“It is never to late to have a happy childhood.” ~Tom Robbins
A few days ago, when my older brother and I were sorting through old family photos, we found a picture of us from when we were about five and six years old. We were smiling. Just two kids full of life with no idea of what was to come.
This was before the start of all the rage—before all the pain and an unfortunate series of events.
My childhood was rough. I know some people may wish to return to those young innocent years of playing outside and going about our way without a worry in the world. However, if I had a choice to return to my childhood, I would hesitate at the gate.
At the tender age of eleven, I was snatched from my home. I didn’t know why, all I knew was that my mother had done something bad and that my siblings and I had to be removed for our safety.
When I was old enough to understand what had happened, I learned that my mother had gone to a mental institution to receive help and counseling for her anger.
I used to think, “Well, everyone gets angry,” but this was different.
Her words were a bit too harsh, her actions a bit too unpredictable, her impact a bit too negative. I remember sitting in the bathroom crying and wondering why I just couldn’t live …