“My son’s coach meant well. He really did. His fatherly instincts told him to comfort my son and try to remedy the situation by loaning him his gloves. The temperature at game time was a brisk 30 degrees. The sun was up, but slow to melt the frost that fell in the early morning hours when it was much colder. My son stood on the sideline shivering, crying, snot running down his upper lip, and looking as if he were close to death.

I stood on the opposite sideline, glaring at him, feeling absolutely no sympathy (I know, I know….not very connection-oriented. I admit it. But hang in there with me for a moment…).”

I Don’t Expect You To Understand Why I Parent The Way I Do.: Confessions of an Adoptive Parent