Free Wish You Happy Forever by Jenny Bowen Page B

eyes glazed over—no way was that idea going to fly.
    So now I created an early childhood advisory group online. I invited adoptive parents who were child development professionals to help us plan our approach. Our first two volunteer nanny trainers were selected from that very committed pool. Even better, I met Janice Cotton, an early childhood professor, researcher, and practitioner who, although not available for this first outing, would not only design our infant nurture program, but one day oversee the development of an elegant and comprehensive child development curriculum for Half the Sky.
    I informed the board that there would be a few other things to figure out quickly, before we returned to China. I explained that, on my trip, when I’d begun to see a few too many of those China Smiles, I may have made a few impromptu and rather bold promises:
    â€œWe will not only transform the children. We will turn orphanage rooms into playrooms of the highest international standards! We’ll fill them with colorful and sturdy developmentally appropriate toys!”
    It hadn’t taken long to get the message that many of our potential Chinese partners (especially the men) were really into enhancing their real estate holdings. They wanted the shiny toys and plaques and other assorted symbols of success. So, of course, I obliged. Now we had to figure out how to deliver.
    Lucky for us, we had talent in the house. Our good pals on the board, Daniel and Terri, were experienced designers. Daniel had been a cabinetmaker before becoming a screenwriter and professor; he’d even designed and built play equipment for the children’s ward of a hospital. Terri was a painter with a gorgeous sense of color. They designed the play equipment, furniture, and color scheme that we still use in our children’s centers today. And, best of all, they volunteered to lead our builds.
    Paying for this grand plan would be tricky. We’d already tapped out friends and family. Not a single one of the very promising foundations I’d researched was willing to even look at a proposal. We had big ideas but had accomplished nothing yet, and Chinese orphans were not high on any funder’s priority list—actually not on the list at all. Ours was not considered a pressing global issue.
    Still, we launched our first public fundraising effort with great optimism. We collected names and addresses of anyone we thought might want to help the children. I wrote an appeal letter. Rob Reiner, a colleague of one of our board members and an advocate for early childhood education, helped us with an insert stating his support. By New Year’s Day 2000, we were ready. We sent our first direct appeal off in the mail and held our collective breath:
    On the July Fourth holiday last year, the first anniversary of our daughter Maya’s adoption, I watched her playing in the backyard, exuberant with friends and family. I marveled at this little being who had taken over my life and so fiercely captured my heart. And I was overwhelmed with gratitude for the gift of her life in mine.
    I know you’ll understand when I tell you that my happiness that day was tinged with sorrow. I couldn’t get the image out of my mind—the image that haunts me still: the babies lying alone on their backs, the toddlers strapped to walkers . . . all those abandoned little girls in orphanages in China who will never know families. Who will never know Maya’s joy. . . .
    Like many developing countries, China has extremely limited resources for its orphaned children. The main priority in welfare institutions is, and must be, food and health care. Everything else is an unaffordable luxury. Caretakers want to give the little ones more, but they are simply overwhelmed. So the children languish.
    The lucky ones find families. For those who don’t, the future looks bleak. Chinese society is rooted in the family. Life for a girl-child in