When I had my breakdown, entered treatment, lost my kids during the divorce months, etc., I was homeless after treatment and was given the option of staying at a new program here for people just getting out of jail, rehab, etc. It was essentially a halfway house.

After not seeing me for 4 months, this was where my children and I were reunited.

Those people…those STRANGERS…most of them felons who will fight that designation til the day they die…showed my kids and me more love and support and understanding than anyone I considered friend or family at that time.

Something real happens in situations like the one you write about here.

Also, something a little bit magic.

I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up, but I know I want it to be spelled right and punctuated correctly. I guess that’s something.

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