The Day his Motor Died - 9. Chapter 9

Doug and Michael weren’t exactly sure how to go about with this surrogate mother thing, but one thing they knew for sure. They needed more space. In preparation for the blessed event, they moved out of their one-bedroom apartment, and were lucky enough to get a three-bedroom in the same building.

After they recovered from the stress of moving, they advertised for a surrogate mother in The New York Times, but nobody answered. They were not disheartened, and advertised again. This time they expanded their search in Craig’s List. They also advertised in college newspapers, hoping that a young co-ed, in need of tuition money, might respond. As a last resort, they advertised in the gay press, believing that a lesbian might want to have a baby. They would agree to allow the woman into their baby’s life, and they made it clear in the ad.

They did not receive one answer, but then providence blessed them again. They had a friend who practiced family law. He told them about a social service agency who sought foster parents for gay youths who had been abandoned by their parents. The ultimate goal was to have the child adopted by the foster parents. They preferred gay foster parents who would make good role models, but straight parents were welcome also.

Their friend, Stan, told them that very few straight couples wanted to foster or adopt a gay child, and he was sure that they met the criteria of “good role models.” He said he would help them get through all the red tape.

They were dubious. They wanted a baby, not a nearly grown man.

“How old are the kids?” Doug asked Stan one day.

“They usually run in age from eleven to sixteen.”

“How does anyone know if a child is gay at eleven? Hell, I didn’t know until I was in my late twenties and met Doug,” Michael lamented.

“Usually, the unforgiving parents only suspect the child is gay, because he may act very effeminately. He embarrasses them, and they declare the boy to be a ward of the courts.”

“How can a parent do that to their own son? It’s barbaric.”

“In my line of work,” Stan said sadly, “I see it every day.”

“If we requested the youngest ward they have, do you think they might do it for us?”

“We can only try. I’ll represent you.”

About two weeks later, Stan called them. The agency had just admitted twelve-year old twin boys. The couples next on the list didn’t want the burden of taking in two boys, especially since they never had even one child in the house.

The agency did not wish to separate the boys, and Stan wondered if they would be interested in fostering the twins. They didn’t have to think about it. They gave him a resounding YES.

The next two months were hell. They had more red tape and documents to fill out than either had ever seen. They also got surprise visits from social workers to check out their suitability.

Finally, the big day came. The agency told them to come down and meet the twins. They were shaking like willow trees while waiting in the administrator’s office for her to bring the twins around.

It seemed like hours, but it was only a few minutes, and Mrs. Lowry came in with the boys, Peter and Paul McGuire. It was love at first sight. The twins were cherubs. They had curly brown hair and hazel eyes. They didn’t act effeminate at all. The prospective foster parents had a fifteen-minute supervised visit with the boys, and an attendant took them away. The boys started to cry. After they were out of the room, Doug asked why their parents thought they were gay. His gaydar wasn’t pinging.

“A teacher caught the twins and another boy… she hesitated… fooling around in the boys’ room at school. Of course, the parents were called. The other boy’s parents took him home, but the McGuire’s wanted nothing to do with their boys.”

“All boys experiment,” Doug said. “How do we know if they are really gay. What if they’re straight?”

“Would it make a difference in your desire to have a child. After all, the chances are good that your natural children would be straight.”

Neither man answered.

“How soon could we take them home?” Michael asked.

“We’ll set up a visit in your home. You’ll show the boys where they’ll be staying, and actually the boys will make the decision.”

Michael cringed. What if Peter and Paul didn’t like them?

Mrs. Lowry set up the home visit for a week from Saturday. On the way home, they stopped at a furniture store which promised one day delivery. They bought a bedroom set with twin beds.

On the morning of the visit, they combed the house and removed any evidence of sex paraphernalia. The day before, a cleaning service sterilized the apartment. Even so, Michael and Doug were two nervous nellies.

The boys were accompanied by a social worker named Anne, and when they saw Michael and Doug, they ran over and embraced them. They showed the boys and Anne around the apartment, and when the boys saw their bedroom, they started to cry again.

“Why are you crying?” Anne asked.

“Because where we used to live, we shared a bedroom with two other brothers and our parents. This is really something else,” Paul said.

Michael began to suspect that the twins’ parents gave them up because they couldn’t afford them, not because they were gay. He didn’t care. Straight or gay, he was already in love with the twins.

After a three-hour visit, the twins didn’t want to leave. Anne smiled and hugged them both.

“I’ll rush things through,” she said, but there’s a lot of paper work remaining. We have to get your school records, copies of your baptismal and birth certificates, and so on.”

“How long will it take?” Paul whined.”

“A couple of weeks.”

“I don’t see why we can’t stay here until you do all that,” Peter complained.

“Believe me. It’s not my choice. We have to play by the rules to make this fostering situation legal.”

Reluctantly, they left. It took three weeks to clear the boys through. During that time, Michael and Doug visited them every day after work, and sometimes on their lunch hours.

The boys arrived with practically no clothes and well-worn shoes.

“I can’t wait for Saturday,” Michael said. “We’re going on a shopping spree.”

“And I can’t wait to sleep in my own bed in my own room,” Paul smiled.

“Me too,” Peter chimed in.

And another thing I can’t wait for,” Doug said, “is to enroll you in school on Monday morning.

Both boys groaned.

“For now,” Michael said, “we’re going out to dinner. We’ve hired a housekeeper-cook, but she doesn’t start until Monday. When we get home from the restaurant, I want you boys to shower. I’ll give you each a pair of my briefs to sleep in. They’ll be a little big on you, but they’ll do until we buy you some PJs.”

“We’re going to a restaurant?” Paul asked.

“We’ve never been to a restaurant,” Peter said.

Paul looked up at the ceiling. “Thank you, God,” he said, and Doug wiped away an errant tear.

The twins were just young enough to be little children, who were overawed by their new environment. Fortunately, they were just old enough to care for themselves. The boys fit right in at school and at home. They acclimated immediately to a new social stratum.

The first few weeks were fun and games for all of them. It was hard to tell if the twins were happier, or if Michael and Doug were happier. They were all happy. Little by little they settled down and became a family. They bickered often, and the twins balked at parental authority.

The grandparents, including Marty and Lois, were constant visitors, and they were conned into giving the twins things their fathers had refused them.

Michael and Doug had no idea how he did it, but after two years, Stan got the twins adopted. They were given the names Paul Carey-Moran and Peter Carey-Moran.

As time went by, Doug became more and more convinced that the boys were straight. He and Michael were very careful to keep their love making a secret. Peter and Paul thought that was hysterical. They both listened in the quiet, and they heard everything.