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Writer's pictureWILLIAM A SLOAN

Children of Choice

I woke up this morning, thinking about my kids. 



I have many, you see. Some young, some old, some very close to my own age. I didn’t biologically father them, but I father them nonetheless. These are my children of choice, people I had the good fortune to meet, or apparently were destined to meet, and when we did, we knew each other immediately. We recognized a spirit and sense of self, an openness and a need to be.


When I was very little, older people used to say I had an old soul, different from other kids. Now that I am old, people tell me I have a young soul, different from other people my age. I’ll take it. I never did blend in, couldn’t if I tried, so I finally officially stopped trying years ago. But I recognize that essence in others when I see it, and I appreciate it and connect to it and feel the need to champion it forward. Which gets back to that destiny thing, I think. Because at some point in everyone’s life, you need a mentor, an appreciative audience, a cheerleader, an instigator. Someone who’s been there, or been nearby. Someone who doesn’t judge but will not lie. Someone who loves you because you are at the end of the day you. And isn’t that a wonderful thing?


“Sometimes, other people have your children for you.”

– me


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