My wife and I are the parents of an adopted First Nations child. Her adoption took place during what is now known as the Sixties Scoop.

At the time, we did not understand what that meant.

Over the years, we have come to see more clearly. The removal of Indigenous children from their families was not simply a matter of child welfare; it was part of a larger pattern of assimilation, one that many now rightly name as cultural genocide. It stood alongside, and grew out of, the same thinking that shaped the Residential Schools system.

It grieves me to say that we were part of that story.

Out of our ignorance and through the failure of governments and agencies to guide us, we did not understand our responsibility to nurture and protect our child’s cultural identity. That absence is something we continue to reckon with.

And yet, there was grace.

We live on the doorstep of two First Nations communities: Biigtigong Nishnaabeg and Pic Mobert. Many of our children’s classmates and friends were Indigenous. Our daughter spent time in Biigtigong Nishnaabeg with the family of her closest friend. In ways we did not fully intend or even recognize at the time, she remained connected to her culture.

She was, in that sense, one of the fortunate ones.

When the class action lawsuit concerning the Sixties Scoop finally came to court, after years of delay and resistance, we chose to add our voices as witnesses for the plaintiffs. It felt like a small step, but a necessary one, toward justice for our daughter and for so many others.

On February 14, 2017, the court ruled that the federal government had breached its duty of care by failing to protect the cultural identity of Indigenous children.

That decision mattered.

For us, it marked the beginning of something we can only describe as the slow work of healing, of seeking right relationship with our Indigenous neighbours, and of offering an apology to our daughter for what we did not understand.

Today, our daughter is a strong First Nations woman. She has chosen a path of service, helping other Indigenous women across Northwestern Ontario grow into lives of health, strength, and pride. We watch her with humility, and with gratitude for all she continues to teach us.

Yesterday, as I listened to music, a message arrived from a contact at the hearing: the judge had ruled in favour of the Sixties Scoop survivors.

The song playing at that very moment was “Shed a Little Light” by James Taylor.

For a moment, everything seemed to come together, truth, sorrow, justice, and hope carried on a single melody.

We are visiting with her this week. I continue to find myself in quiet awe of her beauty, her strength, and the care she extends so freely to us and to others. We are deeply blessed that she remains such a vital and lasting part of our lives.

We know, however, that not all families were granted this same grace. Many relationships were fractured or lost, and many continue to carry wounds that have not yet found healing. That truth remains with us, even in our gratitude.