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While the task force opposed adoption by homosexuals, growing numbers of gay men and women -- who are generally spurned by ordinary adoption agencies -- have sought special-needs kids. Says a New York social worker involved in placing the city's 300 homeless AIDS babies: "We have recruited single men because many of them are not afraid of AIDS. We also find men very nurturing parents."
Frank and Dante, a gay Long Island couple, have not only taken in the fragile 19-month-old Mickey; they are also preparing to adopt two-year-old Jonathan, who has weathered two bouts of AIDS-related pneumonia and, under their care, blossomed from an emaciated infant into a chubby, cheerful toddler. A private adoption agency, Leake & Watts, provides the men with $1,200 for each child a month in city, state and federal funds instead of the $437 subsidy for a healthy child.
On their mantel, Frank and Dante keep a silver-framed picture of their adopted son Alex, who was ten months old when he died of AIDS-related pneumonia last year. If Mickey too succumbs, they will consider adopting another child with AIDS. "I think we were called to take care of them," says Frank, a former Franciscan brother. "We know what it is like to go through the loss of a child, but we also know there is another baby out there."
Early stability may be especially important to the prospects of drug children, especially crack babies. "George," just ten months old, has already endured surgery on his throat and intestines. When he arrived at the Children's Institute International in Los Angeles six months ago, he weighed only 5 lbs. "He looked like a child assigned a set of skin three times too big," recalls Sheila Anderson, director of the infant's shelter at C.I.I. Crack babies frequently have trouble keeping down their food. Given to spasms, trembling and muscular rigidity, they resist cuddling by arching their backs, an early sign of what some studies suggest may be lasting neurological and emotional disorders. In pediatric intensive-care units around the country, they fill the night air with their inconsolable "cat cries," a distinctive high-pitched whine that conveys who knows what inexpressible misery.
So Jimmy Hibbard is lucky. Though his mother freely consumed prescription and street drugs during pregnancy, her drug abuse probably did not extend to crack. Even so, when Rick and Mary Hibbard brought him into their home in Long Beach, Calif., he was a nine-month-old veteran of pneumonia, bronchitis and asthma, so white from anemia he was "almost iridescent," recalls Rick. Now eight, Jimmy still has trouble with some motor skills. But he has demonstrated above-average reading ability.
For five-year-old Noel, whom the Hibbards are in the process of adopting, the future is likely to hold greater challenges. A Pueblo Indian, she suffers from fetal alcohol syndrome as well as prenatal exposure to angel dust and probably cocaine. For a long time she was so sensitive to tactile stimulation that it made her hysterical to walk on carpeting, grass or sand. She has been diagnosed as mildly retarded. With a good mother's militant optimism, Mary says the Hibbard house will make the difference. "All kids need structure," she explains. "But special-needs kids need it more."