November 21, 1982

24 years ago, my mother gave birth to her first child. I still remember the pictures of my father holding me proudly in the hospital. He just turned 26 and my mother was only 21 years old. Of course, this wasn't an anticipated pregnancy. In fact, the news that my mother was pregnant was so unexpected that my mother considered visiting a clinic to abort me. My mother told me the story about how when she asked for information on abortions, my dad proceeded to look at her like she was crazy. 'We're not aborting this child,' he told her. She was surprised because she assumed that both of them knew that a child at that time and age was too much. She was in school trying to complete her bachelor's and my dad was working a measly, minimum wage job at Hechinger's. But trusting in my father and their committment, they got married and had me.

I say all this to say that my birthday is not about me. It never has been. It's not a special day to celebrate my achievments and my life. It's never been J.A.C. day and I've never thought that taking recognition for it was right. It's a day to say thank you to first and foremost to Jehovah God for creating me, and secondly to my earthly father for loving me. My dad gave me a chance to have life, and I seriously would not be here if it weren't for him. Who knows, my mother could have had a change of heart without his coaxing, but I thank him for being so committed to my life. Of course, I have to thank my mother for being so open-minded and for loving me enough to have me. For trusting in the stability of the family. For following the divine family arrangement and being a woman in subjection to my father. I am so honored that my parents devoted their love, time, energy and money into raising me into the woman that I am now. So I have to say congratulations to my parents and the rest of the community that has given me so much concern. Thank you SO MUCH for helping me to make it to this day. This day is rightfully yours...