"Introducing Michael, a handsome African-American preteen born in 1991. Michael is quiet and serious in nature," says an entry on the bright yellow pages in the 2004-2005 Clark County Family Album of foster children. "When he feels comfortable, he can be very charming and will have a big smile ... Medication has been helpful in stabilizing his behaviors of defiance and aggression."
Couples in the Clark County Government Center for the Adoption Fair on Saturday afternoon are leafing through the album, shopping for children. The premium is on healthy white infants—none of whom are in this book. There's a meek white couple gently turning the pages at a table in one corner, there's an equally uncertain single white woman perusing a copy at a table behind booths manned by adoption agency personnel. About 1,800 children are in temporary foster care in Clark County right now, another 150 shelter children need placement right now:
"Devin is a sweet little boy of Asian descent born in 1994. He has black hair, medium complexion and a wonderful smile ... Devin has seizures, which are controlled by medication. He also suffered a skull fracture when he was younger ...
"Tracy is a sweet little girl who is average sized and missing her front teeth ... (she) is succeeding in kindergarten with no problems ...
"David is a cute, African-American boy with a round face and a quick smile born in 1992 ... He enjoys watching television and playing Nintendo and is quite good at it! ... David has been diagnosed with fetal alcohol syndrome and has developmental delays as a result."
"... shaken baby, defiant disorder..."
"... second time in foster care ...difficulty with impulse control and anger issues ..."
"AC is anxious to find a forever family and grow up in a loving environment, what he calls 'a real home.'"
Outside on the lawn in the government center amphitheater, there's a party going on. Dozens of kids of all races play on the grass; those giant inflatable jumpy rooms are set up everywhere—bright red, blue, orange; clowns and Clifford the Big Red Dog roam, sing, lead little joyous bodies around in circles, tell stories, play games, pass out bright yellow balloons, dance. Festive music lays a bed for the whole scene, Wendy's has catered the affair, there is soda, chili, chicken nuggets, laughter. It's sunny and mild and life is good.
Tamara, not quite 3, is a teeny African-American girl with a pink shirt and matching pink tennis shoes, and a huge smile. Her foster mom, Kathy Wolsey, has trouble keeping her at the picnic table for lunch—Tamara wants to run after a balloon, and after a fallen potato chip, and after a little boy who has just walked by—she just wants to run.
"We have 11 biological children," Wolsey says upon chasing Tamara down, scooping her up and sitting her back down. "And we've had 16 or 17 foster children, and we've adopted six of them."
Wolsey, a white woman who says she and her husband run a small business from home that allows them to be with the children, has brought her adult daughter and son-in-law to the fair to attend a seminar for first-time foster parenting.
"They're getting into it now ... We've always taken in little kids, but we have a friend who takes in only the bigger ones. It just depends on the person. But I tell anyone thinking about it, 'Go for it.' There's lots of kids that need love and attention and a family to snuggle into."
Tamara can see that this conversation gives her the perfect time to slip away, toward the clowns and other kids, and does so.
"Oh! This one's kind of a pistol!" Wolsey says, and lumbers after Tamara down the grassy hill.
"We do require that foster families be financially stable," Kellene Martin, county foster parent training coordinator, tells a group of about 30 prospective parents in a government center conference room. "This is not a way to make money. This is the hardest job you're ever going to have."
Foster parents in Clark County get $591.69 per month for each child under 13 and $681.92 for those ages 13 to 18.
Martin is a compact blonde wearing a Wendy's T-shirt, jeans and boots; she's got a Magic Marker and posterboard, she's moving through the needs and requirements of foster parenting at whiplash speed: "Pools, pets and pistols," she tells the crowd, "are our biggest challenges."
Foster homes must have 200 square feet per person; that is, a 1,000-square-foot apartment could be approved for a family of five. There must be a fence between house and pool, pets must be approachable, pistols must be unloaded and in a locked safe.
"We do require a lifestyle free from drug and alcohol use, and of law enforcement problems," Martin says. It also requires an FBI fingerprinting check, a TB vaccine, adequate smoke detectors and fire extinguishers, and a first aid kit.
"But if you don't have (parenting) experience, we will teach you," she says.
"Some of these kids come to us with eating issues. They either haven't been fed, or have had to go out on their own and find food. We get kids who eat dry ramen noodles and cold hot dogs, nothing but that. That's what they learned to eat to survive. We've had infants who've been fed Dr. Pepper in their bottle, and you try to give them formula and they spit it up. We had one creative foster mother who put half soda and half formula in the bottle until she could get the baby to take formula. You have to be creative," Martin says.
"You think that money goes a long way, but it doesn't. Let's say you do infants. You'll need a car seat, diapers, formula, cribs, playpens, high chairs..." She says there's a network of foster families who trade supplies and clothes.
A woman in the audience asks if there is a "common denominator" among those people who do not make good foster parents and quit.
"Oh, it's a lot of things. They may get burned out, or it's more than they thought, or there's a couple and one person in the couple isn't on the same page as the other, or life happens—you get pregnant with your own child, or you have to move or get transferred. Of the people who go through an orientation like this, at least a quarter won't come to the next class."
"The majority of people looking to adopt are looking for a healthy white infant," says Susan Klein-Rothschild, director of Clark County Family Services, while standing next to the county's foster-care table at the fair. Other booths at the fair are for agencies that provide infant matching services, usually at a steep cost.
"If you're looking for a healthy infant, it could range anywhere from $15,000 to $25,000," says Jo McLaughlin of the Adoption Alliance.
Her agency works with pregnant women who plan to give up their children for adoption. She says that they do 100 such placements a year, and the mothers are all in either Vegas or San Antonio, Texas—pregnant women who find the agency in the Yellow Pages or through a health-care referral.
Although typically the way couples find healthy infants is through adoption agencies like Adoption Alliance, Mike Peters, a Vegas attorney who specializes in adoption law, says this of finding the perfect baby: "Sometimes, these situations just fall into your lap by the grace of God—you'll meet someone in your church or you'll see ads in the Nifty Nickel for couples seeking a child, and they find a young pregnant woman that way."
Prospective parents can then arrange to pay for the birth mother's medical care throughout the pregnancy, along with any reasonable costs as late as 90 days after birth, but, Peters cautions, "after that you'd start to get in trouble with the law because it's considered buying a baby"—which is illegal. The more circuitous route of pay-as-you-go care is legal.
"And there are a number of birth mothers who make it a habit to take advantage of vulnerable parents," he tells a group of about 15 people in his seminar. Peters runs through a slew of other legal issues: getting the birth father to terminate rights, the legal requirement that the mother be given 72 hours after birth to terminate her rights and six months to decide to formally complete the adoption, agency costs, international adoptions.
"Nevada's hitting a curve going up dramatically in Chinese adoptions," he says. "I've had a lot of Chinese adoptions, and it can get expensive."
Conversely, Klein-Rothschild says, if would-be parents take in foster children, there are no agency costs—that is, no finder's fees and no legal fees, and the child comes with a Medicaid card to pay for all of his or her health needs.
The county will consider gay couples or unmarried heterosexual couples or single parents, provided they meet the foster care home standards. "We have 600 to 800 foster families, but we still need more," Klein-Rothschild says. "These kids need someone who can make a commitment.
"We have children waiting now, and I say, 'Don't you think every child deserves a safe, permanent home?' For people who really want to make a difference, there is no better way.
"These are often special needs kids who have suffered abuse and neglect. They come to us with lots of needs and they need to be cared for and loved in a way that all kids deserve," she says.
Laura and Eric Davis sit at a picnic bench overlooking the amphitheater, eating Wendy's salads, watching 30 or 40 kids play in the grass below.
"I had several miscarriages," Laura, 35, says. "And we heard about the adoption fair on Channel 3 this morning. So we just decided to come down." She's a pleasant, well-groomed woman with big glasses and a bright smile. Her husband is a tall, friendly blonde. They moved here from Washington about a year ago. He's an information technology employee at the Imperial Palace; she's a surgical technician and student.
"I walked in here thinking foster care was not an option because I'd be afraid that if I got too attached, it would be hard to give them up," Laura says. "I just can't imagine it. But the more we heard, the more interesting it was."
Still, she says, ultimately their goal is to adopt—and some foster parents do adopt their foster kids, as in the case of the Wolseys. Unlike many prospective parents, though, the Davises say they aren't necessarily seeking a trouble-free infant, or even an infant—they're open to accepting a grade-school child.
"My dad was an alcoholic and drug addict, and I've been beaten pretty good," Eric says. "I ran away from home a couple of times ... So I can understand coming from a background like that. It takes a lot longer to build trust, and I understand that." Eric's dad has been sober for 12 years now and the two have a healthy relationship, which he says makes him a man capable of guiding a troubled child back into a loving family experience.
"We've done other adoptions—we did adopt-a-cat from a pet agency, and we've adopted retired greyhounds," Eric says.
"I've always been a huge advocate for animal adoption," Laura says. "And there's a reason why I wasn't able to (have a baby) myself. I believe we are special people chosen to do this."