The Chosen One

By Tracilyn George

My life is not what one would call normal. From my birth, I have faced and overcome many challenges to become the person I am today. Life is rarely easy even if it appears so for others.

Everyone has to deal with their own adversities in their own way. Most stay silent on their struggles believing they will a burden to their lo

• Language: English
• Publisher: Clydesdale Books
• Release date: Jun 30, 2023
• ISBN: 9781774759226

Book preview

The Chosen One

Tracilyn George

©2018 Tracilyn George

PROLOGUE

I entitled my book The Chosen One for two reasons. The first reason was because the Georges chose me to be a part of the family.

The second reason was I believe God chose me to bring about change to the world. My shoulders carried many burdens from which I should never have recovered, but somehow I did.

In some circumstances, I have altered names or not provided them at all. It is my hope this book will inspire others to bring about positive changes in their lives.

CHAPTER ONE

My birth parents placed me for adoption before I was born. They were on the road to no longer being together and my appearance into the world would make no difference.  

Upon my birth, the doctors diagnosed me with both pneumonia and cerebral palsy. Antibiotics treated my pneumonia, but the cerebral palsy needed something other than medication.

Unable to deal with my disability, my first foster family put me back into the system. When I was six months old, Social Services placed me with the George family.

When my brother John learned of my impending arrival, he skipped school so he could be the first to see me. My father told me when the social worker dropped me off, shit covered me from head to toe.

My mother handed me to John and ordered him to strip me while she ran a bath. John then threw the dirty clothes into the fireplace.

John went into the attic to find me some clothing after he handed me over to my mother. Since my parents only had boys, my mother had to settle for some of their old clothing until they purchased new ones.

A few weeks later, the social worker came to take me to my next family. John happened to be home when she arrived. He stood in the hallway, blocking her. You’re not taking my sister, he informed her.

My parents hadn’t considered adopting. At that point in their lives, they only wanted to foster. But John put them in a position where they felt they couldn’t say no. A year and a half later, I became part of the George family.

When I arrived at the George home, my name was Traci Lynn.   My brother Michael wanted me to be called Elizabeth. The reason was because he thought it would be funny to call me Dizzy Lizzy.

My mother vetoed the name.   Instead, she compromised.   She put Traci Lynn together and dropped the second N.   So my first name is now Tracilyn.   Elizabeth became my middle name.

When it comes to my name, I am quite sensitive about it.   I have three pet peeves about it.

The first is if I introduce myself as Tracilyn, I expect people to address me as such.   If they call me Traci, I remind them it is Tracilyn.   Sometimes, I have to repeat myself, which I find frustrating.

The second peeve is calling me Trace.   I can’t stand it and I have relatives who do it constantly.   I tell people; I am not a verb.

Lastly, it is the spelling of my name.   It is Tracilyn.   People often want to spell it with a y or ey.   Again, I am not a verb, so if you take off the Lyn, it is still Traci. It isn’t like converting varies to vary.

As to the cerebral palsy, my parents took it as a challenge. They took me to physical therapy twice a week.

My mother would stay to learn the techniques. She would then do the therapy at home. By the time I was about three, there was no evidence of my disability.

At my final doctor’s appointment, the nurse saw me and couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Is that Traci? she asked.

She took me from my mother and disappeared down the hall. According to my mother, she wanted to show off what she called a miracle. The nurse had me back just in time to see the doctor.

Doctors told my parents I would never walk without an operation. The operation also would not happen until I was four.

My brother Harry came home one day with a box of chocolates. Look what I have, Janie, he said. Harry has called me Janie since my arrival.

I walked from the sofa to the entryway where he was standing. I was just over a year old and never needed the operation.

Another roadblock the doctors espoused was that I would never talk, and if I did, it wouldn’t be well. At age three, I may have spoken a few words but not full sentences.

It concerned my mother enough to take me to a speech therapist. He held up a hand to my mother when she tried to express her concerns. He wanted to watch me play before saying anything.

I was on the floor, playing with a toy where I had to place different shapes into the corresponding slots and then release them. After a few minutes, he turned to my mother.

He said if he didn’t have the paperwork in front of him, he would never have known there was anything wrong with me. When she’s ready to talk, you won’t be able to shut her up.

It wasn’t long after that I began talking a lot more. With a family like mine, it would not be long. The Georges enjoy talking, so they had a big influence on me.

The last thing the doctors advised was that I wouldn’t amount to very much. My family was not about to allow this. My family never permitted me to use my disability as an excuse to not do something.

If I ever said I couldn’t do something, they asked me if I had tried. When I said no, they ordered me