Remember Who You Are
Why Blood Matters, and Matters Not at All
by Amanda Witt
They were like aunts and cousins and grandmothers to me, these women clustered around to admire my six-month-old daughter at the church where I’d grown up. They had taught my Sunday-school classes, witnessed my baptism, celebrated my marriage; they were proud of me and mine, for we were practically theirs.
As some drifted away and others gathered round, a tall, sweet-faced woman with white streaks in her dark hair maneuvered her way to my side. She leaned in to get a good close look at my daughter, and her face lit up. Other women had said, “She looks just like her daddy!” Not Eva.
“Oh, how fortunate!R . . .