I’d refuse to a job that clashes so violently with my own dictates of right and wrong.
I feel a sense of power as I sit in my office with an adopted child’s original birth certificate on my desk. The certified birth certificate will go into the child’s file, and locked away in a vault never to be seen again as mandated by Washington State law. The birth certificates list the full names of the child’s birth parents as well as the name that the birth parent chose for them. The adoptive family does not know the birth parents last names. Nor do they know the name the birth parent originally chose for the child.
As I look at the vital document, I feel that I’m committing an infraction of sorts, in knowing that the child to whom this information belongs will never be allowed to view it. The irony and weight of the moment is not lost, as I am keenly aware of the hours of…
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