Some Personal Reflections

J. Neil Daniels

On this day, September 19, 1984, the papers were signed and something far more sacred was sealed. A boy, ragged inside from too many storms too early, was given a new home, a new name, a new start. I was seven—scared, scarred, and not exactly easy. But Dennis and Mary opened their door wide enough for me to stumble through, and somehow, though none of us could have known what was ahead, they kept it open.

I did not make their road smooth. Truth be told, I took them on a wild ride they never planned for. The twists were sharp, the turns reckless, the disappointments real. And yet, through all of it, they did not let go. Where so many others had left me adrift, they held steady... sometimes with patient silence, sometimes with stubborn love that refused to give me back to the darkness.

My mother Mary—God rest her soul—was a well of tenderness I could draw from even when I didn’t know how to ask. Her laughter, her quiet strength, the way she carried hope in her voice—these things remain etched into me. And my father Dennis, steady as an oak, has been here through it all. He taught me what it means for a man to show up day after day, not because it’s easy, but because love makes you stay.

So yes, I am proud to bear their name. Proud, and unspeakably grateful. Adoption is not tidy, not sentimental... it is costly, unpredictable, full of risk. But they chose me anyway. And all these years later, after every failure and faltering step, I can say with a full heart: I am their son, and I always will be.