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Two Parents in Their 60s Gave Me Everything.

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In 1996, my life changed forever. I was six years old when I was adopted by a married couple from Guyana. They weren’t young, as most adoptive parents are. My new mom was 65, and my new dad was 66. At that age, most people are preparing to slow down, to retire, to settle into the later chapters of their lives. But they chose me.

For much of my childhood, I carried the quiet feeling that I was at a disadvantage. School was tough. Reading, writing, and math felt like walls I couldn’t climb, and I was placed in special education from kindergarten through second grade. I often wondered if I’d ever catch up.

But my adoptive mom believed differently. In 1997, she took me with her to Guyana, where we stayed until 1999. It was there—far away from the systems I knew—that I learned how to read, how to write, and how to sharpen my math skills. The methods were different, less rigid, but they worked. When I returned to the U.S., I was finally on grade level, though technically a year behind. Still, that experience taught me something priceless: progress isn’t about where you start, it’s about how you keep going.

At home, my parents gave me structure and responsibility. Every week, without fail, we went to church. That’s where I learned not just about prayer, but about faith—the kind of faith that sustains you when life feels uncertain. And as my parents grew older, I found myself stepping into roles most kids my age never imagined. By 11, I was walking to Western Union to pay rent and utility bills on their behalf. By 10, I was already traveling an hour each way to school on public transportation, navigating the streets of Brooklyn and learning how to keep myself safe.

They believed in me, even when others didn’t. And even when I let them down, they never stopped loving me as their own. That unwavering faith in me became the foundation of my success.

I also learned the value of hustle early. When the snow piled up in winter, I grabbed a shovel and cleared sidewalks around the neighborhood for cash. At school, I started burning CDs and selling them, turning a small idea into a steady hustle. Every dollar I earned taught me something important—that there was dignity in honest work and possibility in entrepreneurship. That spirit eventually led me to pursue business classes in college, sharpening skills I had first discovered on those snowy sidewalks.

Now, all these years later, my adoptive parents are both around 93 years old—and still in good health. To me, they are living proof of love’s endurance, of what it means to give unselfishly and raise a child not because you have to, but because you choose to.

Everything I’ve achieved, every step forward I’ve taken, I owe to them. They gave me faith, responsibility, and resilience. They gave me the chance to dream. They gave me love. And for that, I will forever be grateful.

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