Shane knows what itās like to be a 100 point child. He knows how it feels to see potential parentsāpotential familiesācome through the facilities doors, faces bright with excitement. He knows how it feels to see them reading the little plaques on the nursery doors, scanning the lists there for the right bits of knowledge and etiquette and grace that they want their baby to have.
He knows how it feels to see their faces pinch outside the window before they hurry to the next room.
Shane grew up in a 100 point nursery. They had torn, ratty, books and no teachers, and when snack time came, the tray was pushed through a slat in the door. They were calledĀ āunrulyā andĀ ādamagedā andĀ āstupid.ā A lot of the other kids threw tantrums and broke furniture (and sometimes other kids). A lot of the other kids went quiet after the first few years when they realized theyād never be adopted until they were old enough (or pretty enough) to be useful. A lot of the kids cried and didnāt stop until they got taken away or were aged out.
Shaneās grown up a lot since aging out. He put himself through school, got himself a job, shed his 100 points like the torn clothes heād left the facility in. Heās powerful now, successful, and heās grown out of the twisted nose, big ears, and gap-toothed smile that had made him one of the less attractive 100 point babies. Or maybe heās grown into them. Whoās to say?
Itās taken him a long time to get enough Parent Points to do what he wants. Being a man is, for once, somewhat hindering as most of society equatesĀ āparentalā withĀ āmaternal.ā Heās lost count of how many social workers have politely hid expressions of surprise when he told them he wanted to adopt stag, that heās willing to take the classes, get the grades, make the oaths to get even one Parent Point.
