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Faron | The Dreamweaver


I received a call from the adoption agency saying that my application had been approved and that someone was already on the way to my house with the child.


Before I even hung up the phone, the doorbell rang and I answered it with nervous excitement.


Waiting in the doorway I could hear baby sounds weaving in and out of heavy footsteps that sounded like a man's.


I watched as the middle-aged man climbed the last flight of stairs with the small bundle in his arms.


The man handed me the baby in a very matter-of-fact way, wished me luck and a good day and walked back down the stairs and out of sight.


And there I was holding my new daughter, thinking how strange that I was just handed a baby—no questions asked, no paperwork, nothing to sign, no I.D.—without any of the fanfare and formalities I had expected.


I went inside and unwrapped the baby from her blankets and got my first look at her.


She was beautiful and looked at me with large eyes and a little smile on her lips; at once, I felt a swell of immense joy and couldn't believe all that had just transpired in merely the space of a few minutes.


I called my wife to tell her the news and she told me she was in the park with our daughters and told me to walk over with the baby.


I was greeted at the park by my daughters who came running over, eager and anxious to catch a first glimpse of their new baby sister.


My wife walked over and I handed her the baby; she said she was beautiful but reprimanded me for not having told her about the adoption, concluding that it didn't matter and she was happy for the new addition to our family.


After spending a little time in the park, we headed for home.


While waiting a crosswalk for the light to change, my wife asked if I was intent on naming the baby with the letter "F," as to keep the alphabetical sequence of our children's' names going. She said she didn't mind as long as we didn't name her "Frances."


Just then, a name popped into my head.


"What about Faron?" I asked.


My wife seemed to like the name and asked me how I came up with it.


I told her I'd been listening to an old record by the British band Prefab Sprout, whose first song on their second album, Steve McQueen, was called "Faron Young."


She asked me who Faron Young was and I told her he was an American country music singer from the 1950s who took his own life.


Thinking she would react unfavorably, she simply shook her head and we crossed the street and went home.


When we arrived, I finally removed the baby's hood and outer clothes and set her gently on the floor where she seemed happy and eager to play. I couldn't believe she hadn't even cried the entire time since arriving home.


But I spoke to soon and she began crying and I assumed she had to be hungry.


Having been unprepared for her sudden arrival, I hadn't bought any baby supplies and needed to run out quickly to look for some bottles, formula and other accoutrements.


Handing the baby to my wife, she immediately stopped crying and I felt at ease and grabbed my wallet, keys and phone and went to the shops.


Then I woke up.





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