Still Growing: An Autobiography (23 page)

“Even a bi-racial child?” she asked.

“Of course,” we both answered in unison, surprised she even had to ask.

It wasn’t long after we finished the adoption process that we got our first “baby call.”

The social worker called, jazzed: “I think I might have someone for you. How soon could you be ready?”

“Today,” Chelsea told her.

She laughed. “We don’t need you today, but very, very soon. In a week, even.”

That day, we went out and bought a crib, a car seat, bottles and diapers. When the call came, we flew to a town and waited for the social worker to bring us an incredible boy we named Jack. We stayed one night and returned to our condo in Calabasas, now with a precious gift of God in our hands who was already embedded in our hearts.

A year later, the social worker called again. Isabella joined our family just as our new home was being remodeled.

Nine months later: another call, another girl. Ahna arrived just as we moved into our home, almost as if she’d known we had space to fill.

A year later Luke was welcomed into our family.

So much for adopting two! But Chelsea and I knew that each of these kids was meant to be
ours
.

When Luke was a few months old, Chelsea leaned against the changing table, wiping clean another baby bottom and said, “Hon, would you go check the bathroom for me? Something’s up with the sink.”

Feeling like Bob Vila or Ty Pennington, I crawled my manly self under the sink for a quick look-see. The faucet worked fine. No visible leaks in the pipes. Except for a couple of long strands of hair in the sink (which Chelsea always leaves behind as a gift for me), there was nothing clogging the drain.

But what was this? A little white stick that looked like it belonged in a packet of Fun Dip.
Wait, what’s this plus-sign? Weird
.

The dim light slowly grew brighter. Then the bulb went on. I raced from the bathroom. “You’re pregnant!”

Chelsea smiled and nodded, and—in congratulation—tossed me Ahna’s dirty diaper to take to the trash.

When Olivia appeared, I flew out of the delivery room and threw myself on Mom. I sobbed like a little girl on Christmas morning who’d gotten the Baby Alive Doll she’d always dreamed of.

In keeping with Cameron tradition, my entire family was present in the waiting room. We all attend the births of every baby born into the
family. This time, it was my turn to be the father coming out to announce to the world, “It’s a girl!”

A few months later, I arrived home and Chelsea said, “Hey, toss me a clean binky, would ya?” (Not the greeting a celebrity expects, but I was certainly getting used to it.)

I brought her a pacifier, just as the kids tackled me from four corners of the room. Chelsea plugged the baby’s crying and turned to me, “Kirk, there’s another problem with the bathroom sink.”

Nine months later, James became the new baby of the family.

I can’t imagine any of my kids not being here. Each is special. Each brings something unique to our family.

Jack

Lego genius. Loves B-ball. Gentle giant. By the time he’s 15, I picture myself reprimanding him by saying, “Son, sit down and look me in the eye when I talk to you.” Jack recently discovered Ford Mustangs, good music and girls. (That’s my boy!)

Isabella

Everything about her is larger than life: personality, smile and wild curly hair. Bella knows how to have a good time. Her energy level can go from 0 to 60 in 3 seconds flat. She shares a room with her sister Ahna and I know they’re going to be best friends for life.

Ahna

Her biggest dream is to be a good mom. Ahna has a natural compassion and tenderness that would’ve inspired Mother Teresa. And she’s such a
girl
—hats, gloves, heels, creams, nail polish and perfumes. She’s 8 going on 28!

Luke

Frog-catching enthusiast, fisherman and natural comedian. So sweet and cuddly—the boy next door. Luke looks up to his big brother Jack and loves to drive him crazy any chance he gets.

Olivia

Olivia looks like Chelsea in miniature. She has me wrapped—I’m reduced to a puddle when I think of her in a white wedding dress. For now, she is content with the idea of marrying her daddy. She loves gardens, fairy houses, nature and animals. She is strong and opinionated (like someone else I know).

James

He’s Daddy’s Little Helper. Whatever I’m doing, he’s game to do it with me. He always uses the name “Dad” when he talks to me. “I’m helping, aren’t I, Dad? We’re the guys, right, Dad? Hey, Dad . . . can I help you bring in the firewood, Dad?” He’s absolutely in love with my wife. If he catches me kissing her, it’s a full body tackle to recover his possession.

Kirk

We live in a ranch style home surrounded by mountains. It’s built durable so that the kids can be kids—running around, down the hall, through the kitchen, living room and back. Our walls are decorated with photos of the kids and children’s artwork.

The backyard is our favorite room of the house. We planted a trampoline in the ground, just like my grandparents did. We have a creek running behind the house where we go fishing, a campfire pit to roast marshmallows and a tire-swing under an enormous California oak tree. I built a chicken coop so the kids can harvest eggs. My office is in a small, refurbished tool shed on a spit of land sticking into the creek. I go out there to get away from the perpetual noise when I need to, but am still close enough for anything interesting that pops up throughout the day.

Our house is a home—a haven of safety and family. There’s almost always laundry on the kitchen table, or crafts, paper and paints. There are kids constantly calling, talking, shrieking, playing. There’s Chelsea acting out some silly skit or leading the kids in an interpretive dance.

She’s the most amazing mother. When I have to travel—yet again—the kids groan, “Oh, Daddy. Do you
have
to go?”

“Who would you rather go away, me or Mommy?”

“
You!
” the unhesitant chorus of voices shouts.

During the down time of raising six children (yeah, right), Chelsea somehow finds the energy to teach and mentor a group of mothers in a parenting class at our kids’ school.

Chelsea

It may seem like I’ve got a lot on my plate, but life is great. It’s kept exciting in part by a husband who grew up as a comedy actor.

To this day, Kirk makes me laugh like no one else. He falls down the stairs and I laugh. (When anyone else falls down stairs, I call the paramedics.) I first saw it years ago when we attended a black-tie affair. He tripped
up
the stairs, then tripped
down
the stairs—on purpose. He looked around and said loudly, “Man, somebody’s gotta fix that stair—it could really hurt someone.” I lost it in the audience, laughing at my goofball husband.

Another time we were at a televised celebrity ski event. Everyone was trying to show off. Right before Kirk’s turn to go up the lift, he said, “Chelsea, watch this.”

Halfway down the run he started flailing his poles.

The announcer remarked, “Oh! Cameron looks like he’s having a little trouble. Uh, uh, uh,
ohhhhhhh!
”

Kirk crossed his poles and intentionally did a major fall, landing on his face, right in front of the camera.

“Oh! A bad day for Kirk!” the announcer cried out.

I started laughing uncontrollably. Someone turned to me and said, “Chelsea, you need to go see if he’s okay.”

I said, “He’s not okay. He’s insane.”

His brand of insanity keeps our home life fun. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Kirk

If you’ve been to the website for the Way of the Master ministries or if you’ve seen me interviewed on television, maybe it seems as if I have life all figured out.

I hate to give false impressions.

I’ve been the center of attention my whole life. Whenever I walk into a room, whispers start bouncing off the walls.

“Look! There’s Kirk Cameron!”

“Is that Mike Seaver?”

Strangers care about what I think. People are interested in what I have to say. People always laugh at my jokes . . . even when they aren’t funny.

Since I was nine years old, people have been singing my praises. I’ve gotten such a steady diet of approval that my gut, to some extent, expects it. Part of me sees admiration as the norm. And somewhere in my subconscious, I depend too much on that kind of validation.

I hate admitting that. It makes me a little sick, just putting the words to paper.

A kid raised on a farm thinks nothing of chopping heads off chickens, while the rest of the world cringes at the thought. A child who spends his entire life preparing for the Olympics thinks it’s normal to spend all day, every day, intensely training. When approval is all you know, your sense of reality is tweaked—though you don’t see it because, to you, it’s “normal.”

In my early life’s journey, I grew accustomed to being universally loved. It has been a struggle to die to self and to do the right thing without having an audience applaud me. I now know that I don’t deserve that false sense of importance, but it took awhile.

Chelsea

There’s no doubt about it: Kirk is used to a lot of validation and a lot of applause. Kirk often attached himself to places that validated him a lot, because that is what has fed him his whole life. Because of the abnormal adoration, it was challenging for him to understand what life was really about, who he really was and whose applause he was really trying to get.

In real life, there’s not a lot of that kind of treatment. For actors used to applauding fans, it can be hard walking into a room where you’re not always the center of attention. I’m glad when Kirk gets home
from a trip, but the kids and I aren’t going to flick on lighters and start swaying.

Kirk

Another thing I struggle with is having tunnel vision—becoming too myopic. When I find something I’m excited about or interested in, I drop everything else and pour all my time, thoughts and energy into it.

I focus so hard and throw my whole heart into whatever it is so much that everything else in my life can suffer. This intense focus can be a good thing for a reasonable time, but when left unchecked is tough on anything and everyone who is not in the center of that focus.

When I was a kid, it was nature, lizards and snakes. Then for a while, it was the Rubik’s Cube and Atari games. Later came acting, golf, gourmet cooking and a host of other activities. Each thing I took an interest in, I had to master.

They might be positive things such as working out at the gym, investing in a charitable cause like Camp Firefly or spending time with a friend who needed my help. I certainly turned this focus on Chelsea, the night she sat on my parents’ fireplace and told me she felt the same way I did. There was no turning back. I gave all of my heart, soul, time and energy to our relationship—to the exclusion of everyone else.

Sometimes when I throw myself into something so wholeheartedly, other things in my life wither and dry up by simple neglect. When it’s people who are neglected, wounded or abandoned in the process, then it becomes a serious issue.

When I turned to the Lord, knowing God became my passion. There is nothing wrong with having a desire to deeply know God and to serve Him—that’s one of the places where my laser beam focus has served me very well. But even a love for ministry can become dangerous for me if I don’t keep it in perspective. Ministry is notorious for feeding egos and destroying families. In my efforts to “reach the world,” I have learned to be very careful that I don’t neglect my own family.

Chelsea

Early in our relationship, it surprised Kirk when I didn’t agree with him about this or that. He’s often surrounded by “yes-men”—everyone saying yes to whatever he asks for. But with me, he always gets an honest response.

It wasn’t that Kirk was intentionally selfish; he was just conditioned by a world that revolved around him. Home life is far more challenging than being a star on the road, and it requires much more giving rather than getting. It involves continually thinking of others before yourself. The addition of each child in our house has caused us both to become more and more selfless.

We’ve been married for 17 years now. Our house is a real home, with real people and real life challenges. If Kirk gets praise from the kids or me, it has nothing to do with his image and I know that means so much more to him than empty applause.

Kirk

I don’t like conflict. When I need to confront someone about something, I often don’t. That may sound like an inconsistency with the circumstances on the set of
Growing Pains
, but it isn’t: My dislike of conflict is the reason it was agony to confront those men whose opinions and position I’d always respected.