I was the fruit of a relatively healthy gestation period…
… sparked by the mixing of chromosomes from two people who lived in the same small town, went to the same church, attended the same high school, and dutifully accepted marriage, manual labor, and child-rearing as their calling in life.
I did not choose my mother and father. I did not even choose to have parents. My parents did not choose me. They decided to make a baby. They did not choose what kind of baby.
I did not select my genetic endowment. Neither did my genes choose me. My DNA is me. I did not choose my height, the color of my irises, the shape of my nose, my sex, my gender, the number and arrangement of axons in my corpus callosum. Neither did I choose whether or not my eyes, ears, limbs, and brain were in good working order. I chose none of my innate predispositions… for better or worse.
I did not… and do not… command my eyes to see or heart to beat.