A Hastings eighth-grader from Russia terrorizes classmates with a loaded handgun. A 7-year-old Russian boy is placed alone on a flight home from Tennessee after a fearful adoptive mother finds his drawings of her house burning down.

It's understandable to ask questions. I just worry that we're asking the wrong ones. I get queasy every time a story about terror-inflicting adoptive children captures the media's attention, not because I am an adoptive parent, but because I am not. It's too easy to trot out the worn, "Well, you just don't know what you're getting," as though we parents of biological kids have never lost a minute's sleep raising ours.

"It's always the 'adopted child.' We tend to want to attribute the child's behavior to the fact that the child is Russian," said Mary Beth Galey, international adoption manager for Lutheran Social Service.

Galey isn't glossing over unique challenges of raising adopted children, particularly those adopted internationally. But the Tennessee story, in particular, was an "extreme case," she said. The mother claimed that the boy had "severe psychopathic issues" and that she was misled by the Russian orphanage.

Suspending all adoptions of Russian children by Americans isn't the answer. Asking how to establish utmost transparency on both sides of the adoption process is. Ongoing family support post-adoption is essential, too.

"You never know what you're walking into, ever, but some parents are better able to deal with challenges," Galey said. "It's our job to find the right family for the child. We need to realistically prepare families for potential outcomes prior to the adoption, but also let families know they have a partner when they feel they're in over their heads."

What parent wouldn't also appreciate a partner like that?

Cheri Register is well-versed in extreme views around adoption, from "Isn't that risky?" to, "Aren't you the most altruistic people!" on the other. The truth, she said, is somewhere in the middle. Thirty years ago, Register adopted the first of her two daughters, bringing them from South Korea to Minneapolis. Facing a steady stream of inappropriate questions directed at her girls, including "Where did you get them?" she wrote the book, "Are Those Kids Yours?" (Simon & Schuster, 1991).

But after decades of parenting, Register nods to "underlying truths we all have to reckon with." Five years ago, she wrote "Beyond Good Intentions," (Yeong and Yeong, 2005), a book that offers a more "experienced" view of adoption than her first.

"Amazon.com readers give it a 5 or a 1," she says with a grin. "It's ... controversial. It tries to do away with some of the glossy mythology."

There are risks when adopting, as with any child-rearing, she said. "We need to be more realistic. If the parents have mental illness, or if fetal alcohol syndrome is involved, then knowing that is essential to doing the best we can for the child."

In the case of the Russian children, there is always a question of "Something is wrong here," or "It didn't work out for the family," Register said. "The news story's focus is never on the child. When things go awry, we forget that the primary purpose of adoption is to serve the best interests of the child."

Register is grateful to Children's Home Society and Family Services, from whom she adopted her daughters, for offering "a whole staff of post-adoptive services." Her now-adult daughters, she said, have fared beautifully, working through their story like so many other adult adoptees, "moving from grief, loss and disruption to adaptation and, ultimately, a sense of identity and personal integrity. It is a survival story, but beyond survival, learning to thrive."

"Adoption," Register said, "is a life-long process," noting that, even today, her daughters are asked the demeaning question, "What are you?"

"You need to be prepared for anything, just as you do when you give birth."

Gail Rosenblum • 612-673-7350 • gail.rosenblum@startribune.com