My children

I choose to believe that I choose everything.  I’ve chosen my parents, my family, my spouses, my joys and my pains.  And I have chosen my children.  Thank god for serendipity because I chose most of these people and events unconsciously, yet my children have brought me the most joy and relief.  That is strange to say as a single parent with absent and barely-there fathers.  My relationships were tough and painful.  I entered into them blissfully and found myself alone with a child before the baby turned one each time.  I chose that as well.  Unconsciously, or in a past life.  These relationships reflected my deeply held misbeliefs in myself and the impossibilities of love.    I choose to believe that I unconsciously created these painful circumstances.  In accepting that responsibility I can change it, which is what I have been doing.  That’s another story.  This one is about two beautiful young ladies I call my daughters.

Isandla is 14.  She’s nervous about entering high school.  Her name is Zulu for “Hand of God.”  Anelisa is 9.  She’s not nervous about much yet that I can see.  Her name is also Zulu for “Perfect completion or satisfaction.”  They are two sides of me at different stages of my development.  What I love about them is that, like most children I know, they are easy to love.  They listen intently to what I have to share with them.  They share stories with me.  We laugh together.  They forgive me when I’m angry.  We accept each other.  Two Minnie Riperton lines come to mind: 

“I think you are the perfect angel…I think you are the perfect little one…”

“Loving you is easy because you’re beautiful…”

 

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