Are we going to have tons of fun today?” I asked my four-year-old granddaughter as we drove to my house.
“Yeah!” she shouted from the backseat. She and I always had fun. She was three months old when my son and daughter-in-law adopted her. In the four years since, we’d spent a lot of time together. Watering the garden, reading books, feeding her daddy’s horse—anything was fun as long as we were together.
“How about some music?” I asked. I popped in a Christmas CD. It was almost December, after all.
“Oh come, all ye faithful…” came from the car stereo.
My granddaughter bobbed her head to the words. Looking at her now it was hard to imagine the life she’d lived before her adoption. A neglected baby, homeless, abandoned, left alone in the back of a car hour after hour.
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