By Buddy Hazell
For the sake of not breaching confidentially, I will not use the names of anyone besides myself, Angela and my wife Lulu.
The year was 1985, a pregnant teenage girl crossed the Rio Grande River, to have her baby born in America, and be an American citizen. The baby was born Sept. 23, 1985. About three weeks after the baby was born, the mother was in a beer joint trying to sell her child. Someone called the police and they responded quickly and called CPS who brought the baby to our home. We had been in foster care for 15 years, and babies were our specialty. Her name was Angela and she was as beautiful as her name.
We soon fell in love with her and begin to talk about adoption. One day when Angela’s case worker came to see her we asked him about adopting her. His response was that she was not available for adoption at this time. We kept asking every time he came, and one day he told us that the baby’s father had phoned and wanted the baby. The worker said the father was very wealthy and would probably get the baby.
Our hearts were broken, and we cried at the thought of Angela having to be raised in Mexico. We started praying that God would intervene in this and asked Him to let us have Angela as our own. A few weeks later, the father contacted the worker again and told him that he thought the baby was a boy, and he didn’t want a girl and would sign the papers to give the baby up. Needless to say, we immediately filed for adoption of Angela. After a few days we were called to come and meet with the adoption board.
The meeting with the adoption board did not go well. The case worker wanted her to go to someone else, and told the board that we had never expressed a desire to adopt. At that, I asked him, “What did you say?” His reply was, “Mr. Hazell you never said anything to me about adopting Angela.” Then I lost it. “You are a liar,” I shouted and started across the table with all intention of doing him bodily harm. My wife caught me by the belt, pulling me back and telling me, “Let him go, he is not worth going to jail over.” With this, the adoption board said they could not allow a person with a temper like mine to adopt a child.
We were devastated and cried all the way home. When we got home we called a friend who held a high-ranking position with CPS and asked him if there was someone who could override the board’s decision. He told me there was but he was not allowed to give his name. After talking about thirty minutes he told me that he could not tell me that Gene *** had an office on Airline Drive. When we hung up, I looked in the phone book and called the man. I explained everything to him and he said to come to his office.
We got in the car, taking Angela with us and drove to his office. When we got there, he said, “I have the worker’s records and see that you had asked about adoption at every visit, and I see no reason you should not have this baby.”
By this time we had moved to San Augustine, Texas where I was pasturing a new church. We had to drive to Houston four times for court hearings, and thought the adoption would never be granted.
Soon the adoption was finalized and Angela was ours. To make a long story short, her life was soon: elementary school, middle school, high school, marriage and motherhood.