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For more than six years — from 1989 until 1995 — my wife and I helped a single mother from our church raise her two daughters — Sabrina from age 6-1/2 to 13, and Anastasia from birth to age 6-1/2.
One Friday afternoon, I drove to their apartment to pick up my goddaughters for their weekly overnight stay at our place. They both waved happily from the top step of the apartment building before making their way to my car.
I got out and gave each of them a hug before getting back in, but nine-year-old Sabrina was visibly upset as she and two-year-old Ana got into the back seat.
As we drove away, Sabrina was silent, but Ana was very talkative, telling me about everything that she had done since I had taken them out for dinner that Tuesday night.
All of a sudden, the source of Sabrina’s moodiness became very clear. Turning to her little sister, she snapped, “Ana, what is it with you?!!! How come, all day long, you yell at Grandma and you never listen to Mom – then Bob picks us up and all of a sudden you’re Little Miss Perfect!!!”
Without pausing, Ana turned and looked her sister in the eye.
“Be-tuz Bob loves me.”
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