I have not had the opportunity to read the entire study discussed in my last post. However, I have looked over it, and think that it’s a valuable tool for highlighting the needs and feelings of donor conceived people. It is clear as a bell that many dc people have suffered a great deal either from lack of connection to their biological roots, stigmas, secrecy, or a myriad of other factors.

As someone who has contributed to this problem (as a former donor), I would like to see it fixed as much as possible. I have no evidence that I have any children through donor conception- so it’s not clear that, even if I do, these particular people are suffering. So when I say contributed to this problem, I mean it in the broader sense, that I participated in a process that didn’t fully take into consideration the feelings and emotional needs of those that might be created. At the age of 20 I did this with the best intentions- yes I got paid- but if i had even the slightest inkling that children might suffer for a loss of connection i wouldn’t have considered doing it. This was pre-internet so i couldn’t even just google to see what people were saying…

Today while thinking about this stuff the term, the law of unintended consequences kept coming up in my head. In a sense every action has unintended consequences. When doctors began the process of assisting in reproduction it is doubtful that they foresaw a world where two people might order eggs and sperm from two other people and hire a third to carry the child. In a sense that’s an unintended consequence. When I was growing up, the child of a psychologist and a social worker, nurture was king. People believed that love and proper child rearing was all that mattered, and that genetic roots were of limited importance. As i’ve written recently, a lot of my film is about how strong roots are- yet i am still confused as to whether some of my feelings and actions are in the blood or the modeling. even with data it’s hard to know. In some sense, the unintended consequence of this upbringing was that I couldn’t even fathom the idea that my genetic material would mean a connection to me or my family to the child born of that …. seed.

While the system of anonymity was likely put in place with decent intentions- those charged with taking care of people genuinely felt that it was best for all involved if secrecy was maintained- the unintended consequence was emotional suffering. Now that it’s clear that secrecy is a bad idea it’s no longer an unintended consequence. It is simply a consequence. It should be very difficult at this point for the industry to ignore the very loud chorus of voices that’s beginning to rise.

When the “my daddy’s name is donor” study came out, it was an unintended consequence that parents of donor conceived people felt threatened by the way the study was put together. Now that this is apparently the case, it is a consequence.

Again, i barely have a horse in the race, but with my limited sense of standing I still would like nothing more than to help everyone achieve the best outcome. As a father of two awesome biological children with my wonderful wife, I know how important that blood connection is. As a former donor who is working on a script about these issues with a dc woman I know what a powerful impact these issues can have. As a friend and neighbor to countless people who are either single mothers, smc’s, lesbian couples, a gay man and a lesbian woman partnering to raise a biological child, etc I know that their feelings are on the front lines of any discussion. So any discussion about the rights of dc people that includes limiting the rights of these people is never going to go forward in a positive way.

If instead every effort is made to think about these people and their feelings even as we discuss the pitfalls and dangers of normalizing these situations then they might be able to listen thoughtfully, and participate in the discussion.

My point here is that even though I have not read the whole study, I have seen that it has upset some people, and that worries me- because i too want as much openness as possible, and i want to see the rights and needs of DC people recognized and taken into consideration.

Last week “My Daddy’s Name is Donor” was released. This report, which was put together by the Institute for American Values, shines a very harsh light on the whole system of egg and sperm donation - specifically, from the point of view of the children conceived by the process.

Alana, whom I have known and worked with for the last year, was a part of the study and she has recently begun blogging about her own issues with both her donor conception and her egg donation at familyscholars.org (which was set up by the Institute for American Values). The study and her recent focus on the issue has put her in a very emotional space. I talked with her yesterday and I know that the strain of dealing with her own complex feelings has been difficult.

Over the past couple of years of tracking this issue and thinking about my own relationship to it, I have come to believe that anonymous donation is a bad idea, and further, the system by which donation takes place is extremely flawed. It is clear that the system is driven more by capitalism than whole-hearted compassion. It’s a good thing that we are hearing the voices of those who are most affected by the process, the donor conceived, so that we might rectify that imbalance.

The report really focuses on the very important fact that the system is set up to serve parents (clients/consumers), and does not do nearly enough to consider the needs of the children (the products). Unfortunately, it’s clear from the ways in which the report is being discussed online that many people involved with the issue feel threatened by the report and the manner in which it was produced and disseminated. The forceful nature of the report may serve the purpose of putting the realities of egg and sperm donation in front of people, but frankly does so in a way that fans the flames of culture war. Again, it’s incredibly important to hear from donor conceived people as they have more at stake than anyone else involved. At the same time, if the discussion vilifies those who chose/choose to go this route in order to have children, it’s less likely that those people, and their communities, will be willing or able to engage in productive dialogue about the core issues.

One donor conceived person told me that she thought it was important to create stigmas- that people shouldn’t think that just anyone should think it’s fine to use donor assisted reproduction. Her point was that her experience, as well as the data in the report, make it clear that the emotional problems that people who don’t know their genetic identity face prove to her that it should be avoided as much as possible. While I support vigorous debate, and completely understand where she’s coming from, I’m sure that I don’t support creating stigmas.

It’s been over two years since I listed myself on the donor sibling registry, as a former donor, and I have not been contacted yet by any children born from my efforts. As such, my emotions about donation have not had a real opportunity for challenge. Intellectually it’s been made more than clear to me that the process of anonymous donation can no longer be seen at ethical or accountable. While it sometimes might make the capitalist based process simpler for many of those involved, it completely negates the needs of the child to be. However, not having had the experience of hearing from my own offspring, it’s difficult for me to connect on a completely emotional level to the pain that donor kids feel.

Alana points out that her emotions feel validated by the study because so many other donor kids have comments and thoughts that echo her own. I certainly have no intention of invalidating any of these feelings, and I think it’s critical that these feelings be made known to people considering involvement in the process. At the same time, I worry about using these ideas to create a sense of stigma, or a broad set of restrictions and limits on they type of people who can become parents. Further, the more that we create a sense of stigma, the more we limit discussion. Many of those who might otherwise get involved in the discussion are likely to be more private if they feel that they will be stigmatized for being open and honest. Frankly, the present level of stigma attached to donation makes it a bit difficult for former donors like me to be a part of the debate. I also worry that if the debate starts to pit one group against another we’ll head towards a long term stalemate that limits discussion.

I grew up in a “stable” family with a mother and a father who both strived to be the best parents they could be. They really did try, but in a lot of ways they failed. I think about the ways that failed as I parent my own children, and damn it, i make the same mistakes they did - over and over again. I work hard to keep it from happening and to some degree I do. The point is, my parents, despite their best efforts, were far from perfect. They, like me, are flawed. Even with their flaws, I certainly wouldn’t want to deny them the right to be parents.

The weekend that the study came out I was the photographer at the wedding of two friends of mine, Mark and Lin. It was a really beautiful ceremony and event. Near the end of it I was struck by the fact that I really hadn’t even thought about the fact that both grooms were men. It just wasn’t an issue at all. I like and respect them, and all of their friends and family. I think that if they decide that they want to raise a child that they should be privy to as much information about donor issues, as well as adoption issues as possible. They should read the stories of how DC people, and should talk to them, hear them, meet them. After gathering the best information they can find they should be able to make a decision about how to move forward. I don’t however, think that there should be any undue roadblocks put in the way of their raising children. I also don’t think that they should feel any stigma if they do decide to become parents in some way. If we structure a discussion about DC issues in such a way that intelligent, thoughtful, loving people like them feel attacked or excluded, then I fear that the issues faced by DC people will be lost in the shuffle.

It’s clear that as a culture we need to evolve in our relationship to donor issues. I believe that the discussion inspired by “My Daddy’s name is Donor” will help inspire a shift in societal attitudes and understandings. I do hope however that that shift doesn’t include increased stigma. An open and civil exchange of ideas that treats everyone with respect will clearly create the greatest benefit for everyone involved.

Last weekend we worked on a trailer for a show using the T2i. While there are serious drawbacks to using DSLR’s in terms of ergonomics and sound, the picture quality is just short of unbelievable. As such- it’s hard to imagine working with my xha1 in the future. I have hesitated in diving into the DSLR video world because I know that there will be prosumer DSLR video cameras shortly- and I didn’t want to waste a lot of money tricking out the camera to act as a video camera. The 800 dollar T2i forced me into it. I was also on the fence because the 5D’s image really is superior. However, after shooting doc style run and gun with the T2i- and struggling with focus as it is- I have to say the T2i is probably a more workable camera for situations where there is a lack of control over action, lighting, etc.

On our shoot the main problem we encountered was a lack of sound monitoring. We frequently checked sound to make sure we were getting what we needed and at times found that it was too hot- or that we had none at all. This problem can be solved with an off camera sound recorder- but this adds more expense and another step. I think we’re gonna have to go that route though as sound was a real issue on our shoot. To save money I used an old beechtek junction box (from our gl1) and our sennheiser me66. I also used our old beat up audio technica radio mic. These would have cost about 1200 buck new- so that saved us a lot. The me66 is a little bit long- and I might get a shorter capsule for it.

In terms of dealing with holding the camera I tried out several expensive stabilization devices like the redrock micro rig, as well as a zacuto setup. These cost between 600-1000 dollars. At B and H I picked up a 54 dollar device called the steady stick- and it worked out amazingly well. Once I figured out the setup I was good to go. It was steady, versatile, and easy to use. In fact it felt more versatile than the other rigs I tried out.

The other thing I could have really used was the Z-finder. This eyepiece seems pretty essential for focusing. I had real problems outside with the sun shining on the viewer- it was almost impossible to focus- or accurately gauge exposure. At times I threw a towel over my head like an old time 8X10 camera operator- this helped but got in the way of movement. I would have gotten one but they new ones are shipping now and they seem to be an improvement over the older model.

In order to save money I purchased a Tamron 17-55 2.8 lens. It’s a sharp beautiful lens- that costs a little more than half of the comperable Canon lens. After the shoot I returned it and picked up a used Canon lens- largely because while the Tamron was fine for photos- the zoom action was so stiff it was very difficult to use for video. I used the Canon lens last night and the zoom was much smoother.

The last major issue is the aperature adjustment. In order to change the aperature you have to hold down a button on the back while spinning a dial on the top. I got down the process- but spinning the dial creates an audible clicking sound that gets picked up by the mic in quieter situations. It’s workable but a pain in the butt.

In general we were all floored by the images though, so we are defenitely headed down the DSLR path

http://vimeo.com/11824949 - for a video of my daughter with the camera

About 10 years ago, after making several narrative feature films, we decided to give documentary filmmaking a try. Now we’re pretty sick of documentary filmmaking and want to jump back into narrative. Through the making of Donor 67 we met Alana Sveta. We are currently working with her on the script called “Adam and Eva”. In the meantime we are working to finish:

Battle of Brooklyn: We are in the final phases of editing this film about Daniel Goldstein’s fight to save his home, and his community, from being seized for a developer. after 6.5 years of shooting and over a year of solid editing the end is in sight. Daniel has been forced to move out of his home on May 7th.

Broken Angel Rising: We shot for two years as artist Arthur Wood fought to save his home from destruction by the NYC department of buildings. Due to all kinds of litigation Arthur no longer wanted us to film. We had begun the process of cutting but have put the film on hold until the situation is resolved. We have an incredible amount of respect for Arthur and hope that we can one day finish this film.

Donor 67: This film is as much a mediation on the nature of family, childhood, parenthood, as it is about donor issues. Three months before our second daughter was born my father was hit by a car and killed. I started to work on something about his passing to help me work through my feelings and then we had our second child. When she was a couple of months old a friend of mine suggested that I had to “go for a boy”. I was immediately reminded of the fact that as a former sperm donor, I might have dozens. I started to explore the realities of that world. In the last few years i have done a great deal of writing and a little bit of filming. I have also applied for countless grants. I’m considering a kickstarter campaign to raise a little money to get it going.

Dr. Sarno; Battling Pain:
For years I have struggled with intermittent sciatica pain. When my younger daughter was about 2 years old the pain got out of control. It was so severe that my nerve went dead and i lost the ability to use my calf muscle. I was on the path to surgery when I finally went to visit Dr. Sarno.

I knew about Dr. Sarno because my father had read his books in the 80’s and my brother had gone to see him in the 90’s. Both had been helped by him. According to Dr. Sarno the vast majority of back pain is based on psychological factors rather than structural issues. When he began practicing medicine in the 50’s there was no such thing as chronic back pain. Slowly he saw the rise of an epidemic and felt powerless when treating patients. The conventional methods didn’t work- but he found that talking to his patients did. He quickly found that in almost every case patients were struggling with a stressful situation- a young child, a divorce, terrible work situation, etc. He found that once the patient was able to make a connection between the pain and the situation they were able to overcome the pain. Over the years he’s developed a highly structured treatment program that relies on information and peer support.

When I visited Dr. Sarno with mri in hand he scoffed at the pictures and gave me the information I needed to overcome the pain. A few weeks later, while on my road to recovery I approached him about allowing us to shoot a documentary with him. After watching our film Horns and Halos, he agreed. I shot a little bit over the next several months but there several issues that have thrown up stumbling blocks.

Dr. Sarno is incredibly protective of his patients and wouldn’t allow us access to them. Due to my unyielding respect for him I found it hard to challenge him on this idea. We tried to scare up some other patients but it was difficult. In the meantime we applied for several grants without success. We are working on cutting a trailer with some of the footage that we have.

This is the one that just kills me that we can’t get done. I feel like this film could change the health care debate. I’ve been thinking about him a lot recently because for the first time in years my back is in good shape and I have finally gotten the strength back in my leg

I read a terrifying Flannery O’Connor story last night. Then I had a nightmare, except I was awake.

In “A View From The Woods”, a doting grandfather (of only one of his nine grand kids- the rest have too much of his son-in laws blood in them), who happens to be a spiteful father and even meaner father in-law, sees his relationship sour with his headstrong granddaughter when he announces that he’s going to sell off a plot of his land in the name of progress. That plot of land happens to the front yard and despite the protestations of his family he pushes ahead with the sale. The explosive twist in the story is that his formerly beloved 9 year old granddaughter attacks him with fists flying when she realizes that he’s gone through with it. Despite a challenged heart he fights back with all that’s left of his strength. Fans of O’Connor can guess the droll tragedy that flows from her dark fingers over the following two paragraphs.

A couple of hours later my own headstrong child lay stiffly in her bed, pointed a crooked finger at my bedroom and moaned. She wanted to go in our bed, but I had already told her in no uncertain terms that this was not going to happen.

We go through periods of several days at a time where both of our daughters sleep through the night. This had not been the case the previous couple of nights and my exhausted wife had told me in her own version of “no uncertain terms” that if they woke up, I was going in. When H cried out at about 7 minutes past midnight I rolled out of bed and stumbled into her room. I first tried to turn her over and pat her back. This often sends her back to the world of dreams. On this night it only made her mad. At nearly 4 years old H is a competent speaker, but when frustrated she relies on cries, screams, and rigidity. She started with some muted whines. As I tried a variety of patient and caring calming measures she began to raise her volume. When I pointed out that she didn’t want to wake her sister, she let me know that in fact, she did want to wake her sister, by upping her volume significantly.

I didn’t consciously think of O’Connor’s tale till later but undoubtedly ideas of firmness in the face of challenge were spinning around in my subconscious. H is an extremely sweet and easy child, but over the last few months she has been getting more headstrong and we’ve been giving in more and more. When H decided to escalate her demands I drew an imaginary line in the sand and vowed to myself that she was staying in her bed.

Her volume increase was effective in it’s goal of waking her sister. I knew that her mother was now standing up, waiting in the wings so to speak, and H had entered the circular breathing-shouting phase of her passion play. I stayed calm but also laid down the law. If H didn’t calm down and try to communicate with words instead of shouts, I was out of there. The volume increased even more when I headed to talk to her mother, so our conversation was brief, and ineffective.

I told my wife not to come in. I knew that if we gave in at that moment we’d have a hard time in the future. My wife was upset but I didn’t have time to chat because H had really started letting loose.

I thought that my older daughter had gone to the bathroom and then headed to our bedroom, but in fact she had just pulled the covers over herself. I picked up H, who resisted me, and tried to rock her in the rocking chair. She calmed a small amount but her circular wailing was unceasing. As I put her back in her bed, she wriggled and squirmed with all her might and I couldn’t help but flash on the tragic conflict between grandfather and granddaughter in “A View From The Woods.” Even as I focused on staying calm I was rocked by the chaos of her screams. I left her in her bed, alive and well, and went to discuss options with my wife. However, her decibel busting screams freaked out my older daughter even further and she started to scream in panic as well. Before I could reach my wife she reached me and she was mad.

I was sent to our bedroom to cool off as she tried to calm the brood and I tried to calm myself. My heart didn’t burst like the grandfather’s of O’Connor’s story, but it was beating pretty hard. I laid in bed and tried to sort through my decision making process in the storm of H’s chaotic pleas. I wasn’t too happy when H came in triumphantly on my wife’s arm a half an hour later. I hadn’t had time to be discuss things with my wife and the miscommunication pained me.

We figured things out a bit the next day. Parenting ain’t easy.

It was a tough week for F. We signed her up for a week of explorer’s camp that took her all over the city to parks and museums. It sounded like a great program, but her anxiety has come back and her fear of the subway was overwhelming.

It started on Sunday. We were at the playground, killing a little time before she was scheduled to be at a birthday party. I was playing basketball and she was roller blading around close by. I was tied 9-9 in a game against a 12 year old boy and we were getting ready to play the final point when we heard a commotion on the street on the other side of the playground. She was nervous but I told her not to worry about it. I was wrong. About 30 seconds later a young man came loping across the court towards me. He was pursued by another man yelling “Stop Him!!”

I had competing instincts. I moved to get in front of the man to slow him down but I also knew that I had to take care of my daughter. I wasn’t worried that he would hurt her, but i knew that she would be scared. As he approached he snorted, “Don’t touch me. I got a gun in my pocket.

At that I gently moved aside towards my nervous daughter. The man’s pursuer charged on, but not without hitting me with a withering stare as he shouted, “Why didn’t you fucking stop him?!?” He didn’t give me time to explain.

A few moments later a woman came stumbling after. At this point my daughter was desperately tugging on me and screaming that we had to go. I remained calm though and tried to find out whether or not she had called the police. “He stole my phone, I couldn’t,” she gasped and then stumbled on.

My daughter was frantic, but I felt a duty to call the police. I had almost no doubt that the offender didn’t have a gun, but also felt that I had an obligation to tell what I knew to the police. I also thought it was important to model calm behavior in a difficult situation. I know that my mother’s frantic energy in stressful situations has had negative repercussions for me. Even at that moment I wondered about the nature and nurture of it all.

I calmly explained to my daughter that it was important to help these people, but she was still frantic. I called 911 and held her close to me. I feel like I was doing a pretty good job of staying calm and focused up until the point where the 911 operator couldn’t spell the cross streets and had no idea about the geography of Brooklyn. Sometimes when I struggle to stay calm in the face of my daughter’s overwhelming energy I find that my own tension slips out in other directions. I snapped at the operator and got off as quickly as I could.

On the way out of the playground we happened upon the victims clog’s. She had apparently abandoned them in her quest for speed. I gathered them up and placed them on a table so that no one would think they were abandoned. When F goes into panic mode she’s like a trapped animal, and even that slight hesitation, of picking up the shoes, sent her into hysterics. As we moved away from the park she started to calm down. However, as we paused to enter her friend’s house a cop car came screeching by. Instinctively I hailed it but this sent F back into a panic. I tried to tell them what I knew, but they were more frantic than my daughter. Apparently another officer had apprehended a suspect. I waved them on.

At first she didn’t want to stay at the party but eventually she calmed down. When I picked her up afterwards she was more relaxed but still had a vaguely haunted look. On the way home she stuck close to me. It wasn’t that much of a surprise when she refused to go to camp the next morning. When she gets anxious her energy can be relentless and it’s incredibly difficult to avoid responding to it in less than positive ways. However, reflecting on the difficulty of the previous days encounter helped me to stay patient and calm. After awhile I got her out of the house and on the way. Often times in the past her anxiety peaks before she has to do something that troubles her, and once she gets to the place, or even,t she has worked through a lot of her anxiousness.

F moaned and complained for most of the ride to camp. When we got there she clung to me. “I don’t want to go, I don’t want to go, do i havetogodoihavetowhydoihave to go,” she chattered. A good friend of hers was there and he came over to play and she relaxed a little. I took her over to talk to a counselor and explained her fear of the subway. The counselor was extremely supportive and offered to hold her hand and sit with her the whole way. As soon as she saw that the staff wasn’t going to dismiss her fears or make her feel bad about herself she lightened up. She wasn’t ready to let me go but I could tell that we were going to be ok. A few minutes later she came over and gave me a kiss. “I don’t want to go on the subway.” she blurted out then ran off, pausing to call over her shoulder, “I’ll see you later.”

I left feeling pretty good about how well I’d handled it. Her nervous energy can be overwhelming. It would have been so much easier in many ways just to let her stay home, but I also knew that it would just forestall the inevitable. It’s hard to stay supportive and loving when she’s freaking out the way that she does, and I don’t always do so well.

Her complaints continued all week long. On Thursday, I brought her little sister, H, with me to drop her off. Despite F’s moans and cries, H declared that she wanted to go as well. She wouldn’t back down. I thought it might help F to have H around so off she went. We heard later that all had gone great and H wanted to go again today. My wife and I have been struggling to make time to focus on our film project. We need to get it done, and having the kids around during the week has made it more difficult. The struggle to give our kids direct attention, while also getting work done takes a severe emotional toll on us. So we were pretty excited to have them both going off for the day again.

However, F started in early with complaints. The anxiety compounded on the way to camp and by the time we got there she was moaning and hanging on me. As I did all week, I agreed to stay until she was comfortable. However, her super anxiety took a toll on Harper, and she decided that she didn’t want to go. That’s when I lost it.

With a finger pointed sternly at her face I croaked through gritted teeth, “OK you can come home, but you are not watching TV and you are not bothering us. We have to work. You ask me why you have to it’s because we have to work and I’m not spending the day fighting with you. The problem is that you ask and ask and ask but you don’t listen. why do you have to go? because we have other things to do besides watch over you.

“ok… i’ll go if you’re just going to yell at me.”

I wasn’t yelling, but i wasn’t nice, and i wasn’t happy with myself. It was too late though the damage was done. Her feelings were hurt, and I had acted like a jerk. I had resigned myself to her coming back with me, if only because i didn’t expect to turn H around. I knew from experience that if she said she didn’t want to go then she wasn’t going, so the day was ruined for working anyway and I partly blamed F for that. Emotions are complex, and as much as we want to control them we can’t. I’m still sitting here beating myself up over snapping at her. However, I also forgive myself, because i know that there is nothing positive that will come from over thinking it. The fact is, i could have been more supportive. To a large degree I was. I hung out with her and H and kept my cool despite her powerful energy for over an hour. I’m not perfect though and sometimes I snap. I am happy though, that I snap a lot less often than I used to, and own up to my failings as quickly as possible.

In the end F changed her mind and wanted to go. H and I watched the group march off the subway, F looked fearful but resilient. At home I handed H off to her mom and sat down to write. I feel a bit better for having spit it all out, but I still have that bad taste in my mouth that will take a while to slip away.