Peace Corps Adoption Story: Honduras to Arizona, 1988 to 1990

Setting the Stage

Most RPCVs, Returned Peace Corps Volunteers, carry home a suitcase of stories. Some are light, some are heavy, and some feel like several lifetimes packed into two short years. Mine include bombings, killings, and wrecks. This one is about adoption.

It unfolded during the training phase of my service, when everything smelled like wood smoke and laundry soap, and every face felt both new and familiar. I was there with my wife at the time, Jan, and another friend from Thunderbird, Teri Friske. Teri was an RPCV who had served before attending Thunderbird. Peace Corps hired her as an Associate Director in charge of a sector. She and Jan had been friends back at school, which made Honduras feel a bit more like home.

The Thunderbird Web

There was one more Thunderbird thread connecting us. Richard Mahoney, a Thunderbird professor, and his wife in Phoenix hoped to adopt a child. She was a TV anchor whom I remember as “Mary Jo.” She had met Mother Teresa and shared her desire to adopt. Later, Mother Teresa told her that a child was waiting in Santa Rosa de Copán, Honduras.

Finding a child in a country you do not know is no small task. Richard could not locate the youngster, so he turned to the Thunderbird network and phoned Teri.

“We Found Her”

Teri tracked the little girl to a Hogar de Niños, an orphanage. She brought her home for a few hours and called Richard. When I first saw the baby, who would be named Molly, my heart clenched. She was listless, her eyes dull with exhaustion. I did not think she would live. Teri explained that this was how all the babies looked in the orphanage.

The Rule: Three Months of Care

Richard arrived right away. Adoption in Honduras is not quick. By law, the child must be cared for three months while the paperwork is processed. Someone local had to take Molly in, feed her, hold her, and keep her safe, while the documents made their slow way through offices, stamps, and signatures.

At the time, Jan and I were living with a host family during training, Doris and Gustavo, who had two children of their own. They were kind and steady, the sort of people who always had a spare chair at the table.

The Ask

I suggested to Richard that perhaps Doris could take Molly in. Richard did the math quickly. “Tell her there is $150 a month in it for her,” he said, “and we will provide all the supplies.” In those days, that was a lot of money. It meant food on the table and school shoes for growing feet.

The next morning at breakfast, with coffee steaming and the children chattering, I brought up the idea with Doris. Her response was immediate. “No Way.” Her own kids were enough, and I could not blame her. Caring for a baby is no small task, and caring for a sickly one is even bigger.

I had saved the ace in the hole. I said, “Doris, Richard will pay you $150 a month and provided all the supplies.” She paused, thoughtful. “Humm, let me talk to Gustavo,” she said at last.

The Longest Short Wait

The hours after a big ask feel stretchy and thin. Doris and Gustavo talked. They weighed the noise, the cost, the risk, and the kindness. They pictured their kids learning to share. They pictured late night feedings. They pictured the quiet pride that can come from opening your home.

When Doris told me yes, there was no fanfare. It was practical and brave, the way most good things are. She and Gustavo would take Molly in for the three month period, and we would work together to make sure the medicine, formula, and everything else were covered.

A House Becomes a Haven

What followed was a season of small miracles. Molly’s cheeks began to pink up. Her eyes started to track voices and light. The house changed, subtly at first and then all at once. Bottles boiled for sterilizing. Folded cloths dried on the line. A careful inventory of diapers and powdered formula sat near the kitchen. Jan helped however she could. Teri checked in. Richard pushed papers forward. Doris moved through it all with the quiet competence of a mother who knows how to anchor a storm.

Paperwork and Patience

The paperwork crawled the way official processes do. There were rubber stamps and signatures and dates that slid from one week to the next. Day by day, we watched a more important timeline. Molly’s. Her head lifted. Her hands grasped. She cried when she needed something and settled when she got it. These are ordinary milestones that you can miss if you blink. In that house, they felt like fireworks.

The Hand Off

At the end of the required period, there is a strange ceremony that is not really a ceremony. It is just people who love a child, standing in a room, doing the hardest and kindest thing they can. We packed up the supplies, hugged too tightly, and said the words that never seem big enough for moments like that.

A New Beginning

Three months later Molly went to live in Arizona.

That single line closes one life and opens another. It is also a reminder that in the Peace Corps, and in any place where people try to do something good, the story is never just a single act. It is a network. Thunderbird friends. A professor named Richard Mahoney. A woman I remember as “Mary Jo.” A quiet legend involving Mother Teresa. An Associate Director named Teri Friske. My wife Jan. A host family, Doris and Gustavo, who chose to say yes when yes was hard.

Molly did not simply leave an orphanage. She left with weight on her bones and light in her eyes because a house in Honduras decided to be a bridge.

Coda

When I think back on 1988 to 1990, the list of events is long and complicated. When people ask about my Peace Corps years, I start with this story. Adoption is not only paperwork and travel. It is hands passing a child from one circle of care to the next. That is the kind of story worth telling, again and again.