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One hot summer day in July of 1991, my partner Deb came home from work and announced that her employer had removed our son from her health insurance policy. I was paying for my own single coverage (domestic partner benefits were rarer nine years ago), but our two-year-old son had been covered under Deb. We looked at each other and decided it was time to do something about adoption.
Living in Maryland shortly after Ben's birth, we had talked to lawyers about second-parent adoption. We could be the test case for Maryland — no thanks. But now we could no longer ignore the personal and economic realities that second-class citizenship was forcing on us.
We didn't know whom to call. Deb suggested this guy named David Curtis, because he advertised in and provided legal advice to Out in the Mountains.
So, I called him. I still remember clearly our first phone conversation. I introduced myself and said my partner and I wanted to explore the possibility of same-gender second-parent adoption.
"Sure, no problem," was his reply.
"Is this guy for real?" I thought. "Maybe he's just pretending to be a lawyer."
"It's never been done in Vermont, or on a state-wide basis before," I said.
"Yes, I know," David replied, "but we can do it."
That was the beginning of a long ride with David and Julie Frame, his colleague and the lawyer who became lead attorney. It was highlighted by many wonderful shared moments and many frustrating hurdles.
One story in particular that comes to mind happened in front of Judge Belcher in the Washington County District Court. Judge Belcher pointed out that Deb and I were not married and, therefore, he reasoned, Deb could not adopt.
"Well, Judge" said David, "I'm sure my clients would be more than happy to get married right now if you'd perform the ceremony."
We celebrated two years later, after a visit to the Supreme Court, when victory was finally ours. David was right, we could do it, and we did.
David's optimism and can-do attitude made a huge difference in my life, in Deb's life and in the lives of our sons. We feel, along with so many others, the hole his death leaves in our community. But thanks to his life, we are all better able to see the hole and step around it rather than go tumbling in.
