A gay Canadian man, a ‘well-rehearsed’ cover story, and a struggle to adopt a foreign child

David McKinstry always wanted a family to call his own. But as he writes in his new book Rebel Dad: Triumphing Over Bureaucracy to Adopt Two Orphans Born Worlds Apart, his battle to adopt children as a gay man quickly turned into a years-long fight with the Canadian government, social workers and adoption agencies. The following excerpt features David in India in January 1998, as he visits adoption agencies while keeping his sexuality a closely guarded secret.

Vinod [my guide while I was in India] was standing outside my bedroom door when I emerged looking ashen. I handed him the list of five orphanages I had scheduled appointments with that day.

The first was a state-run facility, Delhi Council for Child Welfare. The building rose up in front of us as we drove into an upscale neighbourhood with white stucco houses, each lot divided by rows of 50-foot-high trees. The narrow streets of this cul-de-sac were cobblestoned; the labourers who swept the streets spotless would take home only a few rupees for their daylong effort.

Nisha, the director of this facility, was a stunningly beautiful thirtyish woman with a kind and gentle manner as she greeted me and then led me to her office. She had just placed a child the previous month with a family in Ottawa and she was happy to see another Canadian inquiring about adoption. Scanning through my file, Nisha asked me thoughtful questions while frequently making encouraging observations about my readiness to adopt children.

However, after 30 minutes, she announced that this orphanage’s charter denied single people, widowed or not, from adopting their children. She suggested I visit Mother Teresa’s Missionaries of Charity orphanage, just up the road and the next place on my list. Nisha asked if I was Christian and gave me a warm, bright smile when I replied, “Indeed I am.” After a short walk around the compound full of nicely dressed and happy-looking children playing under tall shade trees, she bid me goodbye and good wishes for a successful adoption.

Vinod drove me directly to the Missionaries of Charity compound. A garden worker opened the gate for the taxi to enter and 50 preschool children and two nuns instantly surrounded us. Vinod spoke to the first nun, who motioned him to move the car forward and for me to follow her to the office. The taxi drove slowly through the crowd of excited children playing tag with the car.

Once inside the building, I was directed to sit in a small waiting room at the far end of a dimly lit corridor. As we entered the hallway leading to the waiting room, I gazed into a large room on my right filled with cribs housing at least 50 cooing or crying babies. The dank, cool air of this old cinderblock building was a relief from the oppressive heat outside in the courtyard. I was left wondering if these babies had ever seen the moon and the sun or had the chance to breathe fresh morning air.

During David McKinstry’s quest, a nun at an orphanage in India gathered these girls together so he could take a picture. They were excited at the prospect of being adopted.

During David McKinstry’s quest, a nun at an orphanage in India gathered these girls together so he could take a picture. They were excited at the prospect of being adopted. (DAVID MCKINSTRY)

Dressed in a full habit, the head nun, Sister Joyce, came to greet me. I mentioned Nisha’s name and told Sister Joyce I’d come to see her about adopting children. She showed no expression and her locked-tight lips gave me the impression I was in the presence of someone who didn’t waste time on niceties. She motioned for me to follow her into an office off the open-air courtyard. She sat down behind an oversized desk, quickly scanned through my portfolio of home-study documents and after five dead-silent minutes said, “What you want?”

I told her my well-rehearsed story, which the Canadian adoption officials had dreamed up: I was a widower, and my late wife, Nicci, had begged me prior to her death to go ahead with plans to adopt children from India. I told Sister Joyce that I loved children and was able to afford to give children a wonderful, loving home in Canada. After 20 minutes talking about my reasons for wanting to adopt she began to loosen up. However, she said that being a widower still meant I was a single man in the eyes of the Indian judiciary and very few orphanages would give me a child.

“Why not you get married again?” she asked. I just shrugged and handed her photos of my home, Woodhaven, and my life in Canada. After a quick gaze at the pictures and a chuckle over the dogs she said, “I think you good man. Want to see children?” I stood up and nodded eagerly.

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