The year was 1972 and the Vietnam war was raging. Daily news reports told of the horrible damage being done to the bodies of children when their villages were napalmed. Napalm is liquid fire, so use your imagination.
At some point, my wife and I learned that a hospital in Da Nang was working to repair these burned bodies and that they were hurting for funds. So we began sending them contributions from time to time. I forget how we got it to them.
One day I came home for lunch. As I entered the apartment, Margaret looked up from the Newsweek where she was reading yet another story of the horrors taking place in Vietnam. She was in tears. “Can’t we do more to help these children?” she said.
I said, “Maybe we can send $25 a month instead of occasionally.”
She said, “No. I mean, like, adopt one.”
I reacted instantly. “What? Honey, you don’t just adopt a foreign child!”
When she saw how closed I was to the subject, she dropped it. But she continued to pray.