Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: WEDNESDAY, May 11, 1994 TAG: 9405120001
SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: 1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: By CODY LOWE STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: LENGTH: Long
"Isn't that adorable," Carla Barnes said. "And he's only 21/2 years old!"
And just four months before, the only words Eric was learning were in Russian. That was before Tim and Lori Gubala visited the orphanage where he lived and decided to make him part of their family.
The trip to Russia was the culmination of several months' work through a new International Adoption Program run by Lutheran Family Services of Virginia, Barnes' employer.
The Gubalas have been married three years. They wanted children, and for personal and medical reasons, had decided that adoption was the best option for them.
They had heard "lots of positive international adoption stories," Lori said in a recent interview. That included the experience of Lori's pastor, the Rev. Mark Radecke of Christ Lutheran Church, who has two adopted children.
The Gubalas' own journey to parenthood began almost two years ago, in July 1992, after an informational meeting on the international adoption program being initiated by Lutheran Family Services.
The Gubalas heard Cheryl Hinkle, the program's coordinator, describe the process, and they signed a form expressing an interest in learning more.
They started compiling documents in September, and by November the couple was in Hinkle's Harrisonburg office completing the application paperwork - a lot of paperwork.
Birth certificates, marriage certificate, criminal background checks, employment certification, physical health exams, autobiographies, pictures of their home - all formed a mountain of documents needed to ensure that the Gubalas were financially, physically and emotionally capable of caring for a child. They were needed to satisfy Naturalization and Immigration authorities as well as Lutheran Family Services.
Then there were the home studies, in which a case worker visited with the Gubalas to help evaluate their potential for success as adoptive parents.
"There was a whole series of questions" to be answered, Tim, 46, said. They were asked about "family life, rationale for adopting a child, expectations, discipline, religion, education."
The process took months.
After satisfying Lutheran Family Services that they would be good parents, the Gubalas were referred to several agencies that specialize in child placements from other nations. They also began narrowing their preferences for country of origin, finally settling on Russia.
They signed an agreement with an agency called World Child in August 1993 and by the end of that month were told there was a child available in Borovichi, in the Novgorod region of Russia.
They were scheduled to go to Russia on a Saturday near the end of October to pick up a little boy named Eric, whose files they had already seen. On Thursday before they were to fly out, the Gubalas were told Eric was not going to be available for adoption, but that if they went ahead to Russia anyway they likely would come back with a child.
"We talked, we cried. They told us not to fall in love with the face" on the information packet they had been sent, Lori, 31, said. "But we did."
Radecke advised the couple to sleep on it, pray about it. They didn't have to make a final decision until the next day. They opted to go ahead.
They passed through the dreary Moscow airport, past young, insolent customs inspectors. Their moods brightened when they met their guide - whom they soon considered an "adopted brother" - Yuri Kapchinski.
He was to be a guardian angel who shepherded them through Russian culture and government and social practices.
One of the Gubalas' four suitcases was devoted exclusively to the trove of gifts they were counseled to take along to give to each of the people who would be helping them adopt their child. The adoption coordinator, interpreters, the family with whom they lodged, the head of the orphanage and its nurses all received gifts.
The bag was filled with lipsticks, pantyhose, mascara, compacts, perfume, a wool sweater and silk scarf, a five-band radio, jogging suits, pocket calculators, cigarettes and lighters, and a forest of ballpoint pens.
After a briefing from U.S. embassy officials on the requirements for leaving the country with their adopted child, the Gubalas headed out on a night train for Borovichi.
When they arrived at 4 a.m., the head of the orphanage was up to meet them and show them to their hotel. "It was no Ritz-Carlton, but it was a beautiful suite ... with an actual bathtub," Lori said.
After a brief sleep, they were escorted to the orphanage where they were asked questions: Why did they want to adopt? Did they want a boy or a girl? What age child were they looking for?
Eventually a child was brought out, but after checking, the orphanage discovered they didn't have a release from the child's father making him available for adoption.
"That was when I cried," Lori said.
"He was a year and a half old," Tim said. "Yuri had been holding him. When they took him away the orphanage officials apologized, then left the room."
After lunch that Thursday, they saw the information on the child they eventually were to adopt. There was one hang-up, though, one piece of documentation missing.
They were told that Eric - who had been left by his mother at the hospital where he was born - had chicken pox. It turned out to be just a "heat-type rash," Lori said. They were given what has become a standard warning that Eric probably was "developmentally delayed" - though it is evident he is not.
Then came the final warning: Eric was not Russian. He was classified ethnically as a "gypsy," which carries social and political discrimination in Russia.
That was not true among those who were caring for Eric, apparently. Everyone they met - from orphanage workers to cab drivers - was delighted that they were "giving our love for a child," Lori said.
Tuesday, Nov. 2, was the big day. They picked up Eric that morning and headed for the courthouse.
Rather than a cold, impersonal document-signing to mark the adoption, the Gubalas were treated to a warm ceremony from the civil authorities.
"We signed a leather-bound record book," Lori said, "but they didn't give the adoption certificate directly to us. They gave a little speech about how on behalf of the city they were please to present Eric Alexsey Gubala," to them, Lori said.
After the ceremony, there was one more trip to the orphanage, where Eric was changed into clothes the Gubalas had brought with them and when the gifts were given to the orphanage staff. "They cried when we took our boy," Lori said. "They really love their babies."
After spending their third wedding anniversary in Moscow, they flew back into Washington, staying overnight at a hotel there before heading back to Roanoke.
Five months later, parents and son were happily settled into their new relationship. Eric is in day care, learning English - one of his first English words was "Barney" - and establishing new friendships. Tim and Lori are back at work and learning a set of skills unique to adoptive parents.
That includes answering "the dumb questions some people ask." Those include, for instance, "What do you know about his `real' parents?" and "Is he legitimate?"
"We know as much about him as we need to know," the Gubalas said.
They are a little reluctant to talk about how much the procedure costs. "We don't want our child to have a price tag on his head," Lori said.
The total costs range from $10,000 to $20,000 - including all the travel, documentation expenses and agency fees, Hinkle, the Lutheran Family Services coordinator, said. Her agency's fees are only $1,800 of that.
The Gubalas are keeping a "life book" of photos and documents - likely enough including this story - for Eric, and don't intend to keep his adoption from him. They hope he will retain some of the Russian words he knows now.
But just last weekend, at a Manassas reunion of people who have adopted Russian youngsters, Eric only wanted to play with the other children and showed little interest when visitors - including the director of the orphanage where he had lived - spoke his native language.
Still, Lori said, "We want him to know his heritage."
by CNB