Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
Early on, my kids asserted that they weren’t me. And they weren’t each other. And though no one in my family was biologically related, we all shared the common gene for individuality. We’d defy anyone, who wanted to box and label us. So when a woman asked me last week, “Can you give me a hint how to tell your girls apart?” I started to foam at the mouth.
Then I thought better.
“Coco has dimples.”
“Oh.” She nodded her bobble head.
Save it for the page, I thought.