1,000 children adopted in the U.S. each year who will be returned to agencies by their new parents. Some are sent back because of unmet expectations, others because they have severe emotional problems the parents cannot handle. In a risk-averse age when consumer standards have become more exacting and family commitments seem less binding, there is a danger that adopted children could be viewed as commodities that come with an implied warranty. The problem presents a major challenge for the legal system. "This is not a question of damaged goods; it's a matter of what's in the best interest of the child," says Neil Cogan of Southern Methodist law school.

Social workers used to believe that all an adopted child needed was a loving home. But now many admit that even the most committed parents may be overwhelmed by unexpected problems. In 1986 Dan and Rhonda Stanton adopted a blond baby girl they named Stacey Rene. "We thought we had a perfect baby because she didn't cry," says Dan, an insurance agent in suburban Dallas. Their contentment faded as the months passed and Stacey did not develop properly. She didn't babble and laugh like their friends' babies and couldn't pinch with her individual fingers. The tentative diagnosis: Rett's syndrome, a rare genetic disorder in which the brain stops growing. Devastated, the Stantons took Stacey back to the agency and have not seen her since. "We made a commitment to her, but we were not able to live up to that commitment," says Rhonda. "She turned out to be totally different from what we thought we had adopted."

If adoptive parents are saddled with an unforeseen defect, who should shoulder the load? Most experts put the onus on the adoptive parents. "Families, having decided to do an adoption, assume a certain risk," says Professor William Winslade of the University of Texas Medical School in Galveston. "If it is an incredibly difficult burden, it seems unfair not to give parents, who have provided the benefit to society by making the adoption, some special help. But I don't think the burden should be totally given back to the state either. Parents adopt because they want the joys -- and the sorrows -- of having children."

About 2% of all adoptions in the U.S. fail. But for older children and children with special needs, the numbers are far higher. For children older than two, 10% of the adoptions are dissolved. For ages twelve to 17, the rate shoots up to around 24%. This poses a special problem, since healthy adoptable babies are increasingly scarce owing to the fact that more single women now opt to have abortions or to keep their infants. More families are therefore adopting older or handicapped children. This seems to be a main cause of the growing return-to-sender phenomenon.

As the problem of disrupted adoptions spreads, specialists are looking more closely at agency methods. One cause for failure is a practice that Berkeley Professor Richard Barth describes as "stretching." In essence, it is a bait- and-switch game: would-be parents are encouraged to adopt a child different from the one they wanted by the withholding of some negative information. For example, a couple who want a baby are persuaded to take an older child and never told that several earlier placements have not worked out because of emotional problems. Though the motive is benevolent -- finding a home for a hard-to-place child -- Barth regards the tactic as unethical.

Some disappointed parents have begun to fight back in the courts. The notion of "wrongful adoption" -- which claims that agencies are liable for damages if they place children without fully disclosing their health backgrounds -- is gaining legal recognition. Frank and Jayne Gibbs of Philadelphia are suing two agencies for $6 million, following their adoption of a seven-year-old boy who turned out to be violently disturbed. After the adoption, say the couple, they discovered that he had been horribly abused, including an attempt by his natural mother to cut off his genitals.

Many states have passed medical disclosure laws, which make it easier to obtain accurateinformation about a child. Agencies themselves are attempting to gather more data. The Golden Cradle adoption agency, in Cherry Hill, N.J., requires natural mothers to fill out ten-page medical histories that ask about everything from hay fever and heavy drinking to Down's syndrome and blood transfusions. Genetic counselors are often called in as consultants. "We believe an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure," says agency supervisor Mary Anne Giello.

Still, there are no warranties on adoptions. Those who set out looking for perfect "designer" children are likely to be disappointed. Nor is it possible -- or even necessary -- to know everything about a child. "People shouldn't get the idea that they can't be parents unless they have a DNA profile of a kid," says Professor Joan Hollinger of the University of Detroit law school. Instead adoptive parents, armed with as much information as possible, should face the inevitable mysteries -- just as all parents do.

With reporting by Michele Donley/Chicago and Janice C. Simpson/New York