My children, Reading a story online and watching the news will trigger horrible things from my childhood. I want to honestly admit that there was a time that I had a happy and loving thought of my mother, but at 33 years of my life, it escapes me. You see my mother grew up in a whole not so loving home so she could not have possibly understood or even knew how to love herself much less her children (from the stories she told me growing up).
My mother was born in the ’60s and my grandmother my uncles and my mother were the side chick and the bastard children from the poor choices my grandfather made when he cheated on his dying wife and allowed his 4 children to be raised by someone else as he moved throughout Huntsville and then staking claim in good old Dickinson Texas. My grandmother was still in High school when she was pregnant with her first child my grandfather was in his 30’s. Shortly after my mother, My Uncles followed suite and they all lived in poverty. My grandmother worked and my grandfather had a 3rd-grade education and never clocked into work a day in his life. They had cows, chickens and ducks grew their food and sold it. So for the sake of this story, we will add farmers to this list.
No Hugs No Love
They ( my uncle’s and mother) were laborers for my grandparents there was food on the table and a roof over their head but the love was non-existent imagining seeing this until you leave home at 18 and marry the first man that gives you a bit of attention. ( Sound familiar?). My grandfather had a child( my aunt Jennifer ) in the 80s about 5 years before I was born.